Nur shifts the bag to her other hand, as she sighs.

Another job, gone.

The sole of her shoes sing with the road. But then the song comes to a halt as she stops and turns around, facing the river, the sun going back home. What would I tell Ma? Is the only question she has been trying to find the right answer of since morning. 

She slumps on the concrete footpath, looking at the farther end of the lonely road.  She places her head in her palms, trying to formulate words her mother would believe.

Finally, thinking so much about it, she stands up, picking the now empty bag in her hand as she dares her legs to take her back to her home.

She stops before a small, one room, wooden house just like others. Her neighbour, Jenny, gives her a smile but it falters as soon as Mr. Bran and Mrs. Bran's voices grow up, telling the whole street about their argument.

Nur looks down as she rings the bell again. At the third trial, her Ma opens it and smiles. 'Allah! You are alright, I was so worried for you,' Nur gives her a small smile and and enters the house, her mother continuing, 'Why did it take you so long? Were you looking for a place on lease?'

Nur unwraps her head scarf and unclamps her brown hair, letting them cascade down her waist. Her head hurts, from wearing it all day but she has learnt to ignore the pain, only today, it feels more. 'I'm sorry, Ma. I...' she trails off, debating weather she should tell her.

Her mother is old, in her late sixties for she was blessed with Nur rather late. Wrinkles detail her face and bags drape down her eyes. Her now grey and thin hair that just cover the scalp, are braided. Her health is declining and Nur could not provide her with as much as just a salary, 'Daisy needed my help,' Nur feels badvfor lying but she does not have any other option. 'So I visited her.'

'You should tell me first.' Her mother says.

'I will.' Nur sighs.

Her mother sits on the couch with her, patting her lap and so Nur lays her head on her lap, her legs on the rest of the seats, and closes her eyes. 'Tired?' Her mother runs her fingers through Nur's hair, braiding them. She would always braid her hair, for she hated hair left untied and Nur always lets her. It is comforting.

'Not much,'

Her mother hums. 'Today, Zafar called.'

Nur's eyes snap open. 'Zafar?' What does her older brother want now? 'Why?'

'He just wanted to know if we are heathy.'

'After five years, he wants to know if we are healthy?'

'Nur.' Her mother warned her against her hard tone. 'He is your brother—'

'—who abandoned us years ago to go to China.'

'Nur,' her mother warned again but Nur just sighs. She does not want to argue over the same matter again. 'He is calling me to live with him.'

Hearing this, Nur sits up on the couch, gazing at her mother with disbelief. 'What? No.'

'Think about it.'

'No. I don't want you to go to him.'

'I'm his mother as equal as I am to you.'

'But he abandoned us!' Nur's voice rises but she lowers it as soon as she realises it, 'I just want you to stay with me.'

'I can understand, Nur. But this is better. Your job is not really enough.'

'I will find another. I am saving money, Ma. Soon, I'll open my own restaurant and we'll live happily. I'll take you out of this junk,' she revolves her finger around the house.

Her mother gives her a small smile, her dimples fading to wrinkles, 'You have taken care of me,' she gently strokes her cheek, 'now, let him fulfil the duty.'

'No.' Nur presses her cheek to her mother's palm, feeling the warmth, 'no. Not you too.'

'Nur,'

'Please,' Nur pleads. 'Stay.'

Her mother smiles at her, 'I have stayed enough,' she kisses Nur at her forehead. To feel the warmth more, just as Nur closes her eyes, a tear rolls down her cheek.

'If you'd go too, then what would happen to me?'

'Patience, child.' Her mothers repeats her father's words, 'everything would eventually fall into place.'

But Nur can't help to doubt. Would it really?

_______