To The Sky, We Return

To the sky, stars were the adornment; to the earth, flowers were gifted as embellishment. Mira, too, was such a flower to her family—the soft lily, the pure daisy, perhaps destined one day to bloom into a resilient sunflower.

If Amal claimed to be one of the Children of the Sky, and Yousuf the Child of the Soil, then Mira was the Child of Joy.

Fate flowed seamlessly between them, drawing their lives closer—quietly weaving them together as the Children of the Soil, the Amanah of the sky.

Mira sat on a small stool, struggling to detangle her curly red hair. Her blue eyes, wide and gentle like a doe’s, welled up with tears as the comb caught painfully in a knot.

She padded softly into the lounge, where mint green and beige tones wrapped the room in a gentle hush. On the couch, a young man lay sleeping soundly.

Mira walked up to him and patted his face gently. He frowned, eyes fluttering half-open.

Without a word, she pointed at her hair, her eyes pleading.

“Oh, my Princess—the comb’s stuck,” he murmured, fully awake now. Sitting up, he lifted her onto his lap with care and began to gently work through the tangles.

Patiently, lovingly, he freed the comb from her curls.

"Father," her soft voice sounded adorable.

"Yes, sweetie?"

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"Tired?" She turned to gaze at him, worry tucked in her eyes. He smiled at her, leaning down and dropped a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"I'm fine, Mira. Just a little sleepy. Would you like to accompany me?"

She nodded eagerly. With the smile still playing on his face, he scooped her up in his arms as they made their way to the bedroom, his blue eyes shining with adoration for his young daughter. He placed her at the center of the bed as he settled on the side.

"Father," she dragged out a book from the side table. "Read," she urged him softly. He took it from her—it was Mira's favorite storybook, The Children of the Sky. The book had a white cover, an azure sky spread across it, and in golden letters the gilded title shimmered softly.

He opened it and began to slowly read it.

When the heavens first decreed life, the sky and the earth were brought into being—one to guard, the other to shelter. To the gentle arms of the earth, the sky entrusted its most beloved: the children full of light.

But in time, darkness crept in. Shadows grew, corrupting what had once been pure. The children—split by greed—turned upon one another. And the earth, their cradle, too began to fracture under their strife.

The sky watched, silent, but waited. It hoped the children would remember their origin, would return to light.

But when the shadowed ones harmed the pure, the sky made its choice. It opened its arms and gathered the innocent back into its light—gently, tenderly.

And to the shadowed ones, it turned its face away—not just in anger, but in sorrow too great to speak. The sky and the earth both knew the heavens would pass on a just judgement in the end.

He paused and looked at his side, Mira was already asleep. He slowly closed the book and lied down next to her.