A soft breeze drifted through the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of fresh grass and blooming flowers.
Everywhere was green—the kind of calm, living green that made the air feel lighter.
They were all sitting together on the soft lawn, while the aroma of freshly cooked dishes mingled with the cool evening air.
On one side of the courtyard, clusters of colorful flowers swayed gently, and on the other, a marble fountain stood proudly—its cascading water catching the last golden rays of sunset scattering them into shimmering light.
The scene looked like something out of a dream—serene, graceful, almost unreal.
Hooram appeared, holding a small bouquet in her hands, her eyes sparkling with innocence.
"This is for you," she said softly, extending the flowers toward Ilyana.
Ilyana looked down at the bouquet—a blend of reds, whites, and purples—and smiled.
She pulled Hooram into her arms and kissed her hair.
"My little sister is becoming such a sweet girl," she murmured warmly.
They both laughed—carefree and light—until, suddenly, a splash of cold water hit Ilyana's shoulder.
She gasped, turning around sharply.
There stood Yusuf, a mischievous grin on his face, a water gun in his hand, firing relentlessly.
"Yusuf!" she shouted, half angry, half amused, and darted after him.
He laughed louder and tried to run, but Ilyana was faster.
In one swift move, she caught him and shoved him straight into the swimming pool.
"Behave yourself! I'm your elder sister!"
Her tone carried mock sternness, but Yusuf — ever defiant — retaliated from the pool, still splashing water at her with exaggerated aim.
One of his wild sprays went flying across the courtyard —and landed directly on Ibrahim's canvas.
The world froze for a moment.
Hours of his painstaking artwork were now ruined under streaks of dripping blue.
Silence.
Then — an explosion of shouting.
Within seconds, Yusuf and Ibrahim were at each other's throats, and chaos unfolded once again.
Ilyana sighed, brushed her wet hair from her face, and returned to where Maryam and Zakariya were sitting.
"Just look at them!" she said irritably, gesturing toward the scene.
Maryam laughed softly.
"They're your brothers, dear. We've stopped being surprised."
Ilyana rolled her eyes but smiled, then settled beside Hooram again.
For the first time in what felt like ages, she felt a hint of warmth spreading inside her—a quiet flicker of happiness she hadn't known she still possessed.
"Ilyana," Maryam said gently,
placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder,
"you should spend more time with us."
Ilyana looked at her mother and smiled faintly.
"I know, Mom…"
Maryam's expression softened even more.
"And whatever happened, my love… let it go now."
That single line made Ilyana's smile fade.
Her fingers went still, the warmth in her chest quietly ebbed away.
Her gaze grew distant—unfocused—as though something within her had stirred.
In a single moment, she wasn't in the garden anymore.
She was somewhere else entirely…far away, buried deep in the shadows of her past where the ghosts of memory still breathed.