sanctuary | on hold indefinitely

six | marine drive

Devan had wondered why there hadn't been a house number on any of the letters she had found in her mother's old drawer. As she pulled up on the side of the road and got out of the car without thanking her driver, she understood: it was the only house on the long stretch of road. It sat atop a hill, looming over the Welsh countryside like a lighthouse, with golden light spilling from the windows. It looked like a farmhouse, though as she opened the rusty gate and began to ascend the gravel pathway, the stones scuffing her boots, she saw that it was devoid of any animals save for a cat that watched her intently from the fence. There were stables at the side of the house that had long since been emptied, the wooden support beams rotting and on the brink of collapse. An old car that looked as though it hadn't moved from the overgrown grass in months sat next to them, and she hoped that meant he was home.

As she reached the top of the hill, she could just make out the sea glittering beneath the setting sun in the distance, the horizon a distant, faded blue line broken only by small silhouettes of yachts and ships. So this is where Musa Ali had been hiding while she had been sleeping in abandoned warehouses and run down apartments. He had been living in a family home without his family. A distant but noticeable wave of anger rolled over her, and she tightened her bag slightly closer to her body as she reached the door. It was painted a bright red that had begun to peel. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was at the wrong house.

Devan glanced back at the cat. It was staring at her, its black tail curling lazily around the fence. It made her feel uneasy, being watched silently as dusk settled in around her like a heavy blanket. "What are you looking at?" she scowled. The cat blinked before hopping down and disappearing behind the house. She sighed in relief.

She didn't dare risk the door being slammed in her face by knocking. Instead, she tried the handle. It was locked, but that was no surprise.

"Resero," she whispered under her breath. Unlock. The door clicked effortlessly, and this time when she tried the handle, it opened, with the hinges letting out only a small creak in protest.

The warm smell of spices, garlic and onion, tomato, and lamb hit her immediately as she stepped inside, and a sense of nostalgia settled within her heavily, curbing her hunger with its intensity. A brown mat beneath her feet welcomed her in the Pashto alphabet, and she was surprised to find that she could still read it. It had been years since she had so much as spoken her first language, and the sight of it brought her back to another time when she had been another person; a child.

"Farah?" A small Afghan man had emerged from the back room, which she assumed was the kitchen from the wafting aroma that accompanied him, and now stood in the shadows of the hallway with wide, almond shaped eyes that were almost identical to her own. The only difference between them was that his irises were a deep, incongruous blue against his dark skin. "Is that you?"

"Try again," Devan said, her voice loud and strange in the echoing hallway.

He took another step forward, emerging from the shadows with a tea-towel in his hand. His face was all grey stubble and harsh lines, but the curve of his mouth and his soft eyes reminded her of a childhood she thought she had forgotten. Those hands, now clutching the embroidered towel tensely, had once thrown her into the air and caught her on her way down. That voice had once sent her and her sister to sleep as he told her stories in his mother tongue. She thought that he would have been nothing more than a stranger to her, but she had been wrong.

"Devanshi?" he questioned finally. Nobody had called her that in years. His voice was still as soft as she remembered when he said it now, his accent still as thick. "Is it really you?"

"You are Musa Ali?" She already knew the answer, but she didn't want him to know that she remembered him. She didn't want him to know that she cared about him at all.