The afternoon sun hung low, letting slanted rays filter through the mango tree leaves in the central yard. The wide stretch of green grass was the only boundary—and the only connection—between the three buildings standing on the same plot of land.
Fathan sat on the cold front-porch step of his house. His still-small legs swung gently. From the porch of the first house. The simplest and quietest house of the three. He could hear the clinking of dishes from the kitchen. His mom, Raina, was busy inside with Auntie Nyai. Mom was calm today, but Fathan had been trained from a young age to be like the wind: present, but doing his best not to stir up any ripples.
Fathan's gaze drifted toward the middle of the yard. There, a little girl his size was running after a red plastic ball. She wore rabbit-print pajamas, and her twin ponytails bounced wildly with every step. Fathan knew who she was. The girl lived in the second house, the livelier one, where laughter could be heard more often, just a few dozen yards from where Fathan sat.
Farah. Fathan knew her name from whispers he'd happened to overhear, even though they had never actually spoken or been formally introduced.
Thud!
Farah tripped over a tree root poking slightly out of the ground. Her little body pitched forward and slammed into the grassy earth. Her plastic ball rolled farther away, hitting a clothesline pole.
The yard fell silent in an instant. The little girl didn't cry right away. She sat there, clutching her knee, which was smeared with brown dirt. Her lips curved downward, her chest rose and fell as she held back a sob, and her eyes trembled with tears that were about to burst.
Fathan stood up on reflex. Both hands gripped the hem of his own shirt. Should I help... or just stay quiet?
Fathan glanced hesitantly over his shoulder toward the half-open door of his house. Fear tightened in his small chest. What if Mom saw him? What if Mom got angry because he went over there? What if the girl cried even harder and blamed him?
Fathan's steps faltered. He hesitated. He was used to not making decisions that might cause trouble at home. But the little girl in the middle of the yard had begun to whimper softly. The pitiful sound coming from her reddening nose tugged at him. Farah tried to stand, but the scrape on her knee, bleeding just a little, made her wince and sink back down. She was alone in that wide yard.
Fathan took a deep breath. Pity won out over fear. With hesitant steps that gradually grew faster, Fathan went down the porch stairs. His flip-flops slapped against the wet grass. He crossed the yard, stepping over the invisible boundary that had separated their houses all this time.
"Are you... okay?" Fathan's voice came out softly when he reached Farah.
Farah looked up in surprise. Her round eyes were glassy, brimming with tears that could spill at any moment. She stared at Fathan in confusion and slight fear, as if wondering where this skinny-chested boy had suddenly come from.
"Your knee's bleeding," Fathan murmured again. He crouched beside Farah, letting his pants brush against the dirty ground. Fathan held out his small hand. "Can you stand?"
Farah slowly shook her head, then finally let her tears fall one by one. "It hurts..." she whispered.
Fathan looked at the scrape on Farah's knee, then at the girl's face. Farah's face was smeared with tears and a little dirt from the ground. Fathan let out a short sigh.
"Come on, I'll help you up," Fathan said as gently as he could, trying to imitate the way Auntie Nyai calmed him down. "I'll take you home, okay? There must be some medicine at your house."
Fathan extended both hands, more firmly this time. Hesitant and still gasping through the pain, Farah reached for Fathan's fingers.