Her husband, Rahim, worked far away in the city. Life there was busy and noisy, very different from the peaceful rhythm of the village. He only came home once every few months, and each visit felt like a festival to Amina. She spent her days taking care of the small garden, feeding the chickens, and helping neighbors when needed. But as the sun began to set, her heart grew restless. She would fix her scarf, sweep the yard again, and wait to hope that maybe today would be the day Rahim returned. One evening, as the call to prayer echoed softly across the fields, she noticed a familiar figure walking slowly toward the house. Her heart skipped. It was him.

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