THE SILENT HEART NOVEL
Chapter One: The Debt
Ma’aruf closed his eyes, then snapped them open, his gaze locking onto a small girl standing below his balcony. She was dressed in a simple, faded wrapper, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.
A small smile played on his lips. He let out a soft breath almost a whistle and the girl instantly looked up. Her face lit up with a grin. She started jumping, waving her hand frantically at him as if he were a long-lost friend.
He blew a playful gust of air toward her and waved back. She mirrored his gesture perfectly, her energy radiating upward.
Suddenly, an elderly woman emerged from a small, weathered house nearby. In a neighborhood where wealth was the norm, their home stood out as a testament to struggle.
"Meenalle! Meenalle!" the old woman’s voice cracked through the air.
The little girl turned sharply, her face souring into a pout. "Oh, Grandma!" she whined, her voice thick with exaggerated offense. "Why do you always have to ruin my name? I’ve told you a thousand times it’s *Meenal*!"
The old woman chuckled. "Alright, Miss Patience. Come here. Go buy us some cassava flour before you starve to death."
Meenal glanced back up at the balcony. Ma’aruf was still there, watching her. She gave him one last wave, tilting her head sweetly, before grabbing her grandmother’s hand and disappearing inside.
A few moments later, Meenal emerged, draped in a hijab and clutching a few crumpled bills. As she rounded the corner of the gate, she slammed into a solid chest. She gasped, clutching her heart.
"You scared the life out of me!" she exclaimed, a gap-toothed grin breaking across her face despite her words.
Ma’aruf looked down at her, feigning a stern expression. "And you’re a little scaredy-cat, aren't you?" He reached out, gently adjusting the drape of her hijab.
"Hey! I’m on an errand," she snapped playfully, her eyes dropping to the expensive watch gleaming on his wrist. She reached for it, trying to unbuckle the strap.
He pulled his arm back quickly before she could smudge the glass. "What are you buying?"
She rolled her eyes, trying to push past him. "Grandma told me not to let you buy me anything. She says you 'rich city boys' are dangerous and that you'll end up making my life too expensive for her to handle."
Ma’aruf let out a soft, low laugh. "Well, my grandmother told me that if a girl wanders around too much, they’ll end up burying her in the dirt."
Meenal’s eyes went wide with genuine terror. "Really, Mr. Fragrance? For real?"
Seeing she had actually taken the bait, he softened. "Of course. And I don’t want them burying you, so just tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you."
She didn't need to be told twice. She thrust the fifty-naira note she’d been nervously crumbling into his hand.
"Thirty for the flour, twenty for sugar," she whispered.
He shook his head at her intensity and walked off. He hadn't gone ten paces before she screamed after him, "And make sure you ask for a discount! And hurry back before Grandma thinks I’ve run away!"
Less than ten minutes later, Ma’aruf returned carrying several large, heavy bags. Meenal ran to meet him, beaming. He handed the bags over and turned to leave, but she grabbed his hand.
"Hold on! Stay right there. Let me check the change." She scowled, looking like a tiny accountant.
Amused, he followed her into the entryway of her house. She sat on the floor and dumped the contents of the bags out. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she pulled out a large tin of powdered milk.
"How much was this?" she demanded.
"Five naira," he lied smoothly, his eyes fixed on her animated face.
"Okay... so that leaves forty-five," she muttered, continuing her inventory. Biscuits, chocolates, couscous, sugar, and an assortment of sodas tumbled out. For every item, he gave her an impossibly low price two naira here, five naira there until she finally reached the heavy bag of flour.
"And this?"
He leaned against the wall. "That? A friend of mine at the shop just gave it to me for free."
She cheered, packing everything back into the bags. Then, she held out her hand. "Okay. Give me my change."
Ma’aruf blinked. "What change?"
She shot him a murderous look. "The fifteen naira! We just did the math. You only spent thirty-five."
He bit back a smile and felt around his pockets. He didn't have a single coin or small bill—only a thousand-naira note. He held it out to her.
She shoved his hand away. "No! I want my exact change!"
He knelt so they were eye-to-eye. "I’m sorry, Meenatou. I don’t have any small bills. I’ll get it for you later, I promise."
"No way! Let’s go swap it right now," she insisted.
"Fine, fine. Take the groceries inside, come back out, and we’ll go get it," he said, his eyes half-closed in a sleepy, relaxed manner.
"Don't you dare run away with my money," she warned.
He caught her hand briefly. "I’m not going anywhere."
She stepped inside, looking back over her shoulder every two seconds to make sure he was still there. She dropped the bags and bolted back out. Her grandmother’s voice echoed from the back of the house, calling her name, but Meenal didn't skip a beat.
"Grandma! My friend died! We have to go pray for her!" she yelled back over her shoulder, sprinting toward Ma’aruf.
The Debt Collector
As they stepped out of the entryway, a car horn blasted in front of the large estate next door. Ma’aruf glanced at the vehicle and then at the tall security gates. There was no sign of the guard. He sighed, slipping his hand free from Meenal’s grip to go open the gate himself.
"Don't you try it!" Meenal yapped, chasing after him. "I don't care how smart you think you are, you aren't disappearing with my change!"
Ma’aruf suppressed a grin. *Oh, Meenatou,* he thought, *you never give up.*
He swung the heavy gates open and stepped aside as the car pulled in. The window rolled down to reveal a man with a warm, familiar face.
"Ma’aruf," the man said, looking around. "Where’s the watchman?"
Ma’aruf gave a slow, characteristic blink. "Honestly, Abba, I have no idea. But I’m sure he’s not far." He reached out to open the car door for his father.
Just then, Meenal skidded to a halt beside them, huffing and puffing. She fixed Ma’aruf with a glare that could melt lead.
"I swear, I will follow you to the ends of the earth today until I get my money!" she declared. "I’m done with your tricks. Last week you ran off with five naira, and today you’re trying to dodge fifteen. I’m an orphan of my change, and I’m tired of the struggle!" She looked like she was on the verge of dramatic tears.
Ma’aruf’s father stepped out of the car, his face breaking into a wide smile. He placed a hand on the girl’s head. "My dear, how much does this criminal owe you?"
Meenal perked up instantly. "Abba! He owes me fifteen naira. Five from last week when he ran away, and ten from today. Oh I forgot my manners. Good evening, Abba."
The older man laughed heartily. "How could you remember manners when your eyes are clouded by debt? Ma’aruf, pay the lady her money."
Ma’aruf rubbed the back of his neck. "I told her, Abba, I don't have any small bills. And you know how Meenal is..."
"Meenal is a delight," his father countered, winking at her. "Let’s go inside. He’ll find your change even if he has to print it himself. I’m tired of him eating up your hard-earned money every day."
Giggling, Meenal followed them into the house, sticking her tongue out at Ma’aruf.
Inside, a beautiful woman emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray. Meenal rushed forward to help her.
"Look at that, our little mother is visiting us today," the woman said warmly.
Meenal beamed. "I had to come, Ma. Mr. Fragrance here is trying to bankrupt me. He owes me twenty naira now, counting his old debts!"
Ma’aruf threw his hands up in mock despair and ran up the stairs. "Mercy, Meenatou! You make it sound like I’ve stolen millions. Fine! I’m going to find your change right now just to get some peace!"
The woman laughed. "You better pay up! Come, Meenal, have some lunch while he hunts for your treasure."
Meenal shook her head. "No thank you, I’m full."
Abba looked at her sternly, though his eyes were twinkling. "Now, I might have to get angry with you, Meenal."
She rushed to his side. "Abba, what did I do?"
The woman teased her, "You refuse to eat in Mr. Fragrance's house lately. Why?"
Meenal’s eyes went wide with mock suspicion. "If I eat your food, will you sell me into slavery?"
"Who on earth would sell you?" Abba laughed.
"I'm not taking any chances," she chirped, before shouting Ma’aruf’s name at the top of her lungs. The woman pointed toward his room, and Meenal bolted upstairs.
She burst into the room just as he finally scrounged up fifteen naira. He handed it over like a peace treaty. She took it slowly, warning him that if she ever caught him short-changing her again, she’d take his watch as collateral.
To ensure the "treaty" held, he threw in a handful of sweets. Finally satisfied, she turned to leave, still muttering about his "bad business ethics."
Once she was gone, Ma’aruf collapsed onto his bed, exhausted. He knew that the next time she saw him, she’d probably find a reason to claim he owed her another five naira. He blew out a long breath, a peaceful smile spreading across his face as he drifted off to sleep.
Back at the small house, reality returned with a sting.
Meenal felt a sharp tug on her ear. "And which 'friend' exactly died and needed prayers?" Grandma demanded.
Meenal winced, her eyes darting around. "I swear, Grandma, it was..."
Smack! Her grandmother tapped her lightly on the mouth.
"Keep it shut. Even the goats in this yard don't believe your lies anymore." She looked at the girl closely. "You gave that money to Ma’aruf to shop for you again, didn't you?"
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