Layan picked it up carefully.
She turned it over.
On the underside, beneath a thin layer of dirt, were several tiny engraved words.
She rubbed the wood with her thumb until she could read them.
If you make it out, remember that you were stronger than you believed.
Her eyes filled with tears.
Mahmoud stepped closer.
“Do you know who wrote that?”
Layan looked at the inscription for a long time.
Then she nodded.
“Imran.”
She remembered watching him carve small objects during quiet evenings in the cave.
Sometimes he made birds.
Sometimes he made flowers.
He had once told her that an owl could find its way through darkness without forgetting the world beyond it.
She had never known he had made one for her.
Whether he had placed it there himself or entrusted it to someone else, she could not say.
But the message felt unmistakably personal.
Mahmoud studied the little carving.
