The color was an odd shade between navy and turquoise, the result of mixing whatever yarn they could find. It was lumpy in places, misshapen in others. The tassels at each end were different lengths. It was objectively not a beautiful scarf, but to Amara, it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen in her entire life. I made it, Na whispered, her eyes fixed on her worn sneakers.
I found the yarn behind the church in the donation box. And there's a lady at the shelter, Mrs. Chen. She knows how to knit. She showed me.
She let me use her needles. Na's voice got even quieter. It took me three weeks. I worked on it every night after Eli fell asleep. It's not very good.
The stitches are all wrong and it’s kind of lumpy and the color is weird. But I wanted I wanted you to have something warm because you gave us warm. Amara felt tears spilling down her cheeks before she even realized she was crying. Her hands shook as she held the scarf. She could see the hours in it.
The patience of small fingers learning something new. the determination of a child who wanted to give back the only way she knew how. Three weeks, 21 nights of Na sitting in some cold shelter or abandoned shed, working by whatever light she could find, counting stitches, and trying to remember the pattern Mrs. Chen had shown her. 21 nights of creating something warm for the person who tried to keep her warm.
"It's perfect," Amara whispered. Her voice cracked on the word. It's absolutely perfect. She wrapped the scarf around her neck right there. Despite the mild evening air, despite the fact that it scratched a little against her skin, despite its lumps and crooked edges, it smelled faintly of mothballs and dust from the donation box.
The yarn was rough against her throat. One end hung noticeably longer than the other, and she loved it more than anything she'd ever owned. Na looked up then, for the first time since they'd met, she smiled. A real smile. A genuine smile.
The kind of smile that transforms a face and makes you remember that underneath all the trauma and fear and survival, there's still a child, still hope, still the possibility of joy. You really like it? Na asked. Her voice carried a mixture of hope and disbelief. I love it.
Amara pulled both children into a hug right there in the dingy hallway behind a greasy diner. She didn’t care that Barlo might come back. She didn’t care that another server might walk by. She didn’t care about anything except this moment. I’ll treasure it forever.
I mean that forever. Eli's arms came around her waist. His voice was muffled against her shoulder. You really spend your own money on us. Every night, Amara admitted.
That's why you look so tired. I’m not tired, Amara lied. You're getting thinner, Eli said. We can see it. Your uniform is looser than it was three weeks ago.