Women's Revenge

Chapter Six - Episode Four

Scene 1

Dalida knocked lightly on Daryn’s room door, then pushed it open gently, stepping inside with a cup of coffee, the warm aroma filling the air.

Daryn sat on the chair in front of her desk, fingers twirling a pen as she wrote in her journal. The smoke from her hand-rolled cigarette curled around the room, wrapping it in a quiet haze of solitude and deep thought.

Dalida paused at the doorway, her eyes soft with maternal concern. Her voice was calm yet full of care:

Dalida: “I want to talk to you… is that okay?”

Daryn lifted her tired eyes slowly, letting out a sigh, her tone sharp with a mix of bitterness and a hint of sarcasm:

Daryn: “What is it, Mom? Are you here to tell me to get married, or to mock me again?”

Dalida smiled gently, trying to ease the tension. She looked at her daughter with a motherly warmth that didn’t go unnoticed:

Dalida: “No, I came to tell you to go out and get some fresh air. You haven’t left the house for fourteen years. The world has changed… even the people have changed.”

Daryn blinked slowly, the faint frown softening a little. Her voice carried a touch of skepticism:

Daryn: “Maybe the world has changed… but the people? Impossible. But I’ll make you happy… I’ll go out, Mom.”

A small smile crossed Daryn’s lips, mirrored by Dalida. A moment of silent understanding passed between them, a quiet relief blooming in the bond of mother and daughter.

Then Dalida added gently, infusing the moment with a hint of warmth:

Dalida: “And there’s one more thing…”

Daryn raised an eyebrow in curiosity:

Daryn: “What now?”

Dalida smiled, her tone softening further:

Dalida: “Could you… wear something more like other girls? No more trousers and shirt.”

Daryn’s brow furrowed slightly, her voice sharp yet teasing:

Daryn: “That’s where you have no say, and you’ll make me angry again.”

Dalida chuckled, shaking her head gently, her warmth unshaken:

Dalida: “No, fine. Wear whatever you like. Just go out.”

Daryn paused, looking at her journal, then lifted her head, her eyes tracing the path ahead. Warmth returned to her heart with each exchanged smile, as if a small spark of life had returned to illuminate the room after years of isolation.

Scene Two

The cold breeze from the Nile brushed gently against the faces of passersby, carrying with it the scent of water and the city’s faint dampness. The lights of the Corniche shimmered on the surface of the Nile, drawing fractured golden lines that swayed with the small waves, dancing as if to the silent rhythm of the evening.

Dareen walked steadily along the Corniche, her steps deliberate and slightly heavy, yet hiding a sense of newfound freedom after years of isolation. Her eyes roamed across streets and squares, taking in the old buildings and the shiny new facades, and she smiled lightly, savoring a moment of reconciliation with the city that had witnessed her past. The wind whipped her hair, and the chill nipped at her hands, yet a feeling of reassurance filled her heart.

A few meters away, Aya stood at the edge of the Corniche, her eyes fixed on the dark, deep waters of the Nile, glimmering like a mirror of shadows. She gripped her hands tightly, trying to hold herself together against memories that ached unbearably. She spoke to herself in a low, trembling voice:

Aya: “Fourteen years ago, I stood right here… throwing my son into the Nile. If I hadn’t killed him, he would be my height now… the Nile holds the secrets of so many people.”

Her voice shook, and a single slow tear traced down her cheek. She sat on the Corniche wall, her back curved, the weight of years pressing heavily on her shoulders. Silence engulfed her words, the cold waters surrounding her like a forgotten barrier between past and present.

From a distance, Dareen noticed the figure of the woman, broken in sorrow, and slowed her steps, drawn toward the grief before her. She approached and sat beside Aya, tilting her head slightly, trying to read her expression buried in despair.

Dareen: “Malak? Why are you crying? Who upset you? Maybe I can help.”

Aya lifted her eyes toward her, distant and lost. She took a deep breath, as if gathering the fragments of herself, and then whispered in a low voice filled with pain:

Aya: “The whole world is against me.”

Dareen smiled softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm, attempting to break through the wall of sorrow and despair:

Dareen: “Then you have a story… and we’re alike in that. You can tell me.”

Aya glanced briefly at the water, then back at Dareen. Her silence carried the weight of memories and the chill wrapped around them, while the Corniche stood witness to a meeting of pain and empathy at the edge of night, where souls intersected in quiet.