In her father's shop, every object held memories. Crystal ran her fingers over the polished wood of the counter, imagining her father's hand doing the same, a sense of him still lingering in the grooves. The familiar scents of leather and old paper wrapped around her like a childhood blanket, comforting and suffocating all at once.
She glanced at the suitcase beside her, it gaped like an open mouth, waiting to swallow the pieces of her life. Leaving for Dubai would mean leaving more than Morocco. It meant leaving the safety of the past for the unknown chaos of what lay ahead.
She leaned back against the counter, the silence pressing against her like the weight of a hand she couldn't see. Her father's face floated in her mind, both a comfort and a challenge. The choice to work off her father's debt in Dubai twisted inside her, a knot of fear that refused to unravel.
The shelves were filled with antiques her father had collected over a lifetime, each one holding a story that bound them together. She reached for a leather-bound book, the cover soft under her fingertips, and imagined the markets where he'd haggled for such things, his voice loud and alive. The thought of leaving it all behind clawed at her heart, leaving lines of fear she couldn't erase.
The past days had passed in a haze, the hours rushing by like leaves in the wind, carrying her closer to this moment. She'd worked tirelessly, almost without thought, each task an attempt to ignore the decision that loomed. Her mother and sister would manage without her, she told herself. The shop, too. But each excuse felt like a broken promise to the life she'd known.
The suitcase waited, a silent question mark on the floor. She'd filled it with clothes and small comforts, things she imagined needing in a city she couldn't picture. Dubai. The name itself was like a burst of fireworks, thrilling and unfamiliar, the sound of it a stark contrast to the quiet pulse of Morocco that echoed in her blood. She wondered what the city has in stock for her.
What would Dubai be like? The question was both exhilarating and terrifying, the answer a blank page she could fill with anything. She imagined a city of lights and motion, so different from the steady rhythm of the streets here. She could almost see herself in it, a small figure navigating the new hardship that would come with it.
The memory of her father's voice echoed in her head again, urging her forward with the strength of his love and belief.
"A good stitch lasts through storms, Crystal. Be the stitch, even when the world unravels".
The thought steadied her, a lifeline through the churning sea of fear. He would want her to be brave for her mother and sister.
She could feel the pull of her family, like strings tied around her heart. Her mother's eyes, wet with unshed tears, as they talked last night. Her sister's hand squeezing hers, promising to look after things. Their words were a bittersweet melody, their reluctance to let her go was more painful as they knew the gravity of the situation.
The suitcase was no longer an open mouth but a friend, ready to carry her hopes along with her fears. She took a deep breath and began to fill it. The objects in the shop seemed to watch her, each one a witness to her courage, a part of her story she would carry even as she left them behind.
With one last glance, she zipped the suitcase shut. Her heart beat with the rhythm of tomorrow, insistent and alive, carrying her toward the unknown future she was ready to claim.
The train's whistle sliced through the morning air, a sound of finality that made Crystal's heart clench. Her mother's hands trembled as they brushed against Crystal's cheeks, a silent prayer for her daughter's safe passage into a new life of hardship. Her sister stood close, eyes wide and wet, the weight of goodbye as heavy as the mountains that loomed behind them.
They stood on the platform, a small island in a sea of bustling travelers and screeching machinery. Crystal's suitcase lay at her feet, a reminder of the choice she was making, the life she was leaving. Her mother pulled her into a fierce embrace, the fabric of her dress soft against Crystal's face, a comfort she longed to wrap around her and never let go.
"Stay strong, Crystal," her mother whispered, voice thick with tears she refused to shed. "We're so proud of you."
Crystal felt her own tears break free, streaming down her face like rain that had held back too long. Her mother's arms were both anchor and release, holding her close even as they let her go.
Her sister was next, gripping her as if she could stop the world from spinning, stop the train from leaving, stop the distance from stretching between them like an impossible ocean.
"I'll call every day," Crystal promised, her voice catching on the lump in her throat.
Her sister nodded, the movement small and fragile, like the flutter of a bird's wing. "Don't forget us."
"Never," Crystal said, the word a vow and a plea.
The world felt suddenly enormous and overwhelming, the decision she'd made like a towering wave threatening to crash over her. She looked at their faces, trying to memorize every line, every curve, etching them into her heart where distance couldn't reach.
The train loomed behind her, a steel reminder that time waited for no one. She hesitated, a moment stretching into eternity, and then she was gone, pulled away from them like a leaf caught in the wind.
She turned back one last time as the train began to move, their figures small and stoic on the platform. Her heart swung wildly between love and loss, courage and fear, home and away.
The seats were hard and unyielding, as if daring her to change her mind. Crystal held tight to her suitcase and her resolve, feeling the familiar landscape slip past with painful grace. Her chest ached with every mile that grew between her and the family she'd left standing in a haze of tears and love.
As the train gathered speed, the world outside blurred into a watercolor of past and future. The mountains faded, replaced by the sprawling flatness that stretched ahead. Crystal let herself feel the weight of the choice, the sharp and sweet pull of what she'd left behind, the unknown of what lay ahead.
When she stepped off the train, the market greeted her with open arms, a chaotic embrace of noise and life. Vendors called out, their voices weaving a familiar song, a melody of persistence and hope. Crystal walked through them slowly, breathing in the scent of spices and leather, the rich perfume of a city she had loved so long it was a part of her.
Each step took her deeper into memory, the rhythm of the streets echoing the beat of her heart. The narrow alleys and bustling stalls were as much a part of her as the blood in her veins, and she drank them in, every detail, every sound, a final feast before the fast.
The colors and textures blurred together as she walked. She passed the bakery with its sweet scent of fresh bread, the old man who sold scarves and always winked as she passed. Each familiar face and place added to the chorus of goodbyes and memories she tried to hold in her heart.
The world was full of contrasts, the bright and the dim, the old and the new. Crystal felt them all, a symphony of emotions that clashed and harmonized, pushed and pulled. She wondered if the streets would remember her as she would remember them, if they would whisper her name as she stepped onto the plane, carrying her dreams like fragile glass.
The market faded behind her, a vibrant memory already tinged with nostalgia. Crystal felt the weight of the transition, the shift from Morocco to the wide expanse of the unknown.
........
The sky above Dubai was a far cry from the hazy Moroccan horizon Crystal had always known. It felt too vast, too polished, like blue silk. As she stepped out of the airport, the foreign sun burned against her skin. It was not cruel, but unfamiliar, like a stranger that stared too long.
The heat hit her like a wave, a dense wall of air that swallowed her the moment she stepped from the plane. She squinted against the brilliance, the skyline that pierced the heavens. Skyscrapers sparkled with cruel, indifferent beauty, towering sentinels that whispered of wealth and success.
Everywhere she looked, opulence gleamed like the sun, brighter and sharper than she'd ever imagined. She had seen pictures, heard stories, but the reality was a flood that swept away her expectations. Dubai was an open mouth, poised to swallow her whole, and she felt impossibly small.
The airport was a mini of the city, a frantic display of luxury and motion. Crystal found herself swept along in the current of travelers and tourists, each step a small surrender to the city's relentless pace. Everything was gleaming and grand, from the polished floors to the towering ceilings. She marveled at it all, feeling like an intruder in a world she had barely begun to understand.
The city's energy seeped into her, filling the cracks that uncertainty had left. It was a dizzying sensation, like standing at the edge of a cliff and daring to jump. Crystal felt the pull of the unknown calling her forward.
As she moved through the airport, her thoughts danced between the life she'd left and the impending one she was dreading. It was a delicate balancing act, each step a choice between fear and courage.
But she saw the chance that she might drown in the flood of it all, swallowed by the glittering vastness. The stakes were high, and the prospect of failure lurked in the shadows, a quiet specter she refused to let take shape.
Crystal breathed in the new air, heavy with promise and heat.
As she finally stepped outside, the sheer scope of the city stretched before her, a playground of light and stone. The streets beckoned with both cruelty and allure, and Crystal felt the thrilling terror of a life about to begin. She was ready for it, or she would be, even if she had to shape herself anew to meet its demands. Her heart pounded with the wild music of possibility, and she welcomed its beat, letting it carry her forward into the electric embrace of her new world.
Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and she whispered to herself,
"This is not home... but it's where I must become someone else."
The workers' transport van waited at the edge of the terminal, aged and quiet. Inside, the air smelled like a thousand tired souls had passed through. She clutched her small bag to her chest, her fingers wrapped tightly around the fraying handle. In that bag were the remains of a life gone, her father's leather purse, her notebooks from marketing classes, and a photograph of him smiling behind his workshop counter.
The drive to the Al-Fayad Workers' Estate was long and wordless. The factory loomed in the distance like a beast sleeping in steel. She'd read about it in trade journals. Al-Fayad Leatherworks was one of the most profitable divisions of the family's empire. But reading about something was different than living inside its machinery.
The workers' quarters were tucked behind the factory. They were modest but clean. Cream colored walls, twin bunk beds, and fans that creaked like old trees.
She looked around the room trying to take it all in, this was her life now .
The following morning, her shift would begin before the sun rose.
Twelve hours.