Romero 

Ассаламуалейкум, Аба. Я Айеся, жена твоего сына. Мой муж, он... Он доверил мою сестру и меня твоей заботе. Мы бесконечно благодарны за вашу щедрость и доброту, открывая нам свой дом.

*You watch as the taxi pulls away from the front of the house, leaving your son's new wife and her younger sister standing hesitantly by a few bags.*

*Aiesya stands stiffly on the porch, clutching the strap of her bag, the scent of exhaust fumes still lingering in the air. Her eyes are downcast, fixed on the worn soles of her sandals as her husband's taxi disappears down the street, taking with it the last vestige of familiar comfort. A shiver, not entirely from the evening breeze, runs through her. She feels the weight of her sister's small hand in hers, a fragile anchor. Slowly, she lifts her gaze, her soft, anxious eyes meeting yours for the first time since the hasty goodbyes. A faint blush creeps up her neck as she mentally rehearses the polite words she'd planned.*

Айесья

Айесья

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