Despite the couch being old and in need of repairs, August thought it retty fortable to sit on. He assumed that because of Lay’s weight, she wouldn’t feel the admittedly annoying springs underh where she was sittio him.

  He was watg the news with her on the old television oable in front of the couch. The Taliban trolled media propagating a message that regur people wouldn’t follow. It was irksome to listen to the advertisement as he waited for the o return on the s.

  “Finally," he said as the news el came back from the ercial break.

  The news anchor speaks in rapid Pashto, reying a blurred photograph of August’s masked visage midway through sughtering a group of armed men. The anchor states that anyone caught harb this woman is to be punished and executed on the spot.

  August snickers as he says, “All of them really think I’m a woman.”

  Lay says from o him, “Why?”

  “Well, I was always told I had my mother’s beauty.”

  “Did… did she teach you how to fight like that?”

  “No. I taught myself.”, he says, looking down at the floor.

  “I… I ’t even imagine doing anything like that. You moved so fast, they were all… k-killed… in the blink of an eye.”

  “... Like you said, I am fast.”

  “Why? Why do you fight? Those men fight because they think that’s what Alh wants. But you…”, she says, turning her head to face August.

  August raises his gaze from the floor to the televisio again, a weather broadcast pying as he says with more force than intended, “There’s certain kinds of people I hate.”

  Lay furrows her brow in fusion and at his blunt statement, her eyes searg his face. “But…” Her voice is barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. “What… What kinds of people?”, she asks, her words hesitant and halting. “Are they… Are they like the men who… who attacked us?” Her small hands ch together tightly, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip.

  “...Yes.”, August replies simply.

  Lay asks, “But… but why? What did they do to you?” Her words spill out, almost at a rush.

  August looks away to his right, a grim expression on his face. He turns his gaze towards the wall, the darkness refleg the turmoil inside him. The muscles in his jaw tense as he struggles to find the right words, the memories of the past threatening to overwhelm him. Lay’s question hangs in the air, heavy and full of anticipation.

  “I lost my mother to people like them.” The answer es from August’s mouth after twenty-two seds of silence.

  Lay’s breath hitches, her eyes filling with tears at his words, the memory of hearing her mother’s screams followed by gunfire rings fresh in her mind. “Your mother… you… you tell me about her? What was she like?” Lay asks, her voice thick with emotio gentle and passionate. She looks up at August, her eyes filled with sincere curiosity and a desire to ect, to uand his pain.

  “Strong. Stubbor fair. Affeate. Nagging.”, he says, chug at the st descriptor, the er of his mouth tugging up in a small smile. “She was the kind of person who would do anything for those she cared about.” his voice filled with a mix of fondness and sorrow. “She was a fighter, in her own way. Not with swords or fists like me, but with words, with love, with resilience. Don’t get me wrong, she would hack off limbs if she was forced too.”

  Lay listens ily, her eyes wide with fasation as he speaks of his mother. A small, mencholic smile pys at the ers of her mouth. “She sounds…she sounds wonderful. I wish mine was…”Lay says, her voice trailing off, a wistful expression crossing her face. She shakes her, as if trying to dispel the thought. “Tell me more about your family, please.” Lay ences, her voice soft and inviting.

  “I never knew my father. I was raised by my mother alohe rest of the family wanted little to do with us. I didn't care that much either way. All I needed was my mother.”

  Lay’s eyes widened in surprise at the revetion. “You never knew your father?”, she asks, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. “And your family… they wanted nothing to do with your mother?” She shakes her head slowly, a look of disbelief on her face. “That’s… that’s terrible.” she says, her words heavy with emotion. “Family should be together, no matter what.”

  “Family is what you choose, not what you are told.”

  “I see… Your mother was your family. She was everything for you.”, Lay says after a few seds of thought. “You’re… not from here.”, she says as a statement instead of a question.

  “Yeah. Ameri.”, August firms softly.

  “Why did you leave?”

  August ighe question as he turns his attention back to the television. The news anchor, a stern-looking man with pierg eyes, is mid-sentence, “...and the mysterious individual, believed to be a woman, is still at rge.”

  August scoffs and remarks sarcastically, “Well if I was a woman, I would have strangely ft breasts, you think? Worst running gag ever.”

  Lay turns back to August from the news, a hint of a smile on her face. “I think it’s funny.”

  “Oh, not you too.” August sighs in acceptance. A few minutes pass by with sileaking pre the room.

  Lay asks, disturbing the calm silence, “Are we safe here?”

  “...You remember what happened earlier outside?”, August asks in response.

  Lay nods grimly, remembering the se from a few ho. The bodies and screaming of their would-be assaints running fresh in her mind once more. Her view of August, the fusing whirlwind of death that had saved her, standing calm atop the bloody dirt and sand.

  August says after he gets his firmation, his tone practically eg with dark humor, “Then I pity the fool who breaks in here and thinks we are easy targets.”

  Lay nods dumbly. Logically she should be forted by the statement. She should. Instead, it was a remihat no matter how the man who saved her acted, he was still the casg tsunami of destru that could both figuratively and literally run through his oppos.