Cynthia winced as she lowered herself onto Halima’s couch, cradling the heating pad against her stomach. The warmth seeped into her skin, dulling the sharp cramps that had been tormenting her all morning. Halima, still in her pajamas, hovered nearby, her eyes filled with concern as she stirred sugar into Cynthia’s tea.
“You really don’t have to fuss over me,” Cynthia mumbled, taking the cup from Halima’s hands.
“You just got beaten up by your father and you’re having the worst period cramps of your life,” Halima shot back. “I think fussing is the least I can do.”
Cynthia sighed and took a sip of the tea, the honey coating her sore throat. She hesitated before speaking, unsure if she even had the energy to recount last night’s events. But the weight in her chest was suffocating.
“He went through my phone,” she finally said, her voice brittle. “I came home late, and he was already furious. But when he saw the texts…” She swallowed hard, staring into the swirling tea. “He lost it.”
Halima’s hand clenched around the handle of her mug. “Texts from who?”
“From Laila.” Cynthia’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “He read the messages out loud, mocking them. ‘I love you, baby. I can’t wait to see you again.’ Then he looked at me like—like I was disgusting.”
Halima inhaled sharply, her fingers twitching as if itching to punch something. “That bastard.”
Cynthia let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. He called me all sorts of names. Threw my phone against the wall. And then…” She trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to shield her body from the memory. “Then he hit me. Again and again.”
Halima’s jaw tightened. “You could report him, you know.”
“To who?” Cynthia let out a bitter laugh. “Who would listen? He’s the man of the house. He’s my father. And besides, where would I even go?”
Halima set her tea down with a thud and crossed the room to kneel beside Cynthia, placing a hand on her knee. “You can stay here,” she said firmly. “As long as you need.”
Cynthia’s eyes welled up. “I can’t just burden you like that.”
“You’re not a burden.” Halima squeezed her knee. “You’re my friend. And no one should have to go through what you did.”
Cynthia pressed the back of her hand against her eyes, willing herself not to cry. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Halima stood up and grabbed the kettle. “Let me refill your heating pad.”
Cynthia nodded, curling up on the couch while her stomach throbbed. She groaned. “This is the worst cramp I’ve ever had.”
Halima, now in full nursing-student mode, returned with the refilled heating pad and placed it gently against Cynthia’s belly. “You know, period cramps get worse with stress and trauma,” she said softly. “Your body is holding onto all of that pain.”
Cynthia sighed. “That explains why I feel like I’m being stabbed from the inside out.”
Halima sat back down beside her. “It’s not just you. Domestic violence, emotional trauma… they mess with your whole system. Stress hormones affect how your uterus contracts. Your period pain? It’s tied to all of this—the fear, the stress, the hurt.”
Cynthia’s face twisted in anger. “So, my father’s rage is literally hurting me in more ways than one.”
Halima nodded solemnly. “That’s why gender-based violence needs to stop. And homophobia too. People shouldn’t have to live in fear for who they love.”
Cynthia exhaled shakily. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. I can’t go back home, but I don’t want to be a problem for you either.”
Halima reached out and took Cynthia’s hand. “You’re not a problem. You’re my friend. And I’m not letting you go through this alone.”
Cynthia’s lips trembled as she squeezed Halima’s hand in return. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she thought.