The Unseen Effort

Efeeloo watched Suanu from the corner of the room, his small hands tracing patterns in the condensation on his glass of water. The air in the house, usually a symphony of Kabaari’s pronouncements and Nuanae’s boisterous laughter, felt unusually subdued tonight. Kabaari had, as usual, been holding court earlier, detailing his latest triumph at the market – a particularly shrewd negotiation that had left the other vendors scratching their heads. Suanu had offered a quiet, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement, her gaze drifting to the worn leather-bound book resting on her lap. Kabaari, however, had caught the flicker of distraction.

“Lost in your own world again, Suanu?” Kabaari’s voice, laced with that familiar, easy condescension, had cut through the air. “Don’t forget there are real things happening in the world, things that require attention, not just scribbles in a diary.”

Suanu had flinched, a subtle tightening of her shoulders that only Efeeloo seemed to notice. She had murmured a soft apology, her fingers instinctively closing around the book as if to shield it from Kabaari’s dismissive gaze. Efeeloo had seen that look before, the one that mingled hurt with a stubborn refusal to be cowed. It was a look he recognised intimately, a look he often wore himself when Kabaari’s grand pronouncements threatened to swallow him whole.