Finding His Voice

Karim’s heart thumped like a hummingbird’s wings against his ribs. The classroom buzzed with the low hum of chatter, a sound that used to be so familiar, so comforting, but now felt like a distant echo. He sat at a small table, Lily beside him, her bright, curious eyes fixed on his face. A few other children, faces he was slowly beginning to recognise, leaned in, their own curiosity a gentle tide pulling them closer.

Mr. Davies had asked Karim to tell them something about Afghanistan, about his home. The words felt heavy on his tongue, like smooth, grey pebbles he’d collected from a riverbed. He’d practiced them in his mind, turning them over and over, trying to make them fit.

“There,” he began, his voice a thin thread of sound, barely audible above the room’s murmur. He cleared his throat, the sound rough. Lily offered him a small, encouraging smile. “There is… a mountain. Very big. It touches the sky.” He gestured upwards with his hand, his fingers tracing an imaginary peak against the pale blue of the classroom ceiling.