He looked back.
"You'll be all right," he said.
She shook her head.
"You don't know that."
Imran's face softened.
"No," he admitted. "But I believe it."
Then they were separated.
For the first time in three years, Layan was leaving the mountain without him.
A Father's Impossible Phone Call
Mahmoud was at home when the telephone rang.
It was late afternoon.
He had spent part of the day sorting through old documents related to the missing-person investigation.
The telephone number was unfamiliar.
He almost ignored it.
Then he answered.
"Mr. Mahmoud?"
"Yes."
"This is Officer Kareem. I'm calling about your daughter."
Mahmoud's heart began to race.
Over the years, he had received several calls about possible sightings and unidentified personal belongings.
Each had raised his hopes.
Each had ended in disappointment.
He gripped the phone.
"What about her?"
"We believe we've found Layan."
The room seemed to tilt.
Mahmoud sat down.
"Found what?"
"We've found your daughter. She's alive."
For several seconds, he could not speak.
Then he began shaking his head.
"No."
"Mr. Mahmoudβ"
"No. You need to be sure."
"We have confirmed her identity through the information available to us. She's receiving medical care."
Mahmoud pressed a hand against his chest.
"She's alive?"
"Yes."
"Can she speak?"
"Yes."
"Does she remember me?"
The officer paused.
"She asked about you."
Mahmoud began to cry.
He had imagined this moment thousands of times.
In some versions, Layan appeared at the front door.
In others, a stranger found her in a distant town.
Sometimes he dreamed she simply walked into the kitchen and asked what was for dinner.
But nothing had prepared him for the sound of a real voice saying she was alive.
"Where is she?"
The officer gave him the hospital's location.
Mahmoud left almost immediately.
He barely remembered the drive.
At the hospital, a member of staff guided him through a corridor toward a quiet examination room.
His steps slowed as he approached the door.
He was suddenly afraid.
Afraid that something had been misunderstood.
Afraid that he would open the door and find a stranger.
Afraid that three years of hope would disappear in a single moment.
Then the door opened.
And Layan was there.
She sat on the edge of a hospital bed, wearing a clean sweater someone had given her.
Her hair was shorter than he remembered.
Her face was thinner.
A faint scar crossed one eyebrow.
But her eyes were the same.
"Layan?"
She looked up.
For a moment, she seemed unable to recognize the older man standing in the doorway.
His hair had grown grayer.
The lines around his eyes were deeper.
Three years of grief had changed him.
Then she whispered, "Dad?"
Mahmoud crossed the room.
He wrapped his arms around her.
She remained stiff for one brief moment.
Then her hands rose and clutched the back of his jacket.
He buried his face against her shoulder.
"My daughter. My daughter."
She began trembling.
"I'm sorry."
He pulled back.
"What?"
"I'm sorry I didn't come home."
Mahmoud took her face between his hands.
"Don't say that."
"I promised."
He shook his head.
"You're here now."
"But I promised before sunset."
His expression broke.
He held her again.
For several minutes, neither said anything.
There were too many questions.
Too many missing birthdays.
Too many nights of fear.
For the moment, all that mattered was that she was breathing, speaking, and holding him.
Eventually, Mahmoud stepped back.
He examined her carefully.
"Are you hurt?"
"My leg is sometimes painful."
"Did someone take you?"
She hesitated.
"No."
"Then what happened?"
Layan looked toward the window.
Outside, a tree swayed gently in the wind.
She watched it for a long time.
Then she said, "I fell."
The Day the Mountain Opened Beneath Her
Layan's account began with a detail investigators had never known.
On the morning she disappeared, she had not intended to walk far from the established trail.
She was searching for a rare plant that grew in cool, shaded places, particularly near limestone outcrops.
After walking for almost two hours, she noticed a cluster of vegetation beside a narrow ravine.
The plants looked similar to something she had been studying.
She left the main path to take photographs.
At first, the ground seemed stable.
She climbed across several flat rocks and followed a shallow channel where rainwater had recently flowed.
The vegetation became thicker.
Beyond it, she saw a narrow opening between two walls of stone.
Cool air moved through the gap.
She approached out of curiosity.
Inside, she discovered an area sheltered from direct sunlight.
Small plants grew along the edges of the stone.
She took several photographs, recorded notes, and collected a limited sample for her project.
Then she heard a cracking sound.
At first, she thought a branch had broken.
She turned.
A small stone rolled down the slope behind her.
Then another.
She looked up.
A section of loose rock shifted.
Before she could react, the ground beneath her right foot gave way.
She screamed.
Her backpack struck the wall as she slipped.
She grabbed at a projecting stone, but it broke loose in her hand.
Then she fell through a narrow opening into darkness.
Her body struck a sloping surface.
She rolled, hit another rock, and landed heavily on the ground below.
Pain exploded through her leg.
She tried to move.
Something was terribly wrong.
She reached for her flashlight, but her hands were shaking.
The light revealed a narrow underground chamber littered with broken stones.
Above her was the opening through which she had fallen.
It was much farther away than she had expected.
She tried to stand.
Her injured leg collapsed beneath her.
She screamed again.
No one answered.
For the next several hours, she called for help whenever she had enough strength.
Her voice echoed through the chamber.
Sometimes she thought she heard a reply.
Β