The storage room was brimming with odd objects and materials. Piles and piles of boxes stacked over each other, filled with old consoles, pieces of clothing, electronics Yahya had no idea of their usage...

It was a mess.

Yahya doubted this room had ever been cleaned.

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. “She agreed so readily to my condition. I should have known you were her unsuspecting victim,” Fadl, Jomaira's father, offered him an apologetic smile.

Yahya often wondered why Jomaira's family acted as if she had bullied him into becoming her friend. He smiled, “I offered her my help.”

Fadl eyed him for a moment, then shrugged.

“Yahya, stop loitering around and come give me a hand,” Jomaira called from where she was eyeing a heavy box filled with books.

Yahya shook his head. Why was she so impatient when he was the one who would do all the heavy lifting?

“Be nice and don't boss him around too much,” Fadl rebuked his daughter, his smile disarming his words from their intended admonishment.

“Sure dad.” She rolled her eyes, then turned to Yahya. “Now come and help me move this.”

“Duty calls.” Yahya gave Fadl a fake salute and followed after Jomaira.

It took them hours to tidy up the place. Jomaira gave instructions, and Yahya moved the boxes to their intended places to be emptied and sorted into two categories, ones to keep, and ones to throw away.

He glanced at the small pile in the middle, the things neither of them knew whether to keep or cast away. Amongst them rested a thoroughly sealed box, the stickers bound tight and covering the whole box. As if its owner wanted to erase its content from existence.

They glanced at each other, at the door, then sat across it to unearth its mystery. Only one item was inside.

An imperial soldier's uniform.

Jomaira had mentioned that her father was in the army. That one day, things had gone too much. He had taken his small family and left. He never spoke of his time in the army, rarely listened to the annual speech made to commemorate the lost soldiers, and even shied away from any contact with his former comrades.

Yahya figured it was hard to face the ones who had stayed behind.

“You think he knew your father?” Jomaira muttered. She rested her head on the wall beside him, her face tilted in his direction to look at him.

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“I don't know, maybe.” He shrugged. “Mom told me father was in the empire's service for more than ten years.”

“I think they might have.” Jomaira nodded.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

The empire was huge and big. It spanned over hundreds of systems. Two lone soldiers could have served the empire their whole lives without their paths intersecting. Not even once.

But Yahya didn't refute her idea. It was nice to think their friendship had first started with their fathers.

“Have you ever visited him?” she asked.

Yahya shook his head. “I've never set foot outside Andor.” He smiled ruefully.

His mother had never agreed to let him leave the planet, even to see his father's grave. Whenever he asked, her face would close off but not before the troubled emotion that would flood her eyes for a second. Eventually, he let the matter drop.

He put a small disk on the floor in front of him and clicked on the inner circle. A small ship model shimmered into existence, an old model ship.

“You finished it?” Jomaira smiled.

Yahya nodded. “Finally. Not sure what to do with it though.” He shrugged. The first time he had shown her the ship, she hadn’t recognized the model. They had looked it up on the holo-net but found no info about it even amongst the ships commissioned for the Great War. Its only existence was within his mother’s hidden safe, in the only picture of his father. It was hard to get it to its likeness, not when he had only his memory to rely on.

He wanted to show it to his mother, but was afraid of her reaction. Would she be angry with him? Or would she be sad, instead?

The other person he wanted to show it to was…

“I want to show it to him.” he mumbled.

“Your father?”

Yahya nodded.

His chances of leaving this dusty mud ball of a planet were quite slim, which was to say none. His wish will remain as is, a simple wish. At least, until he joined the army and became a pilot himself. He would make sure to visit every and each planet his father had laid eyes on.

A comfortable silence reigned in the place, lulling Yahya to a slight doze.

“Would you like to see him?” Jomaira's voice was so quiet, Yahya doubted he dreamt it in his daze.

He turned startled eyes to her. “What?” he whispered, winded. He sat up and faced her.

She hesitated, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. “The closest memorial stone is in Marrakech. We might find more information there.” At his nod, she continued. “There are many tourists this time of the year with the festivities. It would be easy to blend in.”

Yahya swallowed around the lump that formed in his throat. Still, he willed away the feeling of hope that was slowly invading his chest. Things couldn't be that easy. They needed passes, and their parents' permission. They were still teenagers.

“If you want, we can go there,” she said slowly.

“But, what about the passes? I don't own one. and—”

She put her hand up, stopping him. “Who do you take me for?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I might not be as strong as my parents, but I can get us through no problem,” she announced, her eyes glinting with pride.

Right. Yahya had forgotten about her powers.

He smiled at her, allowing the hope to take root inside his chest. “You can do it?”

She nodded, smiling proudly at him. “Of course.”

“But, won't you get in trouble with your parents?” Yahya frowned.

“If they find out.” She grinned conspiratorially.