I finally came face to face with Amjad. My new surrogate sister. No words exhanged. She hadn't learned English yet. And I sure as hell hadn't learned Arabic.
But we'd been told about each other. The affinity we had for one another peeked out from behind our scars. Hers at the hands of militant husbands in Raqqa. Mine at the hands of my own father.
Before we could share a laugh together, we'd enjoy a good cry. Without warning, she collapsed into my arms, sobbing. I held her. Though she couldn't understand me, I whispered I'll never let you go.