After noon, the old market grew a little quieter. Some traders remained outside their stalls, while others began closing their boxes. Lina looked at the clock, washed her brushes, and got up.
Sabah was putting clean cups on a shelf. “Are you going to Amal?” she asked. Lina nodded. “Eat something first. Questions don't fill your stomach,” her mother said.
Lina took a piece of bread from her mother. As she ate, she saw Amal's sign against the wall. The paint was dry and the name was clear. She did not touch the sign.
Lina reached Amal's stall and found her weighing tomatoes for an elderly man, who had also bought a bag of onions. He handed her some coins. She counted them and returned a small coin to him. “Keep it,” he said. “It belongs to you,” Amal replied.
The man laughed, took his change, and left with his tomatoes, forgetting the onions on the table. Amal looked at Lina. “I promised to show you a paper, didn't I?” “Yes, but I can wait,” Lina answered.
“Don't wait. Help me with these bags first.” Amal pointed to three bags of onions. Lina lifted one, and Amal said, “Not that one. A customer is coming back for it.”
Lina put the bag back, then carried the other two to the cart. “Vegetables don't get angry when you make a mistake,” Amal said, “but customers do.” Lina smiled.
Amal covered the remaining vegetables with a clean cloth. Then she sat behind her table and took a small bag from underneath it. “I keep my papers and money here,” she said.
She opened the bag slowly and took out two papers. The first was large, with a brown water stain along one edge. The second was smaller and much whiter.
Amal handed Lina the larger sheet. “This is my copy of the paper I received from the traders' office. Read what it says.” Lina laid it on the table so she could see it clearly.
Lina read the line twice. At the bottom she saw Amal's and Khadija's names, with a signature beside each. Water had damaged some letters near the edge, but it had not hidden the names or the number.
“When did this paper get wet?” Lina asked. “During the rainy month. Water came through the roof of my old stall. It soaked the bread—and this paper too,” Amal said.
Lina set the paper back on the table. “It has your name, number Six, and two signatures. That much is clear.” Amal looked at her. “Then why are they saying the door belongs to Hamid?”
Lina did not answer at once. She knew the new list said something different. But she had not seen Hamid's paper, and she did not know who had changed the list or why.
Amal picked up the smaller paper. “And this is a receipt. I paid the association when I got the stall.” Lina examined it. It showed Amal's name, the amount she had paid, and the date.
Amal fell silent for a moment. Then she placed the receipt on top of the larger paper. “I keep them together because I don't want to lose anything,” she said.
A boy passed the stall and called, “Amal! My mother wants to know about cucumbers.” Amal stood and pointed to a nearby box. “Tell her we're out today. There'll be more tomorrow.”
“Does the traders' office have a paper like this one?” Lina asked. “Yes. When we signed, the office kept the original and gave me this copy,” Amal said.
Lina looked at the two papers. She now had more information than yesterday. But one important question remained: had the allocation been changed after the original signing?
“Did you talk to Khadija about another door?” Lina asked. Amal's hand stopped above the paper. “We talked about the new market. We talked about many things.”
Lina felt embarrassed. She did not want to upset Amal. But she also did not want to promise what she couldn't know. “I believe you're telling me what you know,” she said. “And I want to understand what happened.”
“Why didn't you speak in front of the traders?” Amal looked toward the market passage. “I've been here only a year and a half. They've known Khadija for years.”
Then she lowered her voice. “I'm afraid people will say Amal likes causing trouble. I don't want trouble. I want to sell my vegetables in the place they promised me.”
“Would you like me to go to the office with you?” Lina asked. Amal thought for a moment. “Not today. I've got a lot to do, and I don't want to go while I'm angry. But I'm not dropping this.”
Lina accepted her answer. The paper did not need anyone to shout for its words to be read. Still, Lina did not yet know whether another paper had been written afterward.
Amal put the two papers back in her bag. Then she opened it again and looked inside. “Did you forget something?” Lina asked. “No. I'm only checking,” Amal said.
The elderly man returned. He had forgotten the bag of onions he bought earlier. Amal handed it to him. “It's a good thing you remember my things better than I do,” he said.
“If I forgot people's things, I wouldn't have a stall left,” Amal replied. The man laughed and walked away. Lina laughed too, said goodbye to Amal, and returned to her work.
On the way back, Lina saw the old market as she always did: small doors, boxes, and traders' voices. But she now understood that changing a single number could change someone's working life.
At her table, Lina opened her order book. Beneath her notes she wrote: “Amal's paper: Door 6. Her receipt: payment made. The list: Hamid, 6.” She stopped at the last name.
She remembered what Rami had said that morning: “I know what's on the list.” Now she also knew what Amal's paper said. But she still did not know what Hamid had.
She looked at the sign against the wall. The painted letters had not changed. Then she wrote a new line in her notebook: “Ask Hamid what he has.” She left the book open.
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