"Hey, Silver."
Thats what her father used to call her. Silver. Because of her hair.
Afena was little. Twelve years old, maybe, which meant she had to look up at him. It was his eyes that she remembered the best. Light brown, just like hers. She'd never seen anything in them except gladness, joy, gentleness, and sweetness.
As time went on, she wondered if that was only because they never shared much time together, and her father was so glad to see her that nothing could have ever spoiled his humor. It must have been. No one was as happy as her father always seemed to be. She was sure of that.
Rather than be disappointed that her father was, probably, never as perfect as she wanted to believe, Afena preferred to think that he was not the sweetest man to live. Instead, she cherished that she always made him smile despite everything. The thought that she brought joy to at least one person throughout her life was the most comforting Afena ever had.