A/N:
thank you so much for all the love you beautiful moon-faced readers give to this story, i cannot truly express how thankful i am. here's an 8.5k word chapter as gratitude. also please note that i had previously extended the number of chapters of this book because i realized i needed to tie in some things more. so now, only 4 more chapters are left before this book ends!

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"WE ARE TO HEAD OFF BEFORE THE SUN SETS TONIGHT, SAYIDATI," AHUD spoke, his head bowed towards her and one of his hands resting on the silver hilt of his dagger poking out of the scabbard at his waist belt.

His usually somber yet firm voice was tinged with a certain elation that stemmed with the weight of his duty. She could tell that he was trying to contain himself, his excitement and composure at war. Beside him stood his cousin Yunis, the latter's head also slightly bowed, but he stood a step back from Ahud, as if willfully letting Ahud do all the talking. Which was how Yunis preferred things to be, Ruba had learned.

Four full days had passed since she had last spoken to the Sultan of Al-Fāw—the man she had loved in her past life, and the man who wanted now to make her his wife. Four full days since she had spoken to him in the courtyard alone for the first time—at least, in her present recollection. He had cleared so many things in her mind, he had unwinded and untangled so many stray rebellious questions and thoughts as though all her confusion was merely a thick stream of river that needed proper direction into tributaries. He had laid himself bare, as much as she could fathom, and had left her in a state of hesitance with her heart pounding in her ears.

Since then he hadn't come by the house. The tahararat min alkhatiya had come, apologized for his behavior and thanked her profusely because Burhan Abelhamid had let Aladdin go upon her insistence. Then the former genie—Bahjat, as he wanted to be called—had grown much fond of paying her visits everyday, and telling her all that the Sultan of Al-Fāw was up to and why he wasn't coming. He had even introduced Rubaiyah to the fascinating and demure Kiah, a beautiful being of magic in the form of a carpet.

Truth be told, Rubaiyah had wanted to speak to Burhan again. His presence alone stunned her and made her aware of the wind itself touching her skin. He had made her feel.. entranced, with his passionate words. So much so that it left her breathless whenever she thought of it. Was this the passion that poets wrote about? All of the poetry she devoured and memorized from Akbar's scrolls, were all those poets just as passionate as Burhan? Or had they merely copied his passion? Or was Rubaiyah entirely unaware and every man was just as passionate?

Was Ferhat the same way towards Ghaliyah? Did he entrance her the same way? Did his words make Ghaliyah just as weak as Burhan's had made Rubaiyah?

"He has come to an arrangement at a place," Bahjat had told Ruba on one of his visits. "A two storey house with a small courtyard just a street away from Khairunnisa's. So that he can visit you frequently. He wanted something on this street so he could be right next door but he found nothing. Besides, the man who sold Burhan the house, it is his house and he had mortgaged it. Poor man, all his family is dead and he is completely attached to the house. He was all too grateful that Burhan bought the mortgage and gave the man his house back, only in exchange for free room and board for himself and Ghazi."

Rubaiyah had thought that so admirable, and an ache of guilt had struck at her heart. She did not know what she thought of Burhan staying in Thāj in hopes of making her remember. She had no strong opinions on his decision. He was a Sultan, he could do whatever he liked. But there was something about him that filled her. She often felt as though she was a fish eating bland food daily, but Burhan—his name being spoken, his presence, his voice, his words, his past connection to her—all of it added something inside her diet. As though her fish food had suddenly become sparkling and glowing—almost magical both in taste and sight.

"Burhan will be sending Ahud and Yunis to Al-Fāw to oversee the throne and handle the affairs there, until he comes back."

Bahjat had been tactful in not saying anything that might cause Ruba distress, and so he had never mentioned her going with Burhan in the future or anything of that sort. Rubaiyah had made her intention of staying in Thāj clear, and as long as The Sultan of Al-Fāw too was staying, Bahjat had seen no need to comment on the matter.

Ruba had wondered when Ahud and Yunis would leave, for the thought of them leaving her had struck her like a blow. They were the only two figures from her past—the only two people in her life, it seemed—that did not pressure her to remember. They spoke to her with civility always, and gave her considerate respect. She had grown fond of them both, as though they were the younger brothers that she never had.

And now, the two of them had paid a visit to her, to announce their departure to Al-Fāw, taking her only slightly by surprise as she sat in her chambers reading poetry from Akbar's scrolls to Kiah, with the creature settled neatly beside her on the cushioned floor and listening intently.

"Will you be coming back?" Ruba asked, before biting the inside of her cheek at her question.

Why would they come back? They did not live in Thāj! They were merely isolated by their guilt in failing orders given by their rayis, but now they were back in Burhan's good will were they not? They were going to carry out his orders and join their brethren. Of course they won't come back.

"Not unless the rayis asks us to," Ahud affirmed. "But I look forward to seeing you again, sayidati, we remain in your service when you come to Al-Fāw with the rayis."

Rubaiyah hadn't the heart to tell Ahud and Yunis any of her own intentions of staying. If they had heard from their Sultan or Bahjat, then she didn't know. All she knew was that they had been anxious and desperate to get her to Qaryat Al-Fāw, and now seemed relieved that they were back in their rayis' good graces and that he had taken the task upon himself.

"Have a safe journey, Ahud," Ruba managed a smile, though inside she felt as though she would break. "Yunis," She smiled at him too.

Having both of them for dinners and visits at the house had felt like a safe haven. She often felt displaced in Khairunnisa's bustling family. She felt left out often times at the memories they shared, but having Ahud and Yunis at the house sharing food and meals had felt like having someone in your corner. It had felt like having a family of your own in a way. Now she knew people who Khairunnisa and her family did not. Now she was the one to make introductions.

But that hadn't lasted long. Ahud and Yunis were soldiers bound by loyalty and love towards Burhan—a ruler and rayis who was far from being the cruel tyrant Rubaiyah had imagined him to be. He had the heart of a saint and the mind to fight for justice. He was brave, strong and so true, and Ahud and Yunis considered themselves bound by duty and heaven to stay loyal to him. Ruba could understand that.

Both Ahud and Yunis nodded to her, then after speaking a final farewell—a farewell they thought was only temporary in regards to her due return to Al-Fāw—they exited her chamber and their footsteps could be heard receding in the courtyard corridor.

Ruba had held her breath as they had left, feeling as though she was parting with a comfort she did not want to give up—a comfort that was now leaving her for good. She spun around and exhaled, her eyes landing on Kiah's fluttering form as the being inched up from beside the spot she had taken on the ground and amongst the scrolls, right beside the gilded empty floor cushion that Ruba had abandoned in order to speak to Ahud and Yunis on her feet.

"I'm fine," She managed a hesitant smile. Having spent two and a half days getting to know Kiah, Rubaiyah knew how sensitive the creature was to any changes in her demeanor.

The tahararat min alkhatiya had guided Ruba on how to converse with the creature, and how to understand her movements and gestures, which were all an exotic language of their own. Ruba's fondness for Kiah had immediately taken a leap when Bahjat had said that the creature was the one accompanying Rubaiyah on the trade route. Kiah and Ruba had made the journey together. They had left Burhan Abelhamid's guild together, traipsed over the lands and expanse of desert that lay before their arrival upon the trade route where Ruba had met Basma Abood and later met her own tragic accident. Rubaiyah now knew that Kiah had been the one Basma had referred to in the governor of Hegra's palace when she had smilingly corrected Ruba and claimed that the girl hadn't been alone upon that trade route, and she would soon find out who her companion had been.

Though recognition was still a creature so alien to her, Rubaiyah had believed and accepted all of the facts of her past that she was being provided with. Everything she was being told by different people was aligning, and she had registered it all into her mind as something that had happened to her. But still there was a detachment, as though her life was but a two act play wherein she was in the second act, and the intermission after the first act had been so lengthy and unnecessarily long that she had grown much too tired to pay heed to anything that had happened.

Not remembering had been a feat distinct from every other emotion she had felt for a while, but now it was beginning to equate to not caring. She now knew all the facts of her past life—although perhaps not the very personal ones that she had once shared only with herself—yet still she felt as though they were all separate from her, fragments of a story she no longer resonated with.

"Really, I'm fine," Ruba tried again, ushering herself over to her floor cushion and gathering her long silken skirts to a side so that she could sit down.

"I'm just a little bit shaken, I think," She spoke to Kiah, "Ahud and Yunis—Ahud, especially. I had grown very fond of him."

"He was—is—the first person in my life to not force me to remember anything. I had begun to dread even speaking when I met him. Conversations at the house always started and ended with the family asking and prodding if I had remembered. Akbar too was impatient with me but steadfast. All of Khairunnisa's guests—I was but an exotic toy for them. They would ask me at every turn and would gape at me like I was not human. They would speak about me as if I was not in the room at all. But Ahud merely just—"

Ruba smiled, shaking her head. "He approached me at the marketplace and calmly told me everything I thought I was ready to hear. He was patient when I told him I didn't remember. He did not gape at me as though I should be put in a gilded cage and be studied by Islamic scholars and physicians. He was respectful and kind."

Kiah sympathized, her body fluttering and her golden tassels moving. Ruba laughed.

"Of course, dear Kiah, you too don't judge me or prod. You too are my favorite."

Kiah bristled, excitedly gesturing, and Ruba's smile faded slowly.

"I think Kiah, if there were ever two reasons I would want to go back to my past life, it would be for you and Ahud. Ahud I hadn't met back then, but still could meet. And you? I would love to remember the moments we spent together and what I felt. I would love to give pictures and feelings to the tales you have told me."

Thinking of those tales, Ruba went quiet. The most prevalent in her mind was the tale of the happenings in the Lion Tomb of Dadan—the happenings that Kiah had told her about. The tale of the incestuous family of Dadan and their young boy Mundir Zumurrud Dadan. Kiah had said that Ruba herself had told the being those tales, yet now Rubaiyah was hearing them being told by Kiah. A rather complicated and strange flip of a coin that had separated and switched the places of the storyteller and the hearer.

Kiah had told her how the wraith of the young nineteen year old boy had helped them both—but primarily Ruba, though Kiah refused to divulge the details of the trouble the girl alone had been in—when they had been pounced upon by desert thieves.

The wraith had done it for Burhan Abelhamid. He had confessed that to Ruba—to Dilruba—when he had saved her. Kiah had heard it all. The wraith had said that he owed a favor to his big brother, and when Dilruba had asked who, the boy had spoken Burhan's name.

"But he—," Rubaiyah had broken off when Kiah had been recounting this tale to her for the first time yesterday, her voice hesitant and heart constricted. Again that feeling of hearing the life of a girl named Dilruba Badawi, who seemed and felt like another person entirely.

"But does Burhan know? Does he know that we were saved because of him?"

"No," She had halted herself. "How could he know? We never spoke to him again, did we? You say that you do not talk to him, and Bahjat did not say any such thing to him on your behalf. And I.. I only just spoke to him that day in the Khairunnisa Sayida's courtyard. He couldn't know this, could he?"

"But what could he have possibly done for a.. for a wraith?" She had speculated, fear in her voice. "Tell me Kiah, what could a man like that—a usurper, a Sultan, with a past of killing and fighting and rebelling for justice against the rule of another Sultan—what could he have possibly done to save a wraith? A boy already dead and gone for centuries?"

"I wish..," She had glanced at the window in her room yesterday. "I wish I could ask him. The Sultan, I mean."

To this, Kiah bristled.

"Yes, I know I have to speak to him," Rubaiyah had swallowed. "But am I free to talk to him like that? To discuss my past? I just—I feel trapped. It's like someone has poured egg shells on the ground I walk on, and I have to be careful not to crush a single one. That day in the courtyard, he answered so many questions I did not even know I had. He told me of his past—Allah, Kiah, in a minute he had made me see him in a new light. He isn't cruel, he never has been. I mistook everything—my past self, she mistook everything."

"But was it completely my fault?" Ruba had looked at Kiah. "What woman stays with a man when he wouldn't be open and honest with her? He scared me, I believe. His willful talk of the mushaewadh and his usurpation. He scared me away. And he apologized for it too, Kiah. In the courtyard, he apologized for it all."

Rubaiyah snapped herself out of the conversation she had had with Kiah yesterday and brought herself to the present. It was almost evening, and tonight was the celebratory night.

The noble house of the Ghatafani was preparing for a night wrapped in silk and shadow—the Nikah of Lady Ghaliyah, daughter of Emir Khaleel Ghatafani, to Ferhat Ghatafani, the adopted son of Emir Khaleel Ghatafani.

From her chamber window, Ruba realized that the sun had long dipped, leaving the sky an indigo canvas brushed with the glow of a crescent moon—slim as a scimitar. Stars were blooming like pearls in the heavens, and the air grew fragrant with myrrh and blooming night jasmine.

The courtyard, usually austere with age-old marble and shadowed columns, was being transformed under the hands of tireless servants and golden-hearted matrons. Ahud and Yunis had missed much of the decorations, for upon their visit to Rubaiyah, much of it was undone. Silk draperies in shades of saffron, rose, and deep emerald fluttered from the arches like desert banners welcoming caravans. Ornate lanterns—brass-bellied and filigreed—were being hung from date palms and olive trees, casting latticework shadows across the mosaic-tiled floors. Their light was not ordinary light, but amber magic—flickering gently, as if shy to witness such sacred joy.

For a shocked moment Rubaiyah felt struck with the bustle and beauty of it all. Today was the Nikah ceremony—the official marriage contract signing. Of course she had known that. But since the past four days she hadn't truly been involved in any preparation. Ghaliyah had not really spoken to Ruba after they had gone shopping that day and came home to the Sultan of Al-Fāw at their gates. Khairunnisa Sayida too had only fully conversed with Ruba four days ago in the courtyard before The Sultan of Al-Fāw was to come for his first private audience with Rubaiyah. Ruba hadn't seen Ferhat and Sermet at all because the brothers were busy getting things and preparing invitations for the wedding. And Akbar? Poor dwarf was being thrown this way and that with all the errands he had in his lap, so much so that he could not take a single break to speak to Rubaiyah—let alone tend to her as carefully as he used to.

Ruba had felt dismayed, left out. It was as though the family had all collectively decided—perhaps privately—that this was a family celebration, and Rubaiyah need only be present as a guest. Which was strangely cutting, though she could understand it. But hadn't Khairunnisa Sayida often referred to her as her own daughter? Why was she suddenly not being included? Had she behaved a certain way? Had she displeased any of them?

Rubaiyah couldn't say. All she knew was that Khairunnisa Sayida had sent her a beautiful dress and jewelry for tonight—luxurious pieces that she had picked out herself from the marketplace yesterday—and Ruba was to don them and attend the Nikah celebrations that were to start in about an hour precisely. The marriage contract signing would take place in about two hours once the cleric arrived.

Ruba had spent the entire day with Kiah, speaking to her and reading poetry to her. She had also shared many things she had learned from Akbar, and she had spoken for hours on end about her feelings. Ahud and Yunis had been a sweeping momentary distraction—as though two mighty eagles being spotted in a barren sky with no birds and then disappearing. But aside from their visit, Rubaiyah and Kiah had spent the whole day away. Kiah was a beautiful listener, and she was so thoughtful. She had little things of her own to tell, but could listen to Rubaiyah for hours on end. Ruba had started to love the creature, an invisible string wound itself tight around her heart that extended to Kiah's own chest, forever binding the two together in sacred friendship and love.

Chiding herself and speaking of the time, Rubaiyah hurriedly dressed herself. She had taken a bath first thing after sunrise, as Akbar had rushed in to wake her up and tell her that he had used the little spare moment he had gotten to prepare a warm bath for her. He couldn't stay to help her wash, like he always did, rubbing her skin with perfumed soap and oils and massaging her head and shoulders with his thick gentle hands. So Ruba had bathed herself adequately. And now, she was dressing herself with him too.

It wasn't that she was finding these tasks hard, for her hands were efficient and she found that she managed everything perfectly well, it was just that she missed Akbar's presence and his helping hand.

No other servant in the household could be spared for her, not with the Nikah tonight. Ruba knew that, so she forced herself to diligently tend to her own needs, imagining her hands as Akbar's—imagining his efficiency and care.

The dress Khaurunnisa Sayida had sent for her was a masterpiece—an opulent creation that shimmered like moonlight over still water. She looked at herself in the tall looking glass, twisting every which way to admire the dress. It clung to her form with graceful precision, flowing down from her shoulders like liquid starlight. The fabric itself seemed enchanted, woven from fine silk and delicate threads of gold and silver, catching the faintest light and scattering it in a thousand glimmers. Every movement sent ripples of sparkle across its surface, as though the stars themselves had fallen into its folds.

The bodice was intricately embroidered with patterns reminiscent of ancient Arabian motifs—crescent moons, desert blooms, and flowing calligraphy—all stitched in thread that gleamed like sunlight on polished metal. Around her waist, a fine golden belt accentuated her silhouette, drawing the eye with its delicate filigree and tiny gemstones embedded like dewdrops. The skirt billowed with soft elegance, trailing behind her like a whisper of wind through the dunes, edged in crystal-beaded fringe that sparkled with every step.

Kiah fluttered around Rubaiyah, shocked and excited. Her fabric body caused ripples in the air as she darted about Ruba's form, as though a butterfly over an enchanting flower.

"Thank you, Kiah," Rubaiyah blushed at the creature's praises. "You are so kind, my sweet."

Ruba sat down to do her hair, with Kiah helping her to gather her skirts as she sat on the floor cushion at the foot of the looking glass. Kiah moved and fluttered.

"Really? Do you want to do my hair?" Rubaiyah asked, surprised. "Do you know how to?"

Kiah made a gesture of brushing dust from her shoulders, her tassel proud, her rectangular form erect in the air with capability.

Ruba laughed softly. "Where did you learn then? Are there many wedding parties happening in the Cave of Wonders in Jerash?"

Rubaiyah remembered showing some surprise when Bahjat had mentioned that Kiah was from the Cave of Wonders, but Ruba hadn't questioned more. Basma Abood too had once found herself in the Cave, and the thought that the woman had—as a little girl—found herself accidentally at a place where Kiah was from, was a comfort. Basma Abood had gotten a gift there, a gift that had blessed her with heaven after death. Kiah too was a beautiful gift for Rubaiyah—a true friend and confidant.

Kiah began working on the emerald-eyed girl's hair then and often she would abandon it halfway to rummage around in the cupboard drawers for hair combs, hair oils and pins and anything else she could use, then she would hurry back.

But soon, Kiah was done. Ruba could not help but be stricken when she looked at herself properly in the looking glass then, after Kiah stepped away—as though a proud stylist giving a wide berth to her work so that it could be admired for itself.

Rubaiyah's hair—oh, her hair was now art in itself. Thick and black as obsidian, it fell in a perfect, glossy cascade down her back. Kiah had styled it with care: the top was gently twisted and pinned with jeweled clasps shaped like desert lilies, allowing soft waves to tumble freely below. A few delicate strands were left to frame Ruba's face, catching the light with every subtle turn of her head.

Together, the shimmering dress and her beautifully styled hair made her not just elegant, but otherworldly—like a vision from legend, walking between the past and eternity.

Rubaiyah thanked Kiah profusely, and then stood up to walk over to the jewelry pieces she was to wear—another courtesy of Khairunnisa Sayida's.

Ruba donned the jewelry carefully in front of the looking glass, as Kiah visibly swooned, floating down to the ground stomach first gently and in a daze. Once on the floor, she put two of her tassels under where her chin could be and her other two tassels rose up at the back as she swung them like they were her legs, continuing to admire Rubaiyah's form in the glass.

Around her neck, Ruba now wore a delicate necklace—ancient in style, yet eternal in beauty. It draped down her collarbone in fine gold filigree, with a single tear-shaped emerald resting above her heart. Matching earrings caught the light, tiny sunbursts that flickered as she turned. Bangles in gold and ivory circled her wrists, their faint clinking adding to the symphony of her presence.

"Kiah," Rubaiyah sighed then, glancing at the being. "Do you think.. he will come?"

The Sultan of Al-Fāw too was invited to the ceremony, and so was Bahjat. Khairunnisa Sayida and Ferhat had seen it fit to extend the invitation, and Bahjat had said that if Burhan attended, he would do so only to see her.

"He would be in a disguise though," Bahjat had shrugged. "It should be maintained that the new Sultan of Al-Fāw is at his throne in the Qaryat. Not in Thāj attending wedding ceremonies and buying off the needy's mortgages."

Kiah fluttered now.

"No, I just—," Ruba shook her head. "I want to speak to him. He said he would—Bahjat, said that he got a place to live in. Then why hasn't he come to see me for four days now? He only came once."

Kiah made a cheeky gesture and Ruba blushed.

"Kiah, I merely wonder. He said he wouldn't give up on me. I know I gave him my decision that day in the courtyard, that I wouldn't leave Thāj. But he said he would—"

Rubaiyah's eyes met Kiah and the being's gestures made her gasp.

"Kiah! You are impossible!" Ruba laughed, before her laugh softened and she glanced into her own eyes in the glass. "I just wonder if his love for me was—is—as deep as he claimed. He said he wanted to make me his wife, but he didn't come to see me again? Surely no love is like that?"

"Or is it just this Nikah?" Rubaiyah looked at Kiah. "Is the prospect of Ghaliyah and Ferhat's marriage making me lose my grip, do you think? Because my decision is still the same. I do not want to leave Thāj. I want to stay here. But I had hoped that someone who claims to love me would have made more of an effort to see me when I'm.. right here."

"I know he came all the way from the Qaryat Al-Fāw for me," She shook her head. "And he must be so disappointed. He must not want to see me again. That is understandable—it is within his rights—but I just—"

Ruba exhaled. "Leave it, my sweet Kiah. I don't know what I'm saying."

"But come, sweet, we shall make our appearance. We shouldn't be late."

Rubaiyah exited her chambers with Kiah at her side—the creature fluttering in the air and moving swiftly—as Ruba guided the way to the bridal chamber. It was only right that she join the bride and see to her needs, before positioning herself amongst the guests. The Ghatafani family had housed Ruba, the least Rubaiyah could do was help with the trivial little tasks of the day itself. She would carry the trails of Ghaliyah's gown whenever needed, and be by the bride's side like a buzzing bee until dismissed.

Inside the estate, making her way past rushing servants and maids, as Ruba entered the harem hall for the women, the women—some guests, some common folk, some noble women—dressed in silks the color of twilight and henna sang songs older than the walls of the estate themselves—haunting, melodious, embroidered with longing. Their voices, threaded with oud and tambourine, seemed to awaken the evening air making everything breathe again. Young girls giggled as they traced henna vines along each other's wrists, their fingers stained with ochre and joy.

They turned heads as they watched Rubaiyah and Kiah glide past, some of their songs breaking midway as they turned to each other to whisper and point. Partly, they were intrigued by the magical Kiah, and partly they were intrigued by Rubaiyah herself. By now, in Thāj, amongst the acquaintances of Khairunnisa Sayida, everybody knew that the noblewoman had taken in a beautiful orphan woman with an unknown past, and rumors had circulated causing much fascination and intrigue. Kiah's presence however, was only now becoming known amongst these guests, but the Ghatafani household itself had become accustomed to Kiah's presence at Ruba's side for the past three days now.

There were hushed gasps of awe and shock in equal measure at every turn before Rubaiyah made her way through the open doors of the bridal chamber.

In the grand chamber of the bride, perfumed incense smoked upward from a silver mabkhara. Ghaliyah, veiled in crimson-threaded ivory, sat like a premonition from a forgotten legend. Her eyes, kohl-lined and wide with awe, reflected the room's dancing candlelight. Her dress shimmered when she breathed. Extravagant jewels from Khairunnisa Sayida's dowry clinked softly with her every movement—sapphires, pearls, and an amulet of lapis lazuli said to protect love from envy.

Ghaliyah was a plain woman by features, her face and form inspired by no fairytale or beauty, but at present it felt as though every jewel she wore and the threads that made her dress had conspired with each other to elevate her looks for this night of all nights.

Khairunnisa Sayida too was present in the bridal chamber, fawning over Ghaliyah. When Rubaiyah entered, the noblewoman's beady eyes sparkled and glowed. She exhaled and gushed over Rubaiyah's beauty, and how mesmerizing she looked. The noblewoman looked back at Ghaliyah and then at Ruba again, holding her hand to her heart and speaking in a faint breath of the beauty and heart of both her daughters. Ruba managed a smile, though she knew that she was not truly a daughter to the great noblewoman, and would never really be. Ghaliyah however appeared.. disgusted, almost. Her facial expression had suddenly twisted, as though she no longer liked her mother to be making remarks of that sort, and by making one at her wedding day her mother had crossed a line.

"Please, mother, Rubaiyah is a Sultan's woman," Ghaliyah raised a brow at Ruba, her first proper words to the girl in five days since they had gone shopping together. "This whole celebration is not even worthy of her attendance, isn't it, Dilruba?"

Ruba blinked, holding onto her composure. She remembered how displeased Ghaliyah was when Rubaiyah had found herself at this estate for the first time—battered and patched up—and had admitted to losing her memory. Ghaliyah had suspected that Ruba was not a respectable woman, and now even with Ruba's past known, and with the Sultan's presence, Ghaliyah's distaste had intensified.

Khairunnisa Sayida hushed Ghaliyah, uttering so strong words to dispel her daughter's remarks—for it was her only daughter's wedding day, was it not?

"A Sultan's women are many, Dilruba," Ghaliyah continued, leering. "I understand if you envy me, a man like Ferhat wants only one woman. So you need not hold your nose high in front of us. We are much better off and at peace than you shall ever be."

Rubaiyah's hands fisted at her sides as she inhaled a deep breath and held on desperately to her composure. Kiah bristled and fumed, but did not leave Rubaiyah's side because Ruba's eyes were on her.

"No, Kiah, stay. Please," She whispered. Not wanting the being to cause a scene.

Then she looked upon Ghaliyah.

"I do envy you, Ghaliyah. Ferhat is a very good man and you must've done something good to deserve him. As for my own peace, fate must too have written something aligned with what I deserve. I haven't ever held my nose high in front of anyone, and so I shall trust fate with what it deals me, for I know it will be good to me."

Ghaliyah scoffed, snatching her right hand away from a frail woman who had been applying henna onto the bride's palm.

"Oh please," The bride let out. "Drop the angel act, Dilruba. Stop pretending like you are a victim. Were you having fun all the while you lounged around in my family home, being a Sultan's woman and pretending not to be wiser? You probably enjoyed mocking us. Everything we had to offer was beneath you, was it not?"

Rubaiyah blinked, angry. Ghaliyah was perhaps under the impression that Ruba was beginning to remember things now—or that she probably already remembered a long time ago and kept it all to herself pettily. But being told was not the same as remembering.

"I will not explain anything to you, Ghaliyah," Ruba exhaled. "Since you made up your mind against me a long time ago."

"Who do you think you are!" The bride got up then, her voice accusing and loud.

"Are you so ungrateful to everything we have done for you? You turn my mother's head and take advantage of her time, you turn my brother Sermet's head and pay him no heed, and you selfishly keep Ferhat obligated to be responsible for you! Who do you think you are, to demand so much of us all when you haven't done anything for us in return?"

Rubaiyah's eyes stung and she faltered. "What? N-No, I'm not ungrateful—I have—I have expressed my gratitude so many times, there is truly nothing that I can do to ever repay—"

"Rubaiyah," Khairunnisa Sayida uttered hastily then, shame in her voice as she cut the girl off. She stood up and took Ghaliyah's hand and caressed it whilst speaking to Ruba.

"My dear, why don't you go join the guests? The Imam will be here in an hour, there are drinks and refreshments being served. I shall bring out Ghaliyah with the aid of these girls for the signing. You go and enjoy yourself dear."

Rubaiyah glanced at the girls to whom Khairunnisa Sayida had gestured, and saw an array of similarly faced veiled young women in colorful gowns seated along the room. Embarrassment pooled inside Ruba that they had all heard and witnessed the scene. Bahjat had told Rubaiyah that no one in Thāj should find out that The Sultan of Al-Fāw was in the city, and as such, Ghaliyah had not been tactful mentioning a "Sultan" in her speech. Regardless, Ruba doubted these wide-eyed young girls in the room would make anything off of which Sultan Ghaliyah had meant.

"Come, Kiah," Rubaiyah whispered, and she turned and headed out of the room, her heart constricting in her chest.

Her eyes were stinging and she bit the inside of her cheek in order to not cry. What was happening? Was she not accepted in this household anymore? Ghaliyah had always been sour with her, but Khairunnisa Sayida had never encouraged it. Would the woman bear Ghaliyah's words and share her opinions now that the girl was getting married? Do mothers become like that? Do they fall upon the same plane as their daughters once they marry?

Ruba wouldn't know, she had no mother.

Outside, in the courtyard, men and women gathered in the majlis, seated upon cushions embroidered with Zari threads, smoking sweet apple shisha and sipping thick qahwa from tiny, handleless cups. A male poet recited verses by a candlelight, his words echoing with devotion and wonder. Somewhere, just beyond the walls, a peacock cried into the night — a sound like the soul calling out for union.

Rubaiyah stood in the far back with Kiah at her side, and listened to the poetry, her heart slowly calming itself inside her chest. Kiah too was calm, both of them no longer pained—although still affected—by Ghaliyah's stinging words and Khairunnisa Sayida's dismissal. Kiah shared Rubaiyah's feelings as though it was she who was also spoken against, and Ruba loved the creature dearly for her empathy.

Rubaiyah and Kiah's forms were encased in a darkness where fire lights did not reach them, the scent of sweet dates in their senses as a breeze wafted through the date trees towering above them and sheltering them. Beside Ruba was the thick trunk of one tree, offering her support as she gently tilted her head and rested it against the sturdy bark, poetry still soothing in her ears.

When the cleric—Imam—finally arrived, his voice rang clear through the perfumed darkness, solemn and serene. Housing a large white turban atop his head and his silver beard almost trailing the ground in front of him, he spoke to the gathered people of virtue and goodness, highlighting the importance of marriage unions and love and purity. The Nikah was to be recited beneath a canopy of white linen, beneath the moon that now stood directly above, as if in attendance. The canopy was now being arranged behind the Imam's form—the latter busy giving his decided thoughts into a lecture format for guests who were attending merely to eat and enjoy themselves under a glorious night sky.

Rubaiyah glanced towards the estate entrance, for the ceremony in the courtyard was taking place nearer to the estate gates so that the guests still incoming could find their way in. There were guests still coming, men and women of all kinds of stature dressed according to their wealth and sensibilities. Khairunnisa Sayida was a kind-hearted woman, and Ruba could tell that even more now when she saw poor people as well as rich ones in the gathering. Many joined the majlis, seating themselves down as more floor cushions were brought in, but a few of the women made their way directly inside for the harem hall and bridal chamber—the rich women hoping to pay their respects and the poor ones hoping to get a few alms whilst they paid their respects.

"Oh, Kiah," Rubaiyah mused, dipping her head slightly back to look at the glowing stars above her head. "I don't think he will come."

She was waiting for him—for Burhan. There was this unexplainable need inside her to see him again. She had already announced to him her decision of staying in Thāj, yet still..

Ruba, in truth, did not know exactly what she wanted, but one thing that stood out was that she wanted to see him again. Why hadn't he come again for four days? Why had he only spoken to her privately once? Was he entirely discouraged now? Was he planning to leave? Allah, why won't this foreign restlessness in her chest go away?

Kiah fluttered beside her and Rubaiyah looked at the being and smiled.

"I hope he comes too. Though I don't think I have anything for him but disappointment. I understand if any man would not want to come for this bleak prospect. I can't even explain why I want to see him again."

Kiah made a gesture and Rubaiyah beamed cheekily.

"Sweet Kiah, if only you were well-versed in these matters! You only like to be clever."

Kiah bristled.

"Alright, perhaps you are clever. There, are you happy now?"

Kiah fluttered in pleasure and Rubaiyah rolled her eyes playfully.

Ruba looked back upon the figure of the Imam speaking to the guests in the distance, the canopy behind him was being decorated now with crawling trails of flowers being draped. It was so beautiful to watch, with the servant's slowly and delicately positioning the scene, their wrists working delicately and carefully behind the Imam's passionate sermon. 

"Kiah, do you remember Nizar Hikmat's poem that I read to you yesterday?" Ruba spoke in a soft daze. "'I want small joys, so inexplicably small and yet wondrous, that no one would want to take them away from me.' I have been thinking of that one a lot. It's as though it has been imprinted in my mind." 

Kiah fluttered softly. Thinking of something else now, Ruba remembered another piece of poetry she had recently memorized. 

"'Nothing is harder on the soul than the smell of dreams when they are evaporating.' I need to move out of the Ghatafani house," She added the latter bit then, her voice defeated. "I can't stay here after what happened in the bridal chamber, Kiah, all the words that were said.. I need to find someplace else."

It was then that a footstep was heard crunching a twig and a few leaves right behind them, and Ruba turned startled, only to find the form of Ferhat Ghatafani standing there in his glorious white brocade attire, his hair oiled and parted in the middle and his facial hair as neatly trimmed as he had always kept it.

Rubaiyah was surprised to find him in front of her so suddenly. She hadn't spoken to him properly for a while. He hadn't approached her privately since Bahjat and Burhan had first shown up at the estate. It seemed to Ruba now that everyone in the Ghatafani family had left her be, except Khairunnisa Sayida and Akbar occasionally checking up on her.

But why was Ferhat here now? Allah, he was to sign his Nikah contract with Ghaliyah in a matter of a few minutes! The Nikah canopy was being set up, and the Imam was still speaking on the importance of a spiritual collective relationship that a man and wife should exhibit. Rubaiyah hadn't even expected to come across Ferhat privately today.

"Ferhat?" She ventured, her voice barely above a whisper.

In the darkness and silvery light, his brocade white attire seemed to glow, and his eyes sparkled, but the expression on his face was grave. Kiah fluttered closer to Ruba, she had always been wary of every member of the Ghatafani family.

"What are you doing here?" Ruba asked him, managing a smile. "Please don't worry about hospitality tonight at least, you are getting married."

"No, I—" Ferhat broke off, exhaling. "I'm not here for hospitality, I—I just—"

He looked.. defeated. His shoulders slumped now, as though he had just returned from a taxing fight with himself and his mind.

"Ferhat, what is it?" Rubaiyah was alarmed, worried. "Is something wrong? Can I help?"

Care for him infiltrated her. Here was the man who had brought her broken and battered body to a warm house and fire. Here was the man who had not left her to bleed out and die on a trade route, only to be buried to a side in a nameless grave by merchants and travelers. Here was the man because of whom Rubaiyah had gotten a second chance at life. He had given her an identity, he had become the path through which Allah had given her a second life. Suddenly, Ruba realized she would do anything to repay that favor.

"You look beautiful, Ruba," Ferhat smiled then, his smile tortured and his eyes glassy. It was as though he spoke from misery mixed with pleasure, and Rubaiyah could not understand it.

"Thank you," She blinked, brows furrowed. "But Ferhat, please. Tell me what the matter is. You are scaring me."

"No," His eyes widened in hers, as he took a step forwards and touched her elbow lightly. "Don't be scared. Not on my account."

"Not if you tell me what's wrong," She whispered, her green eyes peering into his in confusion.

"Rubaiyah I—I can't do this," Ferhat let go of her elbow and shook his head, his face anguished.

"Can't do what?" Ruba's heart pounded in her chest, the Imam was still giving his lecture in the background, the cleric's voice loud and passionate.

"I can't marry Ghaliyah," Ferhat's strangled voice said. "I cannot. I simply cannot bring myself to."

"What? Why?" She swallowed in panic. "The guests—the ceremony—Ferhat, don't you love her?"

He met her eyes. "No."

His reply was so simple yet pained that Rubaiyah could not believe it.

"What do you mean? Ferhat, you have been betrothed to her for years, if you didn't love her why did you not break it off?" She kept her voice low, terrified that anyone might hear.

"Ruba," Ferhat stepped closer to her, his eyes determined in hers. "When Emir Khaleel Ghatafani and Khairunnisa Ghatafani adopted me, I was but a child of thirteen. Ghaliyah was twelve and Sermet was eleven."

Rubaiyah's eyes sharpened as she listened, trying to understand it all. She had always known Ferhat was adopted, but she had never thought to ask when or how.

"Emir Khaleel Ghatafani was fond of me. I used to be his messenger boy, taking his written messages and running all about Thāj to deliver them. I had no parents, they died only a month after I was born. I grew up on the streets, taking up what employment I could. Emir Khaleel Ghatafani saw how capable I was, so he decided to raise me as his own."

Kiah shivered against Rubaiyah, as though hearing the story was making her upset. Ruba caressed Kiah's back with her left hand as Kiah wrapped herself around Rubaiyah's torso, hugging her.

"Emir Khaleel Ghatafani was on his deathbed when I turned seventeen. He expressed his desire then to see me marry Ghaliyah. He wanted his daughter to go to a man he thought capable and deserving of her. I was young, and I was upset at his condition. I wanted so much to please him. He had made me respectable, he had given me his last name and given me education. Because of him, I had a future now. So I said yes."

Rubaiyah shut her eyes briefly at the tragedy of it. She understood obligation like no one else. She understood what it felt like to owe someone your life. She understood Ferhat.

"I am thirty-five now, Ruba," The man shook his head. "For years I thought I would grow to love her, but instead of a love of a brother, I felt and still feel now nothing else towards Ghaliyah. Still I was determined to marry her and fulfill my duty, but now I—"

"The weight of obligation, is it heavier now than it was before?" She asked softly when he broke himself off.

He fixed his eyes on her and nodded. "It's you, Ruba. Ever since you came into my life, I—I have thought about you instead of Ghaliyah."

Rubaiyah's lips parted, her brows furrowing in the pain that she felt for him.

"You—whenever I see you, the difference between you and Ghaliyah is so stark—its blinding almost. You're not like her, you're vibrant, humble, beautiful, passionate, and so intelligent—when you smile, you light up my world, Rubaiyah. I had long come to believe my world would stay unlit. When you have read poetry to Akbar and now Kiah, I have often listened at the door. Your voice heals me, and your eyes alone are enough to remind me what life is for."

"That night after speaking to you about your plans for a house and business in Thāj, I just—I was viciously plagued by imaginations of me beside you in every future image. I was overcome with desperation. I couldn't sleep. I thought if I quickly set a date and marry Ghaliyah, I would bound myself away from these thoughts. So I set the date that very night with mother, and Ghaliyah was told in the morning. But it was all a mistake, it did nothing to rid me of imagining a future with you."

"Ferhat," Ruba shook her head and started slowly, her tone pained, but he spoke over her.

"Ruba, I want to marry you. I want you, not Ghaliyah. The care I feel for you is so intense, it does not let me sleep. I believe that Allah brought you in my path for a reason. I was destined to come across you."

Rubaiyah's heart was beginning to strike her ribcage hard, and she did not know what to say.

"I know your past troubles you, I know you remember nothing of it," He continued. "The Sultan of Al-Fāw, you used to love him but don't remember him anymore. Your past doesn't matter to me, Ruba. If you don't want it to matter, then I won't let it matter. You are free with your present and your future, as am I. I want you as you are, I do not want you to remember anything for me. You know me as I am and as I have been to you."

Rubaiyah's eyes blurred with tears. It was true. Ferhat had no expectations of her. In his presence she was not burdened to remember. In his presence, she could be her present self. In his presence she could dream and plan her future. He had protected her, kept her his responsibility. He was the reason she was alive. He had never ever burdened her. He had always been her support in this household. Akbar had always sung many praises of Ferhat, and none of them had been lies or exaggerations.

"You're marrying Ghaliyah, Ferhat," She let out, even before she knew she was speaking. "Everyone is gathered—the Imam—Ghaliyah—"

"No," Ferhat shook his head. "I have already spoken to mother. I have met her just now. She has always known that I was planning to marry Ghaliyah out of obligation. At present I have asked of her to wait. I have said that if you refuse me, I shall go back and sit under that canopy and marry Ghaliyah. I just—I just had to give myself a chance with you. I had to try."

"Ferhat, please I—," Rubaiyah tried, a tear streaking down her face.

She did not know what to do. Ferhat was a brilliant man, she had always thought so. He was good looking, responsible, and he cared for her so much. Ghaliyah had been the epitome of a lucky woman inside Ruba's mind. But what about Burhan? What about—

"Ruba," Ferhat stepped closer to her and slowly took her hands in his.

Rubaiyah looked down at her hands clasped in his, but she felt.. nothing. She felt nothing from what she had felt when Burhan had taken hold of her hands that day in the courtyard. She had felt stars bursting under her skin then, her stomach too had made a leap. But at present, she felt nothing but the hot clamminess of his palms.

"We can live in Thāj together," Ferhat spoke warmly. "I will get us a house further in the city. You shall be the mistress of it. I will leave my job as Arif and find something else to do. I will help you set up your business. We can be happy and content together."

"I—" Rubaiyah tried again, words abandoning her.

Could she truly be happy and content with Ferhat? She could. He loved her, did he not? He hadn't said it, but he meant it, didn't he? Could she be happy with him? Did she want someone like him over a man from her past who she felt something with but couldn't remember loving?

"Marry me, Ruba," Ferhat pressed then. "Marry me."

Rubaiyah's lips parted again, her emerald eyes flashing pain and confusion as her chest constricted so tight she felt as though she might faint.

It was then that when she looked away in order to think—or perhaps wish the sky would fall right upon her and save her from making a decision—her eyes spotted the unmistakable figure of The Sultan of Al-Fāw—Burhan Abelhamid—standing six yards behind Ferhat, half his form encased in complete darkness.

Rubaiyah could make out Burhan's face, and he was looking right at them. Only the glaring sharpness of his gaze was visible aside from the outline of his face, and Rubaiyah's eyes met his directly.

She looked back towards Ferhat and retracted her hands from his grip slowly, just as twigs broke and leaves crunched under the heavy and thunderous footsteps of the approaching Burhan Abelhamid.

Before Ruba could warn Ferhat, Burhan's hand gripped the man's neck from behind, his dark tanned fingers tightening instantly on the fair skin of Ferhat's neck, as he spun the groom around viciously to come face to face with his fuming self.