٤١.

HER EYELIDS TWITCHED FIRST—A SMALL, involuntary flutter, like the stirring of leaves in a breeze. Slowly, her consciousness began rising from the depths, heavy and blurred at the edges. There was a dull throb at the side of her head, a warm ache that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat. She winced, her lips parting slightly as a breath caught in her throat.

The world around her was hushed but alive. Somewhere above, outside, birds chattered gently in the soft blue hush of morning—not quite noon, but well past dawn. The light was everywhere. It poured through wide, open windows that reached nearly to the ceiling, washing the floor in long rectangles of gold and pale white. A breeze stirred the curtains—a cool draft, not cold, but fresh, crisp, the kind of air that fills the lungs without stealing warmth from the skin.

Her head shifted against the pillow. It was soft beneath her, but not plush or perfumed like the silks of her bridal chamber had been. This bed was simpler, worn-in, the kind of softness that comes from use, from years of bodies curling into it for real sleep—not for show. She could feel the texture of the sheets beneath her fingertips: cotton, not satin. The room smelled faintly of wood and something clean, like rain that had passed in the night.

Her mind tried to catch up, tried to stitch together the ragged story of memory. Suddenly, so much started pouring in that she was shocked. A fissure had appeared where once there had been only a black wall, and light was pouring through—hot and blinding. Suddenly, there was too much of memory. Suddenly, she was spilling over with story. Suddenly, the flashes of everything that had ever happened to her in life—everything significant enough to leave an impact on her memory—came back to her like she had run headfirst into the wall of an ancient tomb.

They were not fragments this time—not glimpses or shadows or recurring dreams—but the whole of them, rushing in all at once, battering the walls of her mind. Faces she should have never let fade. Voices she should have fought to keep.

She hadn't even realized she'd let them go.

That was the worst part—the betrayal wasn't just that life had taken these pieces from her, but that she'd let them slip away quietly, like breath in winter air. People she had loved, moments she had sworn to hold close, now returning like ghosts demanding answers.

Her hands flew to her temples, fingers digging shallow crescents into her skin, as if pain could hold the memories still—or make them stop.

But they wouldn't. They rushed in: the sound of her Fatima aapa's laugh. 'My sweet Nightingale, Dilruba.' Ahya's folk songs, and the gentle stealth if her assistance and companionship whenever the girl had required it. The exact tilt of moon light the night Burhan Abelhamid had touched her like no man had ever before, the shape of promises she once made and broke. Love she hadn't mourned properly. Regrets she hadn't faced. People she had now lost to the afterlife.

Her stomach twisted with a grief so sharp it felt like drowning.

She wept—not only for what she remembered but for the terrible fact that she had forgotten. How could she have let go of these things? How had she survived in the hollow spaces without knowing they were missing?

Her lips shaped the smallest of whispers, a raw confession meant for no one but herself:

Oh, Allah. I left them behind.

And now she had them back. Not the doting Fatima aapa, the dedicated Ahya, or even the benevolent Basma Abood, but all the memories and moments she had shared with them and with those who were still alive in her life.

She lay there, eyes wide, soul unraveling, knowing she could never go back to the forgetting again.

She shut her eyes tight and tried to stifle the grief that was now lighting her whole chest on fire. She tried to breathe, her body shuddering as she inhaled and exhaled deeply. She tried to calm herself. She tried only to piece together last night, pushing everything else back for the time being, for if she did not, it would all shatter her with grief.

There had been music last night. Voices, too loud. The beautiful dress of her Nikah—that she was still wearing even now—pressing into her skin like armor last night. Then—the hands of the Governor's men on her. The sharp bite of gravel underfoot. Burhan's hand grasping hers. Her head coming in contact with the ground as she fell. Burhan picking her up and taking her away.

"I've got you. I've got you."

After that, flashes: moonlight, the sound of his breath too fast, then darkness, then—this.

Now she lay still, listening. The room was open, not grand, but wide in a way that felt safe. She pressed her palm softly against her temple, wincing at the tenderness there, but not afraid of it anymore. She wasn't afraid of anything anymore, only the knowledge that perhaps she deserved no forgiveness for all that she had done. It was only that, that scared her.

The sun drifted over her, a slow warmth that kissed her skin without demand. She knew she was safe. Burhan Abelhamid had brought her somewhere safe. And why wouldn't he? He loved her. He had stayed in her life despite all that she had recklessly done, and she—

The only door in the room clicked open, and the tahararat min alkhatiya's form ventured in, his eyes widening slightly and his body attaining an urgency as he hurried in, seeing that she was awake.

The sight of him was a slight shock—an eruption in the atmosphere she had woken up in. Often the girl had been alarmed and fascinated by the vision of the former genie, with his skin so dark it glowed golden underneath the sun. His tall muscled form, the way he wore his long thick dark hair in a tight and hefty braid that went down much past his hips, and always the bright colors of his tunic and his billowing trousers, paired with his thick golden jewelry. Bahjat's appearance had often too become quite normal to her, but at times when she looked upon him suddenly or through a third eye, she contemplated how much of a fire his presence was and it surprised her each time she did it.

"Dilruba!" Bahjat exclaimed softly, at her side in a blink, his dark facial skin glistening with perspiration and his brows furrowing.

"Thank Allah you are awake," The former genie continued. "How are you feeling?"

"I—," The emerald-eyed girl started, but then the door was blown further open as Kiah swished through, rushing over to the girl's side and fluttering wildly in the air—excited, relieved, overjoyed, all in equal measure—at the sight.

"Dilruba—Rubaiyah—you were—," Bahjat began, his tone hesitant as though he did not know how to talk to her anymore. His eyes swimming in a confused sadness, and it made the Hegran girl's heart clench.

"Last night, the Governor of Thāj's men attacked your Nikah," Bahjat shook his head. "They were looking for Burhan. The Governor of Thāj allied with The Governor of Hegra—It was all a colossal mess, but Burhan was prepared. Ahud and Yunis—when they were headed to Al-Fāw—had seen the Governor of Hegra on his way to Thāj on the trade route, so they had come back to inform and warn Burhan."

Bahjat sighed. "I don't know how much you remember, Rubaiyah, but.. Allah, I don't even know if I'm making sense to you."

The girl's eyes stung with sharp tears then. "You are making perfect sense, Bahjat, please don't say that. It hurts to hear. I've put you through so much discomfort haven't I? Still you have always been there. Oh, Bahjat, I'm so sorry."

Bahjat blinked, shocked. "Now, why would you apologize? Don't be silly, Rubaiyah! What has gotten into you? We're all so glad you are alright, don't go and say such stupid things!"

The girl wiped a tear from her cheek with her wrist. "Bahjat, I—I remember everything now. Everything has come to me, but I'm pushing it all back—I'm so scared to look—"

"Oh, dear girl!" The tahararat min alkhatiya exclaimed, relief and sympathy in his voice as he leaned in to embrace her.

The girl startled only briefly. Allah, had she ever embraced the former genie like this before, after everything he had done for her? She broke down in his embrace, tears spilling down her cheeks as her mind yanked her every which way.

"What of Ferhat, Bahjat?" The emerald-eyed girl uttered then as they parted. "What of Khairunnisa Sayida and Akbar? Are they hurt? Have they been arrested? Where's—where's Burhan?"

The tahararat min alkhatiya shook his head gently and touched the side of her face, smiling warmly at her.

"Do not worry, dear girl. Burhan made everything right. He had a private audience with the Governor of Thāj last night, and explained everything to him. He proved he had no treacherous intentions in coming into this city in secret. He told the man everything about you and himself, and the man in turn turned out to be much sensitive and sympathetic to the cause—the Governor too married one of his concubines for love, so I suppose he saw a reflection of himself in Burhan. Who can say for sure? Though you are not a concubine, that is not what I meant. Still, getting to the point, the Governor of Hegra backed away himself when Burhan won over the Governor of Thāj. That Hegran pig has no men or army to take down Burhan or even the Governor of this city, and he was made to leave the city with his men in disgrace."

"He did claim that you owed him for everything he spent on you and did for you in your days of being a court dancer under his patronage in Hegra. That filthy pig, even though he got most all of what you earned! But Burhan paid off all that the pig asked for, and there was no reason left to argue upon."

"Burhan—he fulfilled my debt?" The girl's voice was small and brittle with misery. "But I—why? I—I could pay it all. I know I could. Burhan didn't have to—he shouldn't have—"

"Oh but he did, dear. And as for your concerns about the Ghatafani family, the charges of treason upon them have been removed, of course, in lieu of the events. They are all at the Ghatafani estate, anxiously waiting for news on your wellbeing, which I will send to them via a servant in just a few moments."

The Hegran girl exhaled, her chest unknotting itself from the various knots it had gotten entangled in without her knowing. Her emerald orbs sparkled with relief and gratitude, and she could now only think of Burhan.

"I'm glad they are all alright," She managed, before her throat tightened. "Where's—where's Burhan?"

"He's at The Governor of Thāj's palace, tying up some things. These men are allies now, and as such I suspect there are a few things to ascertain and conduct a meeting for. Though I am not well-versed in the manners and matters of Sultans and Governors of course, I only speak from what I see and can tell. But do not worry, Dilruba—Rubaiyah—Burhan will be back in no time."

The girl nodded, before fixing her sparkling emerald eyes in Bahjat's.

"I'm Dilruba Badawi, Bahjat," She uttered softly after a pause. "Please always call me Dilruba."

The tahararat min alkhatiya shook his head, smiling, before he cast a glance at the sky outside the window.

"Oh, Allah. You are merciful."

"Bahjat," Dilruba Badawi of Hegra spoke then, her voice cracking as tears blurred her vision again, she pulled her knees under her and sat up properly on the bed, her heart aching.

Kiah was right beside her, her golden tassel on Dilruba's arm in companionship.

"Oh Bahjat, I have made so many mistakes. How will I ever atone for them? How can I ever—I've caused so much hurt and sadness, how will Allah ever forgive me?"

"No, Dilruba," The former genie shook his head adamantly, defiance in his eyes as he touched her cheek again. "None of what happened has been your fault, do you understand me? If there is anyone to blame, it is me. I should never have let you leave Burhan's guild without counselling you to speak to him. I have been the one to make mistakes, I have made many. Though Burhan is my friend, had I been careful, the former Sultan of Agrabah—who too was a kindred, if distracted soul—need not have been killed."

"Bahjat," Dilruba shook her head, crying fully now as he dropped her face in her hands. "I made the decision to leave. Why did I ever leave Burhan? He's not—he has never been anything that I or anyone else has ever blamed him to be. He is good, he is just, he is so self-less. I see it all now, I understand it all now. My uncle was the unjust one, and he died for it. Burhan never did anything to needlessly hurt anyone—his ways were always blunt and rough and cruel, but he never—How could I—how could I have been so blind?"

"Dilruba," The former genie spoke her name sadly, and it made the Hegran girl cry harder.

"I love him, Bahjat, I have always loved him," She cried, lifting her head to look at him. "How could I have forgotten it? Why hadn't I died instead of forgetting him? Why did Allah not kill me, instead of punishing me like this?"

Then suddenly remembering something, Dilruba dug under the neckline of her glamorous wedding dress and pulled out the Greek carved ring pendant that she hadn't ever taken off.

She took the ring in her palm and pressed her fist close, feeling the circle in her grip.

"This is his mother's ring," She sniffed, her eyes shut tight. "Allah, I so desperately wanted to ask Burhan about this. I wanted to ask Ahud too, but I forgot. And with Burhan I—I kept putting it off. But he had already told me long before, hadn't he? He told me his mother would be over the moon if she was alive and had learned that he was giving the ring to me. He called me his reason for living. He told me that the carving on the ring—a Greek follower of his mother's had inscribed it for her. It says, 'It wasn't a dream to be with you, it was a prayer.'"

"It's a phrase from one of Burhan's mother's poems," Dilruba looked at the tahararat min alkhatiya through the haze of her tears. "Oh, Bahjat, please forgive me. Please, please forgive me so that I can hope that Burhan too might."

The former genie's eyes now glistened with tears.

"Dear Dilruba!" The being uttered. "You have no need for forgiveness when none of it was your fault. Burhan Abelhamid loves you more than anything alive in this world can love another. He worships you, craves you. His need and desire for you has only increased each day that has gone by. His heart can never stop chanting your name, and that is what had made him a condemned man."

Dilruba wiped at her eyes with her wrist, but the tears did not stop. Her hands were shaking, and she wasn't breathing properly.

"Last night—last night I was going to sin, Bahjat," She let out. "I was going to condemn myself and Ferhat too. He is blameless and I—I did not know better—how could I? How could I condemn myself like that? My heart only yearns for Burhan—even when I did not remember him I still yearned for him."

"Don't, Dilruba," The tahararat min alkhatiya shook his head. "Do not waste a moment of delight in regret. Allah helped you. Everything He does happens for a reason. And now you are here, with your memories restored. Is that not a beautiful and precious thing? As for Ferhat Ghatafani, if he is a good man he will see the error of his actions now. You are no longer a woman he can marry, for your heart is someone else's. The man should never have approached you in the first place."

Dilruba Badawi sniffed, her eyes hurting, though her tears had stopped. She looked at Kiah—the beautiful creature was a buzz with happiness, her form jittery and excited.

"Sweet Kiah," Dilruba's voice cracked. "I'm so sorry. I abandoned you too. I told you to wait, to stay back. At the trade route, we were travelling together and I—I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry."

Kiah fluttered, before embracing Dilruba as the emerald-eyed girl embraced the creature back, tears filling her eyes again.

Dilruba looked back at Bahjat, still holding Kiah against her.

"Don't blame Ferhat, Bahjat," She said softly. "Please, do not think badly of any of the Ghatafanis. Everything they have done for me has made me indebted to them. I would not be alive if it wasn't for Ferhat. Allah made him a bridge for me, a bridge that saved me from the beasts beneath and led me to safety for Burhan."

"I was going to Hegra," Dilruba murmured then, casting her eyes on the sky outside the window. "I thought I was going home. I thought everything would be alright in Hegra. I would begin working again and I would forget Burhan and the atrocities I thought he was going to commit, and had committed at that point. I thought I would forget him—I believed I would learn to live without his love. I—I was so wrong. I realized that on the trade route before I—Allah made me realize that before my accident. I knew I had made a mistake."

"Bahjat," Dilruba shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. "You can't imagine how sorry I was. I wanted to much to rewind time—to go back to Burhan. I think—I know he was my last thought. My regret of leaving him was my last thought."

"Oh, my dear," The former genie mused with sadness. "You are much too young and blameless to burden yourself with so much guilt and regret, Dilruba. Even with your forgetfulness you have acted with insurmountable grace, and I will never be able to thank you enough for it."

The Hegran girl peered at the being, slightly confused. Had she? Had she acted with grace? No. As far as Dilruba knew, she had been ready to start a new life selfishly. She had been scared and even disgusted by her past. She had wanted nothing to do with it. Was that grace? Was not acknowledging your past at all, grace? She didn't believe so.

"What you did for Jasmine," Bahjat exhaled. "Even after the rocky relationship between you girls—even after forgetting her, you helped her. And Aladdin too! Burhan let Al go immediately after you asked it of him. If Jasmine and Al are to reunite now—or if they have already reunited—it is all because of your kindness."

Dilruba's brows furrowed in remembrance of her cousin, pity dousing her green gaze.

"Oh Jasmine. She has gone through so much. May Allah help her now."

"He will," The tahararat min alkhatiya nodded. "He helps all those who have been forgiven by the people they have wronged in life. Your forgiveness for Jasmine and what she did to you—it counts for more than you can ever imagine."

"Bahjat," Dilruba's face crumpled then, tears blinding her again as she reached out an arm for the being.

The former genie embraced her gently again, with Kiah still attached tight to Dilruba's chest, not wanting to let go.

"Now," The tahararat min alkhatiya backed away, wiping at a stray tear at the corner of his eye. "Let us stop all this mourning, when everything has turned out beautifully."

"Can I ask you something, Bahjat?" The Hegran girl inquired then, sniffing as she wiped tears off from under her eyes with her free wrist, her other hand caressing Kiah's back.

Prompted by the former genie's affirmative gesture, Dilruba continued.

"When you used magic to help me, every time I was injured. What was the price you paid for it? You never told me, and I want to know. Please."

The tahararat min alkhatiya's gaze ventured to the sky outside the window, in thought.

"Everything that happened to us, was the price," He spoke, his voice grave. "The only things I have to lose are my connections, Dilruba. A genie has his power, but a former genie has only the connections he makes in life. His loves, friends, relationships. Things that only a mortal can possess. I had Al, Abu, Jasmine, you, The Sultan of Agrabah, and even Burhan. The price I paid for magic was everything that went wrong. You getting hurt and losing your past, the Sultan being killed by Burhan, everything that happened to Jasmine, Aladdin's fate. So you see? When I stop you from apologizing and take the blame upon myself, I'm not just being modest."

Dilruba blinked. "No, Bahjat. You have got it all wrong then."

"Basma Abood too had taken use of magic from the Cave of Wonders in Jerash. She had been given it, yes, as a reward for her lack of greed, but I believe now that there's no price to pay for people like her and you. She had no greed in her and was given the magic, and you borrowed magic for self-less reasons—for me. The only price you paid was the blame you put on yourself. The only price you paid was thinking that everything for was your fault, that even my uncle died because of you."

The tahararat min alkhatiya's gaze was fixed in hers, his eyes flashing a desperation.

"Everything that happened to us," Dilruba's voice softened. "It was our own fault. I didn't trust Burhan so I left. Burhan did not share anything with me. Jasmine and my uncle condemned me without listening to me, Aladdin too made a silly mistake. I was foolish enough to let everything I heard and was told about Burhan, cloud my judgement of him. I didn't even give him a chance."

"You are blameless, Bahjat," Dilruba shook her head kindly. "You were always there for me. You were always there for my uncle and cousin. You were always there for Aladdin. You were also there for Burhan too, were you not? You granted him three wishes a long time ago and you care for him, I see that so clearly now."

"We were all at such odds in different aspects with each other, but you were there for all of us equally. You cared for each side, you were loyal to us all," Dilruba paused, exhaling softly. "I don't suppose there is anything more beautiful than that, despite how taxing it must've been for you."

The tahararat min alkhatiya laughed at her last remark, but Dilruba could now see the streaks of tears underneath his eyes.

"Please don't cry, Bahjat," The Hegran girl frowned. "Please. Let us not mourn anymore. I so desperately want to live this life, I want to breathe in everything I have got left and I want to hold onto it. You have taught me that most of all."

The former genie smiled warmly. "You have many teachers. Even that strict little dwarf at the Ghatafanis."

Dilruba smiled as well, a fond love in her eyes.

"Akbar has been my light in the darkness I found myself in. Strict as he is, in many ways, he reminds me of you. His wisdom and yours—I am now made of both of those."

The tahararat min alkhatiya grinned, scratching the back of his neck—a gesture so unlike his regal bearing that it made Dilruba giggle.

"Well, that is the most flattering thing I have been told," Bahjat mused. "And I have no issue sharing this compliment with a dwarf."

Dilruba narrowed her eyes playfully. "Akbar is exceptional, regardless of what he is."

"Bahjat," The Hegran girl spoke after a pause, playfulness snuffed out from her manner as she turned thoughtful. "You granted three wishes for Burhan once. Can you.. can you tell me what they were?"

The tahararat min alkhatiya smiled warmly. "Perhaps you can guess?"

"One wish about the silver-hilted daggers he and his men carry," Dilruba started. "And another for that precious boy Mundir Zumurrud Dadan. I do not know the third one, nor can I guess the specifics of the first two."

The former genie exhaled. "You are correct. The daggers were indeed a wish, and so was the Dadan boy. The silver-hilted daggers were forged with magic, they only spill blood of those who have spilled innocent blood. Those daggers will never cut through the skin of an innocent. Burhan had them made for himself and for all his men, so that he could be sure none of them spill the blood of an innocent."

"And the wish about Mundir Zumurrud? How can a wraith dead for centuries be saved by a wish? Genies cannot bring people back from the dead."

"Indeed they cannot," Bahjat affirmed. "The Dadan boy killed himself, as you know Dilruba, a storyteller and poetess as you are. The price for killing yourself is that your soul gets stuck between this life and the next, hanging in misery with no end destination in sight, for you took away a life that had been gifted to you by Allah. Your life is never your own to take, it will only be taken when Allah wills it. Burhan's wish was that every good that he ended up doing in life, be written in Mundir Zumurrud Dadan's life ledger, so that the wraith's balance could be tipped and he could enter heaven in the afterlife."

Dilruba shook her head, tears blinding her, as she raised both hands to wipe them away. It was impossible to believe that she still had tears left inside of her to cry.

"Oh Allah," She murmured. "Please don't forsake Burhan."

"He won't," Bahjat insisted, the former genie's own eyes glassy. "Allah won't. We should have complete faith in Him. Why shouldn't we? When He is the God who says only 'Be' and the thing becomes?"

Dilruba nodded hastily, pressing a hand to her heart.

"What of the third wish, Bahjat? What was the third wish you granted for Burhan?"

The tahararat min alkhatiya smiled, his gaze flashing a melancholic contentment.

"That is not for me to tell you, dear Dilruba. You should ask him one day. I am sure he will be better able to explain it to you."

The Hegran girl nodded, turning her eyes away thoughtfully.

"Where are we, Bahjat?" She uttered then, looking around her again. Kiah gently separated from the long embrace she had encased Dilruba in, and fluttered in the air above, as if surveying the room too.

"This is the place Burhan and Ghazi are staying at. He bought the mortgage off for the owner, I told you that," The former genie spoke. "This is the room Burhan sleeps in, and Ghazi's is right next to it. The owner lets them have the entire floor out of gratitude, and the old man himself resides on the ground floor."

Dilruba nodded thoughtfully. "When will Burhan be back? Is Ghazi with him too?"

"Yes," Bahjat affirmed. "And they will be back soon, I gather. You should rest till then, Dilruba. I have already applied a healing ointment onto the bruise on your forehead, and it shall be well in no time."

Dilruba shook her head, her eyes venturing towards the sky outside the window.

"I can't. I can't close my eyes without seeing Burhan. Not even for a moment. I'm terrified that everything would be snatched away from me—that I will wake up again, but empty and lost. I don't—I never want to feel that again."

The tahararat min alkhatiya pursed his lips, exchanging a sympathetic glance with Kiah.

"Here, Dilruba," The former genie spoke as he remembered something, reaching behind the linen covered pillow Dilruba had been lying against on the bed.

He pulled out something that the Hegran girl knew all too well. Something that had once been made for her and her alone. Something that had taken her breath away the first time she had seen it. Something that she thought she had lost.

It was the green emerald carved butterfly that Burhan Abelhamid had made for her, after the first time he had met her in Agrabah.

"He—he had it?" She sputtered in shock, her hands trembling as Bahjat handed her the piece. "He found it? He—he carried it here?"

"Dilruba," The former genie grinned. "Burhan carried this everywhere he went. He had sent men to retrieve your belongings from that apartment in Agrabah you were staying at. He found this there. He kept it with him in hopes of giving it to you by hand when he saw you again, for the first time he had merely left it for you to find, I gather?"

Dilruba laughed happily, eyes blurring with tears again.

"Yes! yes—he—he said my eyes inspired him to make this. I couldn't believe it at the time, I thought an upstairs neighbor must've dropped such a precious thing."

She lifted her eyes to Bahjat and laughed happily again, tearing up with joy as she caressed the beautiful emerald stone butterfly in her hands, her fingers shaking as they delicately traced every edge and bend of the piece.

"Well, seeing as I have ruined the surprise," Bahjat got to his feet. "I should get you something to eat, it is a little past lunch time. Perhaps it will take Burhan the evening to get back, and I too am craving mutton and a side of vegetables. The old man of the house cooks, did you know? And what a chef he is! I got him to teach me a thing or two while I waited for you to come to. Keeping busy helped to keep my sanity intact."

Dilruba smiled and watched him leave, resting her back against the pillow as she turned the emerald butterfly in her hands before bringing it to her lips, thinking of Burhan's fingers carving it for her was a wondrous thought. It made her heart pound happily.

Kiah lowered herself beside Dilruba, and gestured excitedly.

"Kiah," Dilruba looked at the creature, her voice softening and slowing—her enchanting and confident storyteller's voice.

"There was once a stonemason by the name of Yasin in Najran who died five centuries ago. He was in love with the Sultan of Najran's wife, Layla al-Ruh. It was said that she was the most beautiful woman in Arabia at that time, and while the Sultan married her because of that, Yasin fell in love with her heart."

Kiah all but melted beside Dilruba, listening to the poetess' confident and luring voice once again—now in its original essence—was magical to the creature.

"She loved him back, for he was the only man who saw through her exterior, appreciated her and loved her truly. They met only once alone, and Yasin left her a carved eagle he had made with marble. A symbol of his love for her and how it will always soar."

Kiah fluttered when Dilruba paused, anxious to know what happened next.

"But their one singular meeting alone had been seen by the Sultan's brother. Yasin was dragged out from his stone mason's lodge the next day and was brought before Layla al-Ruh. The Sultan of Najran had Yasin killed in front of her eyes."

Dilruba lifted her eyes from the carved butterfly in her palm and looked towards Kiah.

"Layla al-Ruh kept that carved eagle with her till the day she died. She never parted with it. They called her insane, for it was said she would often forget to wear essential items of clothing, but would never leave her chambers without that eagle in her hand. She died only ten years after Yasin was killed, and a maid of hers slipped the carved eagle discreetly into her grave before anyone could see and stop her. Layla al-Ruh was buried with her true love's gift, and the story only became known through a piece of poetry that the maid's great great grandchild wrote years later. He was the poet Ebtehaj."

"Burhan quoted an Ebtehaj poem to me last—," Dilruba's voice broke. "When I saw him that day, much before the Nikah last night."

"Kiah," The Hegran girl wiped a fresh tear away. "What will I do if he doesn't forgive me? How will I live without his forgiveness?"

──── •🏺• ────

Night had descended and the house was silent, save for the rustle of palm fronds in the courtyard and the distant hush of the desert wind. Moonlight spilled softly over the stone walls, cool and pale, while lanterns flickered in quiet corners, their flames trembling like held breaths.

The house, Dilruba had realized, was built around an open courtyard, as seemed tradition in Thāj—arched colonnades frame the central space, casting patterned shadows across the marble floor. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with sandalwood smoke from a brass censer left smoldering by the doorway.

In one of the upper chambers on the upper floor, behind a carved mashrabiya window, she stood.

She had changed out if the Nikah dress into a simple but radiant, a deep, pomegranate red dress that gleamed like embers beneath the lamplight. It had been sent over by Khairunnisa Sayida, and brought by the hands of Akbar the dwarf—who had insisted upon coming to see her.

The silk of the dress clung to her shoulders, falling in graceful folds that whispered when she moved. Her hair was now loose, dark waves tumbling down her back, soft against the nape of her neck. She wore none of the heavy jewels she had worn for the Nikah—only Burhan's ring around her neck and the sheen of kohl lining her eyes.

Akbar had, out of fondness for her, insisted upon dressing her, and Dilruba hadn't refused.

She stood now near the window lattice, peering through its delicate woodwork at the ink-dark sky. The stars were bold tonight, strewn like scattered pearls across velvet. Somewhere beyond the rooftops, past the alleys and domes, beyond the hush of the sleeping city, Burhan Abelhamid was meant to come after his audience with the Governor of Thāj. And so she was waiting.

Her heart was beating quietly but with intent. There was no fear in her waiting, only that fine, humming edge of longing. Her fingers brushed the carved wood, tracing its patterns without thinking. The house breathed around her—the old stones, the heavy drapes, the gentle creak of cedar beams in the ceiling. Time folded itself into the softness of the night.

She had refused dinner, for she could no longer eat a bite without Burhan being present. Without seeing him again, she could no longer do anything. And so Bahjat, Akbar and Kiah had given her some moments alone, whilst they too half dined with the owner of the house, and half waited for Burhan Abelhamid.

It was then, when her thoughts were threatening to carry her away, that Kiah burst into the room, fluttering wildly.

Dilruba's heart pounded. Kiah's message was as clear as everything she had ever said. Burhan was here.

The Hegran girl pivoted and rushed barefoot, slipped out of the room past the doorway, hurried down the stairs and came out into the sand-laced courtyard.

The moon hung low, heavy as an unshed tear. Her heart beat with the rhythm of distance closing.

She ran—not like one fleeing, but like one returning to something lost.

When she reached the outer garden, she saw him.

He was coming from the far end of the date palms, robes loose, his steps slow as though fearing the ground might betray him. In his hand, he held a small bundle of desert blossoms—white sidr flowers, soft and pale, cradled in his palm like something fragile he had carried across miles.

Their eyes met.

Neither spoke at first.

The silence stretched like the long road between them—years in a single breath.

Dilruba couldn't breathe for a moment, she could not believe her life for a moment. She was fearful that the scene in front of her eyes might be snatched away from her mercilessly.

I have crossed the edge of death, she thought, yet still I return to him.

Burhan Abelhamid's own thoughts were stark fires of desperation and fear. His dark eyes penetrated hers, yet his chest tightened and his knees seemed to shake.

I have prayed for this moment so long, he thought, will I fucking shatter it by moving too fast?

But the desert wind drifting in this city whispered between them, and the air smelled of acacia and myrrh, of old roots and things that survive drought.

Slowly, Dilruba walked towards him, her dress skirts clutched in her hands as her feet rustled through and the hem of her gown brushed against stems and leaves. She stopped a few yards in front of him. The moonlight was washing him into a pale silver blue, yet his dark eyes were like inky marbles fixed in hers.

At last, she spoke—not loudly, but with the steadiness of one who has known both loss and revival.

"Did you wait for me?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Did you wait, or did you lose hope?"

His answer came after a pause, and his voice was so thick and deep, she could feel him speaking through his tight jaw.

"I waited until waiting became my life."

She shut her eyes, her orbs stinging with tears before she opened them again. She stepped closer to him and reached for the flowers in his hand—petals warm from his fingers, still breathing the air between them.

"Give them to me, Burhan, before they fade."

Their hands met between them, the blossoms passing like breath from one life to another.

For a moment, she held the flowers to her face—breathing not just the petals, but the time they had spent apart.

Then she looked up at him, her emerald eyes steady now.

"Where were you? I waited for you all day," Dilruba spoke, hurt in her voice.

"I went to a mosque after my audience with the Governor of Thāj. I went to pray."

Her heart clenched.

"What did you pray for?" She asked softly, her words were barely more than breath.

"That you would wake," He uttered almost immediately, as though he had prayed the prayer so many times that it had imprinted itself inside of him.

"That you would find your way to me. That I would not break before you did."

Dilruba's composure shattered like glass then. The sidr blooms dropped at her feet, slipping from her softened hold like silk onto the ground.

She closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her forehead to his, her tears blurring her vision. Burhan in turn gripped her waist with both his hands, holding him to her in raw desperation.

"And with all the forgetfulness I had been given," Dilruba spoke a Qabbani verse, her voice breaking. "I still remember you."

Their noses touched, and his hot breath caressed her skin.

"May you bury me, before I bury you," She shut her eyes tight, quoting the Egyptian poet Mkhayber, tears wetting her cheeks. "For there is no place for me in this world without you in it, there is no more happiness in the world without you here minute by minute, and may we meet in heaven if the Lord permits it."

Burhan Abelhamid shook his head in agony, holding her tightly, flush against his chest as the moon hung as a witness in the sky and the cool desert air relished its proximity to the lovers' skins.

"Life is yours, death is mine," Burhan uttered, the late Persian poet Bardiya's words heavy on his tongue. "Peace is yours, stress is mine. Happiness is yours, sorrow is mine. Everything is yours, but you are mine."

"Longing for her, at times you tell sad tales to your sore heart," Dilruba spoke Jalāl al-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī in her soft yet insistent voice, her lips brushing against Burhan's. "Or was your hands of life. Why do you search the world, confused and weak, for one who is already inside you? Who do you seek?"

Burhan's desperation overpowered him then, and he grabbed her lips with his, kissing her breathless as his tongue plunged inside her mouth, seeking sanctuary, which she readily granted.

Her fingers tugged at his hair as he all but devoured her mouth. To him she tasted of sweet fruit and the first rain after a heavy drought, and to her he tasted of ruthless thunderstorms and the precious musk of the earth.

Dilruba broke away to breathe, tipping her head back but still holding him to her, her body attached to his as though he was her lifeline and she would be killed if she let go of him.

Burhan attached his lips to her jaw, trailing kisses down to her neck with a frenzied hunger.

"All passed by me," He muttered, quoting the legendary Kaveh—a poet and blacksmith who had led a revolt against a tyrant, a full century ago in the city of Al-'Ula. "Except you. You went through me."

Tears spilled from the corners of Dilruba's eyes as she held her head back and felt his lips at her collar bones, kissing her skin as though he was worshipping it with care and devotion.

"Every night and day I asked you in my prayers," He continued then, this time with Rumī on his tongue. "Oh, in what ways I asked God for you."

The Hegran girl's heart throbbed painfully in her chest, and she couldn't understand how such complete happiness could amount to pain.

"I have become you and you have become me," She murmured, remembering the verses by contemporary Khosro that she had read in Akbar's scrolls. "I have become the body and you the soul. So from now on, nobody can say, that I am someone and you are someone else."

"I circle the walls of the house of Laila," Burhan raised his hand to streak his fingers gently through her hair, before bringing her face to his, his ebony eyes bearing into hers with lust and a desperate love.

"Sometimes I kiss this wall, sometimes I kiss that one. It is not the love of these walls that has infatuated my heart, but the love of who lives within them."

Dilruba smiled slowly through her tears, she loved this poem by Rustem. She had once read it as a little girl to Fatima aapa, the verses were amongst the first pieces of poetry she had ever come across in her life.

"When I sink my eye into your eyes," She began, Fakhri on the tip of her tongue. "I catch a glimpse of the deep dawn, and I see ancient yesterday, and I see what I do not know. And I feel the universe flowing between my eye and yours."

Burhan kissed her again, swallowing her breath as he held her spun her around, pressing her back to the bark of the closest tree. She kissed him back but could not match his desperate passion for her, for her knees were weak and her body wanted only to give in to him instead of holding her own.

"Burhan," She murmured his name as she broke from the kiss to breath, holding his face as her emerald orbs peered into his.

"My love, my munqidhi, my usurper," Her words had wings as they fluttered up from her tongue. "I love you so much, I'm so sorry I ever forgot. I'm so sorry. I'm so desperately sorry."

"You are my sedative," She quoted the poetry of the Greek poet and mathematician Hystaspes. "And my home, and my calm, and my inhabitant, and my tranquility, and my silence, and my rail, and my agony, and my darling."

"I cannot live without you, Burhan Abelhamid," She continued then, desperation yanking onto her as she caressed his face. He leaned into her caress, his eyes half closed.

"You will have to drive your dagger through my heart if you want me to leave you be. You will have to kill me for it."

"I will butcher myself before I ever hurt you," Burhan let out, his gaze sharp. "I will cut off my own limbs and feed them to the beasts of the desert, before I can ever even think of hurting you."

Dilruba shook her head, pressing her forehead to his again. "I'm so sorry, Burhan, I'm so so sorry."

"I forgave you the moment I first saw you," He uttered, his voice was low, steady, but with heavy heat beneath it. "I forgave you for every wound loving you would scar me with, the day I first saved you on that street in Agrabah. You think I carry this love like a ledger? That I weigh it against insult or pride? That I calculate it like a fucking mathematician against every substraction that the circumstances have brought? No, Dilruba." He raised his hand and held the back of her neck, his fingers brushing her sensitive skin.

"My heart chose you the fucking moment I saw you that night for the first time at your apartment window in Agrabah, long before any of this. There is nothing to forgive."

"It is God who bestowed me with your love," Burhan quoted the poet Farrokhzad, "If I die in its fields, I die a martyr."

"And even if this life is repeated a thousand times," Dilruba quoted Farrokhzad as well, "Still you, you, and again you."

The Hegran court dancer and poetess broke down in sobs then, as Burhan held her while she shook, placing kisses on her face and neck, holding her tightly to him. He bent then, streaking an arm underneath her legs and one behind her back as he picked her up entirely in his arms. His head dipped to place hungry kisses on her chest and neckline.

"I'm taking you inside, farashat rayiea," He spoke then, his voice hard and firm. "I will send Ghazi to bring an Imam—even if the man has to be dragged by his ear out of bed at this time of night. I will have you marry me. I will have you sign your name besides mine on the marriage contract the Imam will create tonight. I will not let the sun come out until you become my wife, and the Queen of Qaryat Al-Fāw. Then we will leave Thāj together for our sultanate."

Dilruba shut her eyes, nodding fervently as she held her arms around his neck, holding him tight.

Bahjat, Akbar and Kiah were inside the house, along with the kind and generous old man who owned the place. As far as she knew, they were all half-heartedly having dinner, since she had refused to eat without Burhan. How would they all react when they found out that they were all to be guests at her and Burhan's Nikah? She couldn't say, though she hoped with all her heart that they would be as happy for her as she was for herself.

Dilruba Badawi's dress skirts fluttered in the soft wind as Burhan carried her inside the lantern lit and semi darkened corridor of the house, and then up the stairs.

His head was still bent towards her, as though he feared looking away for even a moment would make her completely vanish in his hold. She leaned upwards to brush her lips against his, and he did not let her get away as he kissed her instantly, stopping in his ascent of the stairs briefly as passion overtook him.

They separated from the kiss as he found the courage to risk looking away from her for just a moment, his gaze fixed ahead on the stairs as he continued their ascent.

"I love you, Burhan," Dilruba whispered then, her lips kissing the shell of his ear. "I love you more than any being has ever loved another."

"And I love you," His voice was tortured, thick, and desperate. "And I love you so much that I can die a thousand times for you, and I can kill a thousand times for you."

They turned round the bend of the stairs, mounting the final steps towards the room Burhan had been inhabiting in the house. The same room where Dilruba had woken up in the morning, the same one where she had waited for him tonight.

And finally, when Burhan stepped into the room with Dilruba in his arms, he realized that they didn't enter as ones returning, but as ones rebuilt from longing. 

T H E  E N D.

***

A/N:
We have reached the end of this story. Thank you so much for being here and for giving this story a chance.  

Thank you for all your precious votes and comments. I am so so grateful for you beautiful readers, I hope you enjoyed Burhan and Dilruba's story. Thank you for trusting my writing and giving my little hobby a chance.  

[EDIT: I have now added a bonus chapter after this ending!! please navigate to the next chapter <3]