He felt that his whole life was some kind of a dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.

— Douglas Adams

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Him

The night falls on the valley and the fire crackles in the air near the stream running through the mountains surrounding them. She sits close to the warmth with her cloak still draped over her. He can see the exhaustion on her face from traveling all day long.

Daud informs him that their tent has been set before retiring himself for the night. He puts his arm around her and nudges her gently to get her attention.

"Come, let us go to bed."

She leans into him but doesn't attempt to stand up, her eyes heavy with sleep as she closes them.

"I had a dream."

He smiles and nestles her closer, her head lulling to rest on his chest. "Was I there with you?"

"I don't remember the dream," she says. "But it felt good."

"Did you doze off sitting here?"

She doesn't answer, and a long moment passing between them, making him think that she probably has fallen asleep. His eyes shift to the fire, then to her, then to the fire again, and finally locking on her, enraptured. He presses his cheek to her head and produces the message from underneath his belt that he had received before he left Qahira for Isfahan to bring her back. He reads it one last time.

If you bring her to the palace then dig her a grave too.

He doesn't know the sender. He never cared about those notes he had been receiving until now. They always threatened his life. But now they threaten Noura's too. He tightens his grip around her and throws the note into the fire.

He sure will dig a grave, but for everyone who intends to harm her in any way. Then let his palace become a graveyard of traitors no one bothers to mourn.

Her

Their horses have crossed the green plains and valleys of Persia into the deserts of Arabia. It has been many days of traveling from Isfahan through Baghdad to Qahira. They didn't stop at the palace of the caliph, her husband not entertaining the idea, neither did she show any interest. He has been in a hurry to reach their destination without delaying it as so much by a day, thus avoiding unnecessary stay in any region.

It has been a tiring journey, most of the day spent riding with only the nights offering them enough rest, and mostly Roya providing her company. Adam holds short conversations with her sometimes, partly because she has been closed off towards him and partly because he's busy studying scrolls and giving orders to Daud and some of the other men accompanying them. He carries work with him that has him occupied even on their journey, she thinks.

It is dusk when they dismount their horses in the town of Taba after crossing the Egyptian borders. She hadn't ever set foot in this land before. The sky in its mesmerizing hues is reflected from the gulf of Aqaba before them, the glory of her Lord and splendor of the place stunning her momentarily. It is beautiful. She looks around in awe.

"Do you like it?" His voice comes from behind her.

"It's magnificent," she replies without tearing off her gaze from the view.

"Isn't it?" He places a hand on her back. "There's a lot to see. I'll show you around my region. You'll love it here."

"I'm sure you're a busy man, sayidi. I would hate to cause you any inconvenience."

"I always have time for my wife."

"As you've proven."

"Noura." There's a warning in his tone, a plea too-- a desperation to let go. But only if she could.

She forces her eyes up to his, staring into those orbs fixated upon her, and asks him innocently, "Am I wrong?"

"You hurt me."

"You shouldn't have come after me to spare yourself of the pain."

"How long will we keep doing this to each other?"

"Until you admit that it's you who have hurt me, and not I who have done so, sayidi."

"Fine, it's my fault. Will you forgive me for it?"

"You don't sound like you're sorry."

"Hayati, I had a right to guard my life."

His voice is tired, torn, and she doesn't continue the argument with him anymore, not understanding him but knowing he won't provide her any further explanation. Walking ahead towards the water, she sits down on the sand and brings her knees to her chest. The sun is slipping behind the mountains slowly. She wonders what the sky littered with stars will look like from down here. A sigh escapes her.

He joins her on the sand a minute later. They sit together quietly, the sound of the men setting tents for the night and Roya preparing dinner with Azar playing in the background. He holds out a palm at her and she looks at it to find dates lying on it.

"There's still time in dinner and you must be hungry," he offers.

At first she thinks of refusing, but then deciding otherwise she takes them from him and nibbles on one.

"The sunsets here are something else," he says, striking another conversation, and she tries not to turn it into another argument and keep it decent.

"I'm sure they are. Do you come here often?"

"Not really, no. I stopped by when I was coming to you to Isfahan. But most of my days are spent at Qahira. I hardly get time to travel around unless for work."

"Then how would you show me around?"

"As I said, I can always take time out for you."

"And what is it like at Qahira?"

"The days are busy, the nights," he leans towards her, "they would be lonely. Without you."

She looks away, feeling herself blushing, and mutters lowly, "Liar."

He chuckles, humming, but doesn't correct her. "I'm actually really happy that you're here with me, Noura. That we'll be together now."

She wants to tell him that she is too, but she doesn't, occupying herself with eating the dates and watching the sky. The faint outline of the moon can be made behind the clouds.

"Are you happy?" he asks her, as if sensing her turmoil and the truth in her eyes. She swallows uneasily and avoids meeting his gaze.

"I am, sayidi."

He grumbles in annoyance and tips her chin towards him so their gazes entangle. She sees him frowning at her.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Call me sayidi? Why do not call me by my name?"

"You don't like it when I give you respect?" she questions naively, ironically.

"I liked it better when I was Adam to you, farasha. You don't look at me the same now."

He releases her chin and she glances away. "I didn't know who you were back then."

"My title doesn't change anything for you."

"Unfortunately it does, sayidi. It changed everything for me."

"Noura, I beg you..."

He lowers his head and puts his forehead on her shoulder, oblivious and uncaring of the company behind them. She doesn't move, doesn't shrug him off, and curls her fingers in the fabric of her dress to resist running them through his hair. His hair is left untied. She inhales shakily.

"When we were children, you and I, I always wanted to be with you. Once we had become friends, of course," he confesses in a quiet voice. "I think even as a child, I liked you a great deal, as a child can like another child. But then we parted. And I missed you for a long time, until things changed and you became a distant memory. By the time I became a man, I couldn't find myself thinking of you anymore."

"Do you wish," she pauses, hesitating to put forth her query, as if afraid of his response, and he lifts his head to look at her.

"What?" he inquires, appearing curious.

She licks her lips, gathering the courage to ask him. "Do you wish we hadn't crossed paths in the bazar of Isfahan? Do you wish after all those years apart we hadn't met again? Would it be better?"

"I wish no such thing, habibti," his answer comes without a tinge of doubt or hindrance. "What do you expect to be better if you and I had not been?"

"I don't know. I wonder what it would be if I had remained forgotten by you."

"I put your memories to sleep. I did not kill them." He grazes her cheek with his knuckles, smiling. "I'm glad you awaken them though."

"Are you?"

"Uh huh. Do you wish for us not to have reunited?"

His words are laced with a fear of his own. She stares at him, into the hollow of his orbs, the threads of worry into them, and the havoc she seems to be stirring there. Upon the face of this man she has come to love are marks of the boy from her childhood. The signs of his blameless youth has faded. He sure is a different man now. But just like him, her memories of him aren't dead. They maybe blurred images with no boundaries, but they have his name on them, and she holds them close to her heart. They still keep her warm despite the years of separation between them.

Noura shakes her head at him. "I wish no such thing, sayidi."

His smile broadens, then slowly dissolves as he inches closer to her. She notices his throat moving as he swallows, his eyes dropping to her lips and his hand falls from her cheek to her shoulder to hold her still. Her heart picks its pace, going mad at once, and she blinks. Their eyes connect again.

"I never knew I would be tested like this to keep the promise I made to you," he whispers, and she has to struggle to find her own voice, croaking as she does so.

"What promise?"

"That I'll make you a queen one day."

"I never held you onto it."

"You should. Because I'll make you a queen one day."

He dips down to kiss her lips and her breathing stops. For a flicker of a second, she thinks of letting go, as he wants her to. In this one moment, she wants to forget about their company and make it about him and her. But there's a rift between them he tries to leap over instead of mending. She cannot surrender to him against all reasons.

Turning her face away from him, she gently pushes him off her. "We're not alone, sayidi," Noura excuses.

He removes his hands from her, taking a minute to gather his thoughts, seemingly perplexed and disheveled, before exhaling heavily. "What does it change when we're alone, zawjati?"

He doesn't give her a chance to respond and gets up, leaving her to herself as he makes his way towards his men. She keeps sitting there until the sun seems to sink in the water of the gulf and the night sets in.

When the dinner is ready, Roya calls her to eat but she finds her appetite gone. After forcing herself to eat a little she retires to her tent. Adam joins her some time later when she has already changed into her night dress. He lies on his side of the bed, making sure to keep the required distance between them. She shifts under the blanket towards him and finds his back towards her. Her heart aches and she closes her eyes.

She loves him, dearly so, but only if she could make confessions to him without a fear of their uncertain future. She has missed him, terribly so, but only if she could tell him without the words become shackles to tie her to him only for him to leave her again. Her trust in him has fractured more than once, that too at his own hands, and though she believes he had reasons, hopefully valid, she cannot be unscathed by it. He suffers too, she can see it in his eyes, yet he chooses to keep everything a secret as if trying to protect her from a greater harm. But only if he realizes his hands are the ones she's suffering at the most.

Without thinking much, Noura scoots nearer to his side. No matter the disagreements between them, she cannot leave him hurting-- she cannot see him suffering. She touches his arm, calling him softly.

"Adam?"

He turns around at her voice. In the dark, she can only make out his form and not his face. But when he reaches for her in turn, urgently holding her hand, she can feel the worry in his touch and she crawls more to his side.

"What happened, Noura? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she assures, squeezing his hand, and feels him relaxing as he rolling on his back and she hovers above him. "Adam?"

He hums, and she hears the smile in it. She lifts her fingers to his mouth and finds the curve of it pulled upwards. She cannot help her own smile forming.

"I had a dream, a few nights before," she tells him. "I didn't remember it the first time. But then I had a similar dream again. Or maybe different, I'm not sure."

For some unknown reason, he chuckles, then asks her, "Was I there with you?"

"Yes, but it was a funny dream."

"How come?"

"I braided your hair." She chuckles sheepishly. "Do you ever braid your hair?"

"I do, actually."

"You do?" she asks in surprise. His hair is past his shoulders by a few inches, not too long, and he usually keeps them tied up but she hasn't ever seen him having braided it, even when they were together before when it was a bit shorter than now.

"Yes, sometimes."

"I've never seen you with it."

He reaches up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Well, did I look good in your dream?"

She only hums, distracted as a thought occurs to her. "Who braids your hair for you?"

"Myself. Who else?"

"Ah." Her thoughts surely drifted into territories invoking her wrath. She scolds herself mentally for being foolish. "I didn't know you knew how to braid hair."

"I can braid yours for you," he suggests, amusement evident in his tone. She chuckles again at him and taps her chin as if to consider.

"Tempting."

She slides down to put her head on his chest. He quickly takes her into his arm.

"Or you know?" he says.

"Know what?"

"You can braid mine."

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Malika might have a little less mystery than Khalifa, but a little more romance. I hope you like it as much.

So, let you get to the palace, meet new characters, solve more mysteries and fall in love again.

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