In this world there are only two things that can take my breath away— you and death.

— Adam Auzailaya

He stands outside a mosque at the corner of the street. The prayer call to maghrib is called. His eyes lazily go from one person to the next passing before him. They enter the mosque. But Maymun wouldn't. His searches for his friend among them. Why did he even agree to meet him here?

"Between faith and disbelief is the abandonment of salah," someone says to him.

Furat looks at the person. He's an elderly man with a gray beard. The stranger smiles at him.

He wishes to tell him that he lost everything before it came to this. But he refrains from speaking of it and replies instead, "Certainly no soul shall bear the burden of another soul."

"Indeed. But it was my duty to advise you."

"You've fulfilled your right towards me."

The old man walks away at his answer. Furat moves a little further away from the mosque where he cannot be seen but where he can spot Maymun if he decides to show up.

Now no more people are filling the mosque. The prayer has started. He can hear the recitation being made. Furat looks at the deserted street around him.

"Our Lord, indeed we have heard a caller calling to faith, [saying], 'Believe in your Lord,' and we have believed."

His attention shifts to the recitation.

"Our Lord, so forgive our sins and remove from us our misdeeds and cause us to die with the righteous."

He stands there, listening to the rest of it until there's silence and his chest feels hollow. He sighs, as if letting go of a burden over him, half troubled and half relieved, turning his face to the darkening sky.

"Bless my mother who believed in Your word, and forgive Farya for she was innocent and helpless," Furat prays, asking for nothing more— nothing for himself.

He begins to make his way back to where he left his horse, thinking Maymun might not be coming to meet him. But fortunately finds him on his way towards him. His friend raises his hand in the distance to greet him. Furat doesn't return his gesture.

"Damn your lies. Do you know how long you made me wait?" Furat scolds when he comes nears. Maymun only laughs.

"Something came up."

"An opportunity to get more gold that you forgot about our meeting?"

"I'm not a noble like you. I've to work hard to earn."

Furat shrugs him off when he tries to fling his arm over his shoulder.

"Manipulation is hard for you?" he mocks.

Maymun smirks. They walk together from the busier area into the quieter part of the city.

"How is your woman?" his friend asks.

"Fine."

"When are you marrying her?"

"Very soon. But that's not why I called you here."

"Pity, I thought this is an invitation. What is it then?"

"Questions, Maymun, that I need answers to. And to be clear about what information you sell Rahaf."

Maymun pats his back, as if reassuring him. "You're my friend. I won't rat you out to her."

But only if his word was enough. Furat knows him too well to believe him.

"Tahman bin Motassem was your friend too. Yet rumors go that you saw him getting killed but did nothing to help him."

Maymun seems to take offense with the way he withdraws from him but hides it behind a smile which is both oblivious and ironic.

"Don't trust every rumor you hear. There goes rumors about you too. If I start speaking of them, they will be hard for you to bear."

"So you're not a witness to Ameer Tahman's death?" Furat digs.

Now his smile turns one sided and sly. "There's information I sell at a very high price. And then there's some I don't sell at all."

"And yet you called me a friend."

"There's a difference between us, Furat. You're living your life for revenge. I'm not. You were wronged by the royal family. I was not. In fact, Ameer Tahman did nothing but benefited me. When he was alive, I never had to worry about my provisions. I worked for him and he rewarded me tremendously for it."

"Because we both know you're good at carrying out tasks that only people with no morals would do. And Tahman bin Motassem himself was a man of questionable motives."

"Whatever makes you say that," Maymun dismisses.

Furat looks away from him to the sky again. It's a deep blue. It feels good to his eyes. He unhooks a pouch of gold coins from his belt and holds it up to his friend.

"Whatever you told Rahaf bint Motassem that day, how much of it is true?"

Maymun arches an eyebrow at him. "What is the gold for?"

"Answer me."

"All of it. I told her very little. What lies could I tell her?"

"How do you know Tahman bin Motassem is dead if you didn't witness his death?"

"I never said I didn't witness it."

"Then the rumors are true— you saw him die but let it be."

Maymun exhales heavily and snatches the gold pouch from him, hooking it to his own belt.

"Yes."

It's a simple reply, but it makes Furat laugh. Maymun doesn't seem guilty or embarrassed to him in the slightest.

"Is this what you do to your friend and benefactor?" Furat mocks.

"There are friends you die for, like Rouzbeh to you. And there are others you watch dying but you won't risk your life for, like Kanan to you."

This wipes any hint of playfulness from Furat's face as he narrows his eyes at Maymun.

"Kanan was never my benefactor," he clarifies.

"But he is in a way. He gave you his woman, didn't he?"

"Which sane mane would do that?"

"So you plotted to steal her from him?" Maymun gives him an accusatory look, taking pleasure in it. "So you killed your friend? Is this what you do to your friend?"

Furat lunges at him but he's swift to duck out of his way, laughing. Furat shakes his head at him.

"Don't make it about me."

"You say I abandoned Tahman bin Motassem when he needed me, but what could I have done to help him?" His voice and expressions grow serious. "I would be dead too if I had risked my life for him. Now why would I do that? True, he was good to me, but not so much where I would die for him. The enemy he was against was far more dangerous and powerful to be taken down so easily."

"That means you know who killed him?"

"It's been a year since his death I've been looking for answers. I may know a lot, but I don't know everything. I may have seen him dying, but I didn't stay to the end of the crime."

"Then how are you sure he's dead?"

"Because the man who killed him is alive. And if Tahman bin Motassem had survived, his murderer wouldn't have lived."

Furat unhooks another pouch from his belt and holds it up to him. "Give me his name."

Maymun grins. This time instead of taking the pouch from him he holds up his palms.

"Let me find his grave first. My price is more than you're giving me."

Furat lowers back the pouch. What a greedy man he has befriended. "You said the cabin was burnt to ashes by the dawn. What if there's no grave? What if Tahman bin Motassem was burnt in it?"

"Because I believe that man who killed him would give him one."

"So a man who killed him but still would honor him?" Furat chuckles. "Interesting. Find me the grave then."

SHE TURNS THE perfume bottle in her hands. Under the warm glow of the candles, it has a golden tint to it. But under daylight, it's a beautiful lilac. Rahaf brings it to her nose and inhales deeply.

It has an intoxicating smell. It's his scent. She smiles.

"What's happening to me?" She pets her kitten lying on her lap. "Why do I think of him so often, Mushk? I miss him while he's still here. What will I do once he leaves?"

A knock comes at the door. She tucks the perfume under her pillow and allows her visitor inside.

"Come in."

The doors are opened and Aswad walks in. Rahaf stands up to greet him, gently placing the kitten on her bed.

"Masa' al khayr, akhi."

Aswad nods in acknowledgement, coming to her and kissing her on the forehead in greeting.

"How are you doing, Rahaf?"

"Good. Better. How have you been?"

"Good," he replies briefly, motioning for her to sit down. Rahaf does so, and Aswad joins her on the bed beside her.

"The kitten has stuck to you," he strikes the conversation, smiling.

"It has." She returns his smile.

"I'm glad you didn't name her Aswad."

"It would've suited her was she a male."

Aswad reaches out to scratch Mushk's head. She paws at his hand, opening her eyes.

"Perhaps better than me," he comments. "She's beautiful."

There's silence between them. It's comforting. But she believes her brother is here for another reason, one she might already be aware of. She waits for him to bring it up. And so he does.

"Rahaf?"

"Yes?"

"Kanan is dead and there's no reason for us to mourn him," he begins, keeping his eyes on the kitten than her. "I hope you hold no grief in your heart for him. It's better to move on with our lives and have faith in God. He will reward you with someone better than him."

"Ameen," she says in a whisper.

"I've gotten many suitors for you. But of them all I see only two befitting you."

Rahaf doesn't say anything, and Aswad finally lifts his eyes to her. She's reminded of what Maymun had said to her— he certainly has their father's eyes. But where he had called them eerie, Rahaf finds them affectionate towards her.

"Perhaps you would've been more comfortable discussing this with Adara than me, but I wanted to speak to you about it myself," he tells her.

She takes his hand into her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I appreciate your concern for me, Aswad."

He gives her a small smile. And then there's a small pause before he reveals to her, "Ameer Hirash asked for your hand in marriage for Zurarah. He's my friend and I've spent my life with him. He's a good man. I like him for you. But I won't force you to favor him over the others for me."

There's another pauses. Rahaf stares down at his hand still in hers, waiting. She knows who is the other suitor Aswad might be considering. But a small part of her cannot stop worrying. As if needing to be reassured it's him. As if suddenly there's a possibility of losing him before ever having him. It's absurd, but it scares her. She silently prays for him to be Furat. She wants him to be Furat.

"Ameer Furat wishes to marry you too," Aswad says, and her heart beats in peace.

HE'S PASSING BEFORE the doors of his general's chambers when he hears the baby crying. Aswad halts, waiting for the the caretaker to shush him before he can leave. But when minutes go by and he can still hear him crying, he grows restless and goes to see what is the matter.

Dhiraar, Marrar's guard and righthand man, stands at the door.

"My Ameer."

He tips his head at him before opening the doors for him without questioning. Aswad walks into the chamber.

The caretaker Marrar has hired for the children, Qailah as he recalls her name, is bouncing Humran in her arms trying to calm him down. But the one year old cries with all his might. Aswad immediately reaches for him before he stop himself.

"Why does he cry?"

"I don't know, my Ameer," Qailah replies, handing Humran to him. He holds him close to his chest, checking his face. He feels warm to him.

"He might have caught a cold. Inform the physician at once!"

Dhiraar rushes to carry his orders while Aswad anxiously tries to shush the baby. Suddenly he feels extremely impatient and troubled seeing Humran in this state. As if faced with something impossible. He feels helpless— somewhat desperate. He pecks his head, pacing around the room. Qailah watches him staying rooted to her spot.

"You may give him to me, sayyidi," she offers but he ignores her.

"Where is Hamama?" he asks amidst his failed attempts of calming down Humran. He kisses his head again, as if it may help the baby in any way. "Shhhh, habibi."

"She went to watch the moon."

"What?" he asks, slightly bewildered at her answer.

"She was insisting on watching the moon."

"She could watch it from the window. Who allowed her outside and who did she go with?!" he demands furiously as his restlessness increases. "Bring her to me. Bring her to me now!"

Qailah runs out of the chamber before he could thunder anymore at her.

Aswad pats Humran's back. He's still crying, although not as aggressively as before. Aswad sits down on a chair, sitting the baby on his thigh and gently bouncing him.

"Here, habibi, shush now. You worry me." He wipes the tears off his cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "Aren't you a brave boy?"

Humran hushes and watches him with his dark, glossy eyes and his mouth open, his lower two teeth showing, as if suddenly he has seen something strange. Aswad smiles, tapping the baby's chin lovingly.

"What?" he whispers.

Aswad leans down and kisses his forehead.

"What," he repeats sweetly, "little prince?"

"Aswad?"

He looks up and finds his wife in the doorway.

"Adara?"

She comes towards him and he stands up.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I kept waiting for you but you didn't come. I couldn't help but come looking for you."

"Marrar hasn't returned yet and I'm afraid Humran has fallen sick," he explains. "I heard him crying and came to see what was the matter."

"Ah, is it so? Let me check."

She takes Humran from him and smiles at him. He instantly puts his head on her chest and Adara cradles him in her arms. She looks at Aswad, joyous— almost proud. As if she has achieved something she has long struggled for.

"He loves me," she tells him.

"He's tired," he teases.

She glares at him and turns her back to him. Aswad smiles.

Looking at his wife taking care of the child who isn't even her own, he feels something shift in his chest. Pain. He feels a lot of it. Hopelessness. It chokes him. Aswad feels powerless and terrible.

Suddenly he's reminded of something— an incident that changed him and his life forever. He's dragged down the memory lane to a night he left five years back into the past. His ribs close upon his heart. His heart constricts and aches. The night he lost his child. The night he almost lost Adara. The fear. The suffering. Everything spins before his eyes.

He almost asks Adara if she would love these children as her own. If they could free Marrar of this responsibility. He almost asks her if she could raise them as their mother. If they could be a family together. He almost does. But then he doesn't. Something stops him. Something always does.

It's as if after the sacrifice she has made for him, Aswad has lost any right to ask anything of her. Even after knowing she doesn't hold him to owe her anything. Even after knowing her love for him is unconditional. He takes pride in it. He wishes he could compensate it. Any way he could. Beyond any treasure he can put at her feet or beyond his love for her.

"Adara?"

She looks at him. Her eyes. Those eyes. With those eyes alone she can rule. He looks at Humran curled into her arms and his lips form into a smile again.

"He loves you," Aswad agrees.

She only smiles back at him.

"So do I," he mumbles, but she doesn't hear him and turns away from him.

Aswad doesn't repeat himself. Perhaps silence is better than the claims one might make and be tested for. Perhaps it's better that she doesn't sacrifice anymore for him. Perhaps it's better that he doesn't kill someone in her love again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Any theories?

Reference to the hadith in the chapter is Sahih Muslim 82b (Between man and disbelief is the abandonment of Salah).

The verses in the chapter are taken from Quran Surah Al Imran verse 193.