The woman is found only once in the man's life, the same for the man in the woman's life, and the things apart from that are merely attempts of replacement.

— Ghassan Kanafani

EYES ARE DANGEROUS. One should never gaze into them too long. One might be drawn to them. And if one doesn't have the right to gaze at another, this is where sin begins. This is where destruction begins. This is where he ruined himself before.

But these aren't the eyes he should be scared of. These are the eyes of the woman he's marrying. They're warm and they look at him with love. They're beautiful. They're distracting him. They scare him.

Furat fists his right hand and lowers his gaze. What is he thinking? Is he tired of the day already? Or perhaps it's the way Rahaf looked at him. Perhaps everything is a bit overwhelming. Whatever may be the reason, he doesn't dare look up at her again.

The room they're sitting in is spacious but it feels stuffy to him, even though there are only a few people inside. Outside there's a hustle. The room divider separates him from Rahaf and he's grateful for it. Her eyes bother him. She's wearing kohl in them and wearing a face veil that hides her face. He doesn't like it.

Rouzbeh sits to his right. He places a hand over his fist. Furat unclenches it without looking at him and relaxes, rubbing his palms against his thighs. He isn't anxious in anticipation of what is to happen nor is he excited about it. He's glad to be achieving what he was striving for, yet marrying the daughter of his enemy feels rather strange to him. Furat blames it on the hope he sees in her eyes that he's to shatter. It reminds it of something. Someone. He closes his eyes. He doesn't want to think about it.

"What is the matter?" Rouzbeh quietly asks him, leaning in.

He exhales slowly and shakes his head.

"Are you nervous?" his friend bugs.

"Shush it."

"Do you think she looks beautiful?"

Furat glares at him. "Don't," he warns.

"What? Are you feeling possessive already?"

"I'll cut your tongue," he hisses at Rouzbeh who presses his lips together and swallows back a laugh.

"You look pitiful, akhi, like a man who's nervous and happy to marry his bride but also lost as if he isn't sure if he should be marrying her."

Furat doesn't answer him. Rouzbeh has defined his state quite accurately.

Aswad bin Motassem enters the room with the Imam. Rouzbeh pats his hands, this time with assurance, before everyone stands up in respect of the caliph. Aswad gestures for everyone to take their seats.

"Whatever is the matter, know that all will be well," Rouzbeh whispers to him.

When the witnesses and the officiant are all present, the nikkah ceremony is started.

"In the name of Allah, the Most Beneficent and the Most Merciful," the Imam begins the khutba. Then he recites verses from Al Quran. Furat doesn't know the chapter he's reciting from, but he understands the verses. They mention the glory of God and His signs, including one about the spouses:

"And of His signs is that He created for you from yourselves mates that you may find tranquillity in them; and He placed between you affection and mercy. Indeed in that are signs for a people who give thought."

When he finishes, he addresses Aswad bin Motassem who sits beside his sister.

"With your permission, my Ameer, we'll officiate the nikkah now."

"Proceed please," Aswad allows.

"Amira," he directs her.

Furat looks at her. The partition doesn't allow him to see much but it's still enough. She isn't looking at him, her eyes downcast. Through the small gaps he can see her hands clasped in her lap. Perhaps she's anxious like him, but for entirely different reasons.

"Do you, Rahaf bint Motassem, accept Furat bin Kiyan, under the agreed upon mehr and in the presence of the witnesses, as your legally wedded husband?"

Her voice comes low but clear, and her answer lifts some weight off his chest.

"I do."

She's asked the question again, the reply comes the same, and then for a third time too.

"I do," she finalizes, making him feel a lot better, as if she was ever to reject him. As if there was a possibility which was scaring him that has now been shunned.

Furat takes a calming breath as a small smile forms on his lips. Perhaps it's the permission, her acceptance of him, which relieves him. Before that, he was only reminded of the eyes that once looked at him like hers but whose hopes he had shattered and they had turned loathsome towards him. Eyes that were his homeland but which sent him into exile.

Farya's innocent eyes.

"Do you," the Imam now addresses him, "Furat bin Kiyan, accept Rahaf bint Motassem, under the agreed upon mehr and in the presence of the witnesses, as your legally wife?"

"I do," Furat agrees, loud and clear.

"Do you accept?"

"I do."

"Do you accept?"

"I do."

The Imam announces them married, and everyone lifts their hands to their faces to make a prayer for them. When they're done, Rouzbeh is the first person to congratulate him.

"Congratulations, akhi." His friend embraces him and pats him on the back. "You've done it," he says quietly to him. "You're our pride, Furat."

Furat pulls back, smiling. He looks at Rahaf and finds her hugging her brother. Aswad bin Motassem is whispering to her something too to which, unlike him, she's crying. He kisses her temple and wipes her tears.

The few people in the room one by one congratulate them before leaving, including Rouzbeh, until it's just him, Rahaf, and Aswad in the room. Furat stands on one side of the room divider while the siblings stand on the other side.

"Furat?" Aswad calls him when they're left alone.

Furat steps on the other side of the room divider. His eyes meet Rahaf's, and even though he has looked into those eyes many times before, this time it feels different— heavy, binding, slightly odd. They're still glossy. He's quick to avert his gaze from her to Aswad, who steps forward to embrace him.

"Congratulations. May our Lord bless this matrimony."

How uncomfortable it feels to embrace your enemy. How difficult it is. Yet he somehow manages to do it. Even if the desire to pull away is strong. Even when he's disgusted with it.

"Ameen," he mumbles to the prayer with half a heart. May it be blessed in his favor. The family of Motassem has brought only damnation upon themselves.

Aswad pulls back and places a hand on his shoulder. "My sister is very dear to me, Furat, and I've entrusted her to you."

He doesn't say anything anymore but gives him a small smile and a gentle but meaningful squeeze to his shoulder, that clearly tells him what might happen if the trust is breached. It doesn't deter Furat even the slightest bit.

"Your trust is my trust."

Aswad nods and pats his arm. "So have you made God witness over yourself, and we bear witness too."

He turns to Rahaf. With one final smile towards his sister, he leaves them alone, allowing them a moment before both of them are to join the celebration.

Furat looks at her. She looks at him, though fleetingly. Then her eyes shy away. She looks at the wall behind him. To the room divider. At the floor between them. At the bottom of his thobe. Then at his face once more before her gaze flicks away again. He bites his lip to contain his grin.

"Do I look so bad that you won't even look at me?"

She finally looks at him and this time holds his gaze. He's wearing a white thobe with a white bisht over it and she's wearing an gown darker than the color of the blood embellished with golden handwork. He smiles at her.

"Peace and greetings, my bride."

"Peace and greetings, Ameer Furat."

"Furat." He steps closer to her. "Just Furat."

Rahaf lowers her eyes.

He reaches out to remove her veil. "May I?"

She slowly nods. And he carefully removes her veil, revealing her face to him. She looks up again.

Furat leans down and kisses her forehead.

MARRAR DECIDES TO retire early for the evening. The celebration seems never ending and there's nothing for him to enjoy. He has congratulated Furat and conveyed his well wishes, sincerely from his heart even if it has been almost physically painful, if not for him than for Rahaf, and he has congratulated Ameer Aswad too. He excuses himself from everyone and makes his way to his chamber.

Today the palace has been alive. Magnificent even, with the way it's decorated. Aswad bin Motassem made sure to make this day a memorable one for his sister. And so has Furat outdone himself contributing to it and arranging the banquet. He's sure people will be talking about it for days to come.

Tonight the moon is half in the sky. Passing by the windows in the hallway he catches sight of it. Marrar stops, appreciating it's beauty even in half of its glory. The sky is clear and the stars too adorn it. For a moment he drifts away from the present.

Minutes pass. Someone comes behind him. He comes out of his reverie and turns around. Adara gives him a guilty smile.

"You might be thinking I always show up on you at moments when you might want to be alone."

Marrar returns her smile with a reassuring one. "Let not such thoughts bother you, Malika." He ties his hands before him respectfully. "Can I be of any help to you?"

She sighs, nodding slightly abashedly. "I feel extremely selfish for bringing it up to you at this occasion, but it has been weighing on me and only you could help me with it."

"Of course, Malika. What is it?"

"A night ago I heard a conversation between Aswad and Tabrez where they mentioned things that I probably am not supposed to know. And while I'm curious to inquire about those, one thing you can specifically clear for me is the matter with my husband and sayyida Marajil."

"What about it?"

"I heard that Aswad asked you to consider her for yourself but you didn't give him an answer. And now he's forced to think something about her. It worries me that he might incline towards her and this is something I won't be able to endure."

"Malika," Marrar softens his voice, trying to reason, "I assured you before regarding this that the Ameer in no way is considering the lady for himself."

"You cannot promise me this," she insists, upset and unconvinced. "She's young and she can give him what I cannot. Not to mention her brother is a close friend of his who he has made his advisor too. Aswad honors her father. He has every reason to consider her."

Marrar doesn't know how to convince her. Her argument is valid, and he doesn't even know what Aswad bin Motassem is thinking anymore. Although the possibility of the caliph remarrying is highly unlikely, yet still if the queen's fears are to come true he'll make sure to become a hindrance in their way himself. For her. And for the children too. Marrar will never let it happen.

"If I promise you that Ameer Aswad won't marry her, will it put your heart at peace?"

"How can you promise me such a thing?"

He doesn't answer and simply lowers his eyes. A meaningful silence settles between them. Adara seems more restless than before, twisting her fingers together and looking at him.

"But your feelings for Rahaf," she finally says.

"Nothing good comes of them," he interrupts politely. "It's only wise to accept the truth and move on."

"I cannot ask you to make such a sacrifice for me."

He smiles. Only if she knows what he knows.

"Don't think anything of it," he says, tipping his head and ready to leave. But she stops him.

"Marrar?"

"Yes, Malika?"

Adara smiles gratefully at him. "Thank you."

THE FIRE BURNS in the fireplace and the candles bath the chamber into a warm glow. The night is silent and tranquil. Rahaf sits on the bed alone waiting for him. The dark blue silk gown Adara has made her wear makes her feel cold in it. Though the sleeves are long but the slits in them make them useless, revealing her arms up to her elbows. A stole is loosely wrapped around her head and she keeps fidgeting with it.

Her throat feels dry and she thinks of drinking a little water. She stands up, ready to fetch the vessel, but right then a knock comes at the door. Her insides twist in nervousness and anticipation as the doors open and Furat walks in. The doors close behind him.

He has changed into a plain black thobe, mirroring his dark eyes, and his dark hair is combed back. Unlike her, he appears rather composed to her. He smiles as he slowly makes his way towards her.

"Salaam," he greets, and her throat feels drier than before.

"Salaam," Rahaf manages to croak back.

He comes to stand before her. Her heart suddenly feels to be beating too hard, maddeningly, ready to break through her ribcage. She presses her palms against her dress as they turn moist. She hopes he doesn't notice it.

Furat gestures towards the bed, silently asking her to sit down. She does so, and he follows, sitting near her.

"Did you have a good day?" he asks.

She nods. "Did you?"

"The best of my life."

His reply makes her smile.

His gaze falls to her hands. It lingers there, studying her henna, but he doesn't attempt to take them into his. He lifts his eyes and now they lock on her headchain. He regards it curiously, almost like a child, and gingerly reaches out to touch it in a feather caress. When his knuckles pushes against her stole, it falls off her head. His eyes find hers.

"You look beautiful," he compliments.

Rahaf smiles shyly. "Thank you."

"I've a gift for you."

Furat stands up and goes to pick up a pouch lying on the table. He comes to sit near her again.

"I came across it in Al Yazirat and immediately thought of you. I thought it would look good on you."

He gives it to her and Rahaf opens the pouch. She finds an armlet lying inside and takes it out. It's simple but elegant, a gold cuff adorned with pearls at its end.

"It's beautiful." Her smile widens. "I like it very much. Thank you."

"A pleasure, my Amira."

"Rahaf," she offers sweetly, somewhat bashfully.

His lips stretch into grin and he bites on the lower one, nodding. "Rahaf," he says, gently, carefully, almost as if tasting her name in his mouth and making sure not to break it. "Wardati (my rose)."

He gazes at her, and Rahaf feels herself blushing under the intensity of it. Her throat feels parched and she wishes she had a chance to drink some water. He reaches for her headchain again, but this time his fingers glide to the back of her head and undo her loosely kept hair. It cascades down to the middle of her back. Furat slightly tugs at her stole to get it out of the way. Rahaf lets go of it.

"I like the color you're wearing," he tells her. "Of the sky and the sea."

He takes a strand of her hair between his fingers as they slide down along its length to its end.

"And your hair, the color of midnight."

His hand falls to her exposed forearm and he strokes it, setting tingles along her skin, bringing it down to her wrist. Now he's studying her henna again, almost lost, and Rahaf opens her palm for him. He draws circles on it.

"It's lovely."

He releases her and leans forward on his hand, resting it right beside her. Their faces come closer and suddenly she finds breathing difficult.

"I've dreamt you so long. I don't know whether you before me is a fantasy or reality," he whispers.

Up this close, his eyes burn her and consume her. His proximity does strange things to her. It intoxicates her, elates her, yet it makes her quiver like gazelle before a lion.

As if reading through her thoughts, he pulls back from her. "You must be tired from the day. I should let you rest."

He gets up and starts blowing out the candles until only a few remain to light the chamber. Rahaf stands up to get some water. He turns to her.

"Do you need anything?"

"Water."

"I'll get you."

He goes to fill her a cup and brings it to her. She drinks from it.

"You didn't think if I had mixed something in it to put you to sleep?" he jokes, referring to the night they had met at the brothel.

She chuckles at him. "Would you?"

He shrugs, drinking from the cup too. "Maybe."

"Ah, my bad. Now I'll always make you drink before me," she jokes back, making him chuckle too.

"No, but," he continues, his expression turning serious as he tucks her hair behind her ear, "you're always safe with me, wardati," he promises.

She smiles, both of them unaware how much they're to be tested in love— his claim for her and her faith in him.

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The verse in this chapter is from Surah Rum [30:21].

Thank you for coming along so far with me. Follow me on Instagram for updates (@/growingupinsane).