First we feel. Then we fall.

— James Joyce

Al Shafay

The winds of Isfahan blow strong and cold unlike the hot winds of deserts he has transversed on his way from Baghdad. The hood of his cloak falls off his head and his hair come to graze his eyes before he combs the long strands back with his fingers and readjust his hood. He dodges bodies in the crowd as he hurries through the bazar with his servant close behind him. Time is like sand slipping through his fisted hands and he hasn't found anything fruitful so far to worth it. He huffs as they reach a partition and stop.

"Where is the man, Daud?"

"He might be running late, sayidi."

He grits his teeth as he looks at his guard who quickly lowers his gaze. "We are the one running short on time. If this man doesn't give us any valuable information about Yusuf, you and him both better pray my wrath doesn't boil any further than its limits and scald you."

"May it not, sayidi," Daud prays quietly. "But this man found Buraq, so he might know something about Yusuf bin Khalid too. That's why I thought it necessary to meet him. I believe he'll come if we wait a little longer. Something could've come up--"

"I got it, Daud. Don't ramble."

Daud snaps shut his jaw and he scrubs his face in frustration. The sky is turning darker. The day is dissolving away. He looks around and his gaze jumps from person to person before briefly falling on a young woman coming in their direction and then flicking away. She walks past him and suddenly he catches sight of an older lady rushing to keep up with the girl. Recognition instantly hits him like an axe in the chest and he stills. For a moment, he forgets to breathe. Her presence out of the blues in front of him chokes him. She certainly has grown older, but not so weary for him to not recall her-- to forget.

"Nour!" she calls.

His head snaps to where the woman went seconds ago. She stops and turns around.

"Maman, hurry."

"You slow down, Nour. You're galloping like a horse," her mother complains as she tries to catch her breath. She rushes back to help her.

Nour. Nour. Nour. His ears start ringing. The air around him suddenly chants her name. His eyes seek her, find her, and this time lock on her. Despite his will, against his modesty and shame, he stares at her, tracing each of her features until its a stone carving on his mind.

"Unbelievable," he mumbles to himself.

He feels as if a corpse has ripped apart its grave and crawled out. He feels as if wolves from the mountains of lost memories are howling at him. He feels his heart stopping and going berserk at once. He cannot believe what he sees.

"Sayidi?" Daud calls him upon finding him absent.

He only hums, his gaze still following her as she takes her mother and they walk down the pathway away from him.

"Do you know the lady, sayidi?"

He blinks, coming out of his trance. He's losing sight of her. He cannot. He urgently directs to Daud.

"Get what information you can from the man, Daud. Get him to the inn if required. I'll see you there."

He doesn't wait to hear his reply and set out after her. He makes sure to keep considerable distance as he follows them. And soon they're out of the bazar in the streets of a town where she probable lives.

They exchange greetings with several people on the way. He makes sure to blend around and not be noticed. Eventually they reach a house which they enter. He stays around the corner watching it. Then deciding to confirm his doubt, as if any confirmation is needed after his heart having already submitted to what his eyes have seen, he stops a man passing by for inquiry.

"Peace be upon you," he greets.

"Peace be upon you too," he returns his greeting.

"Can you tell me whose house that is, sayidi?" He nods towards it.

The man furrows his brows at him skeptically. "Why do you ask, young man?"

"I'm looking for Saud Al Makhzum's family," he excuses.

"Why? Who are you?"

"A messenger from the palace of Baghdad."

"Ah." The man now looks relieved. "Did Eskander send you?"

Eskander Teymour. Of course. The general of least interest to him. The boy who was taken in by her father long ago. The boy always pale to him against her. He tips his head in affirmation and the man smiles at him.

"Yes, Al Makhzum's family lives there, farzand (son)."

"Thank you."

The man leaves. He stays there staring at the house, waiting for something he doesn't know. The evening has already set in. Time has no meaning anymore. He's in no hurry anymore. She comes out of the house again. He straightens, alerted. She hangs a lantern outside for light. The glow of it kisses her face. The ice of his heart thaws to gold in her glimpse. She looks up at the sky, but he cannot tear his eyes from her to do the same.

This is a new feeling which he feels-- strangely satisfying. As if he has found a home in the desert. As if he has found a coast in the sea. As if an anchor has suddenly prevented him from roaming any further.

"Nour. Noura." He lips stretch slowly into a grin. "Found you, little queen."

They've met again. After years of separation. After an eternity. He has found her again. After a lifetime.

He's no more himself. He isn't who she once knew. Does she even remember? Does it even matter? Maybe she's no more herself either. Or maybe she's still the same.

Why has her his thoughts occupied? What is this ecstasy? Maybe it's a folly. Maybe he's going crazy.

Noura is beautiful. Noura is everywhere. Or maybe he is. Wherever she goes, he's after her. Wherever she stops, he stops to gaze at her. Where are his days going, he doesn't know. What keeps him sleepless at night, he cannot help. All at once he's a man ablaze and afloat in oblivion to the world around him. What name does he give to this restlessness, his insanity, he doesn't know.

He wants to freeze in a moment with her. He doesn't want seconds to run as they run. He wants her to stay with him, for him to spin around her and for her to be his center. He doesn't want her to go when night falls and search for her like a madman every day. He doesn't want to return to Baghdad without her. He doesn't want to be without her anymore.

But eventually his time in Isfahan comes to an end. They fail to find a trace of Yusuf bin Khalid, but he has found something as worthy if not more. His journey wasn't wasted. He isn't disappointed.

Eskander Teymour visits his family. He now sees Noura with him often. She still tails him as she would in their childhood. Back then he was her friend. Then he became her brother. How fortunate for them to still have kept a relationship when he has lost each of his. He feels a flicker of envy in his chest towards him.

Another day has fallen apart. They sky is shaded deep blue yet to turn black. He sits outside their inn by the fire as he works out the details of his plans in his head. Daud clears his throat, announcing his presence, and comes to join him. He looks up at him.

"Sayidi, you've a letter from Ameer Zakariya."

"What does it say?"

"He demands your urgent presence at the palace."

"What for?"

Daud pauses, then sheepishly lifts a shoulder. "We've overstayed our welcome here, sayidi. What more do we have to do? Don't you think we should've returned by now?"

He sighs and glances away to the fire. "When does the general leave, Daud?"

"General Eskander?"

"Yes. He's here, isn't he?"

"Yes, sayidi. But he leaves in a week."

"Splendid." He smiles, the pieces falling into the picture. "Write a letter to the vizier. Tell him the Khalifa has lost his seal and to his send men here to find it. The culprit will be taken to the palace of Baghdad for punishment."

Daud gawks at him in puzzlement. He's confused, and unsurprisingly dares to question him about it. "Sayidi, is this about the lady you've been following?"

He narrows his eyes at him. Among his confidants, Daud is the closest and dearest to him-- a friend more than a servant. It is his this trust and regard towards him which sometimes give him the confidence to step into territories which others might consider dangerous around him.

"Pray tell, Daud, if I say yes, what will be your response?"

"The lady will loathe you for it, my king," he replies honestly.

He lifts an inquisitive eyebrow. "Why, and will you judge me for it?"

"I'm no judge of yours. But I can advise you against it, for I think it better to approach her directly instead."

He clicks his tongue. "My title wouldn't permit me. It can complicate things for me, especially when she's Eskander's family."

"But the Ameer won't be pleased if he finds out," Daud warns.

He chuckles at him, dark and amused. "I've great respect for him-- he's a father to me. And I know he only wishes well for me. But I'm the one who rules, Daud. I give orders, I don't take them. Once I'm done here, sayed Zakariya can lecture me all he wants. I'll do what I must to satisfy this longing before it strangles me." He gestures for him to leave. "Now do as I've told you. We'll take the lady with us. I'm not going anywhere without her. You'll take Buraq and follow behind us, but stay out of sight to avoid any suspicion."

"As you please, sayidi."

It is soon that Eskander has to leave. She accompanies him to say farewell. No one is home and he finds it an opportunity to leave his seal inside the house. He has to make sure to put it in a place where when the vizier's men find it, she's to be suspected.

There's barely a tinge of guilt or remorse in his heart as he plots. All he's focused on is keeping her by his side, no matter by what crooked ways. This is not love, he knows, but a desire to own what once upon a time he had. He has no name for it.

It is as if in a world full of unfamiliarity, he has found a comforting reminder. A memoir of gold. A thread of silver. It is as if he's given a chance again-- a life again. He has no intention of losing it at any cost.

He peeps through the window inside the house. Buraq struggles with him and hits its hooves against the ground. He delivers a firm pat to its back to calm it down and it blows, giving up its attempts to free itself. He pulls it by the reins and goes to pick the lock so he can get inside and the plan can proceed.

As he skillfully works his way out, he hears someone coming behind him. Alarmed, he stills. Buraq neighs. His instincts kick in. He turns around. Their eyes collide. Her dagger flies towards him. He swirls out of its way. She misses and hits the door. But wasting no second, she's at him again.

"Argh!"

She lunges at him. He effortlessly dodges again. She keeps attacking him but he's nimble on his feet, toying with her, enjoying their little duel as she tries her best to bury her blade in him.

Beneath the mask, he grins to himself. She's no amateur-- she too has skills. She proves it when suddenly she flips the dagger to her opposite hand and leaps again. This time she manages to cut his upper arm, sending a sharp sting through his nerves.

He counteracts, deciding to put an end to the show, and easily overpowers her. In one agile move, he grasps her wrist and pushes her against the wall. She attempts to kick him but he sidesteps and twists her hand holding the dagger, bringing it to her own throat. This dismisses anymore attacks from her and she lets in a shuddering breath. He presses the blade into her skin slightly more and a whimper leaves her lips. She stares up at him in horror.

Her orbs speak fear. They go big and round. She tries to search his face. He knows she finds nothing. But he can trace the arch of her cheeks and the angle of her jaw. His gaze slide down her nose to her lips to her neck. There's a quiver in her skin, the way she draws in or releases her breath, afraid of him. As if he would kill her. As if he could ever do it. Not in a hundred lifetimes.

"Let me go," she demands feebly, a tremor in her voice giving away her apprehension once more. "I've nothing you want."

Pity. He has scared her. He cannot move-- he cannot think past anything in her presence. As if finally suspended in time alone with her.

She shatters his illusion as she says timidly, "Don't kill me."

Unable to take it anymore, he flicks her wrists and the dagger drops from her hand. So fierce, yet so tender. She's both a rose and its thorn. The blood trickling down the wound on his arm makes him well aware of what she can be capable of if given a chance. He grasps her neck firmly to keep her in place and not permit her any choice.

"Who-who are you?" she stutters, her hands searching around her for something of defense desperately before she chokes, "I've nothing you can steal."

His eyes fall to the gold pendant she's wearing. Allah. The name of God crafted in Arabic. He loosens his clasp on her neck.

She has trampled over his plan. He couldn't hide the seal at her house. Now he can only leave it with her and hope she keeps it with herself instead of throwing it away. But until then, he needs a souvenir of her with himself. He clasps the pendant and rips it off her neck.

"No!" she cries desperately.

He holds it up to his face. A fair reminder to soothe his burning heart.

She dives at him again and as before he's quick to judge and dodge. She stumbles and falls down and despite his fancy for her or being entertained by their battle, he cannot allow it to continue. He mounts his horse and pulls out his seal.

"Please no."

He throws it towards her and snaps the reins of his horse. Within seconds, Buraq takes him away from her and she remains only a figure in the distance. If his plan fails, he'll make a million more until he gets her.

Then, they'll stay together. They won't part again. He'll make up for his sin.

"A little longer, Malika," he sends her a silent promise and blends into the dusk.

✵

For leaving you on a cliffhanger and with tons of questions, here are the answers to some of them:

1. What happens to Adam? Nothing like death.

2. Is it all a plot? You know your caliph.

3. Who are the leads in Malika? The same as Khalifa.

4. Who is Laleh? Eskander's love interest.

5. When will Malika be released? Still working on it.

Got anymore queries? Drop them here.

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