One Night

Chapter Sixteen

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When I wake up, the sun hasn't risen yet. The air is still cool and damp, making me shift in the blanket I am wrapped in. I use the satchel that Akilah bought as a pillow.

I read somewhere that way back in the past, before plush pillows existed, the wealthier families would sleep on stone head rests and it was solely to keep bugs from crawling into their ears. I will be grateful that I do not have to sleep with my head on stone.

Soft whispers alert my brain, making me sit up. There is no lock on the door. Anyone can come in, including that kid's brother.

Rising to my feet silently, I follow the hushed sounds until I find the only room in the house. It's small, filled with stacked books and old boxes. My footsteps are silent—I'd like to say I am like a stealthy ninja, of course—and neither of them detect my presence.

The thief sits on one of the boxes. Nawaz stands in front of her. From certain angles, what they are doing could look like something unspeakable. Something that only Nawaz, the unfeeling sinner, would do.

But from the door I can see that he is only tilting her chin up, gently tucking her hair behind her ear. He couldn't possibly care about her.

Most likely, he wants to redeem his reward for winning the fight for her.

"So what did you tell me that wasn't a lie?" he asks, his voice dancing with the dark.

This I'd like to hear.

"Well . . ." She tries to lower her gaze.

He kneels down in front of her. Something a prince should never do for anyone. The Hakeem would chastise him for it—and would go ballistic if he knew his son slept on the floor like a commoner. "The truth, please."

"I'm not royalty, my name isn't Malaika and I'm not interested in winning your affection. I believe everything I told you was untrue. Your father offered me money and hopefully now that you see where I live, you understand why I accepted it. I shouldn't have lied." Her words come tumbling out of her mouth faster than normal.

He nods slowly. "And . . . Why does Zayen call you a sariq?" A thief. Because she is one.

"Because that is what I am." Now her voice is so filled with shame that she has lowered her pitch, making it hard to hear her. "I go to the souk and steal. That's how I have survived up until now." She's really laying everything out in the open now. Maybe she has learnt her lesson.

Here is another reality check for the prince, that the world is not a fairytale. That many people suffer; many people do bad things to survive.

"What you did is wrong," he says. His point is true, yet it is ironic coming from him. He needs to hear his own words. He used to send guards down to beat me, and yet he has the audacity—

There is a swarming feeling in my head that clouds my thoughts and makes me what to blindly punch everything that gets in my way. Frustration.

My fists tighten at my sides. Now is not the time to get into another fight. If I did, though, he would have no guards to hide behind this time. I'll wait until a moment where it'll hurt him the most, then I will strike.

He wasn't always like this. There were days that I remember vaguely, where he would let me lead him everywhere, waddling after me and repeating everything that I did. There were days were we would laugh and play, until he realised who he was and the power went to his head. Just like his father. Our father.

"And you don't have feelings for Zayen?" he asks.

She shakes her head. Now any interest that Nawaz may have shown will vanish. The only toys he likes playing with are ones that other people want.

He is silent for a long time. There is a heavy silence in the air. He carries every bit of power that has been placed on his shoulders. No matter where he goes, he stands tall. If nothing else, he plays the part of a prince well.

"It is in our past now," Nawaz says. "We are on an unknown journey. When things are out of our control, the one thing we can choose is who we are. That's the fun of life, laa? We can recreate ourselves as many times as we wish."

He is trying to use words to seem deep and meaningful, but he is as deep as an evaporating puddle under the desert sun.

She nods, shifting to the edge of the box as if she wants him to continue talking the way he is. Like that is her dirty talk. "Who do you want to be?" Her voice is gentler than normal.

I'm sick of this. Clearly he is telling her what she wants to hear. That's one thing he is good at: sweet talking. It is why I will never trust him.

Heading back into the main area the of the thief's home, I grab some coins from the pouch resting on the tattered arm of the couch. It is right above Akilah's head.

When she doesn't wake up at the sound of shifting coins, I gently place the pouch back down and step out into the night. The darkness is consuming. All of the torches have been extinguished to avoid setting the homes on fire. My only guide is the stars and the moon, that create the softest glow on the compact sand below my feet.

Each breath I take and movement I make is echoed in the heavy silence. There was life flowing through these streets only hours ago, and now it is deserted.

I lean back against the clay wall of one of the houses and stare up at the sky. The stars in the shape of a triangle point towards Qadura. It is how they decided that it would be the the capital city—chosen by the stars.

Sometimes when I'm looking at the stars, or feeling raindrops kissing my cheeks, or reading a good novel, I find myself wondering who else is experiencing the same thing. Because even when we are completely alone, each moment is still shared.

I have slept longer than three hours. It's longer than I have slept in years. Most nights, I'd be with Saad and Aya by now, and then would be abruptly woken from a fake slumber to face Nawaz's guards wrath.

I'm not used to being idle, and I don't want to be. Purpose is the only reason we watch the sun rise and fall; the only reason we put one foot in front of the other.

And now, I don't know what lies ahead. Everything feels uncertain and foreign, but I can't turn away from it.

After what must be an hour of walking, and searching, I find a stable. It is connected to a house, and there is a small space behind it where crops are growing.

The horses nicker and stomp when the wooden doors squeak open. Sitting inside, along with his friends, is Rayan.

They're all playing a game of Khara Cards. I hold my breath, not knowing what move to make next. This is not a good situation to be in, but I stand my ground as they all rise to stand with their eyes set on me. 

I need to make it look like I walked in here to find him on purpose. "I have come to buy your horses."

"You come to my home and make requests?" He cracks his neck. The sound seems to echo. "You're not leaving this place with anything other than a broken body." His tone is venomous.

~~*~~

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