AMNA
I walk out of the room and saunter to the verandah. They are mostly no guards in the verandah area, so I can stare at the sky as much as I want until I'm ready to return to sleep.
I grab the railings with my hands and turn my gaze upward. The stories told to the younger kids entails that stars represent your lost loved ones. Whenever they are sad about losing someone close to them, they were told to look up at the night sky. The first star you see twinkling is your loved one greeting you.
A giggle leaves my mouth at that thought. Not like I believe the twinkling star myth a little. I can't help but wonder that the star is a unique creation of Allah. Up in the sky, it looks very near. Like I can touch it, But only Allah knows how far it is. It looks so small, but only he knows how big it actually is-
I swivel my head to my side when I hear a low thud. My hearts beat loudly against my rib cage. There was no any sign of guards when I arrived. Who could be here?
I take light-limping-steps towards the direction of the sound. On a normal circumstance, I'm supposed to run back to the room, lie in Jawad's arm and allow myself to drift into sleep land. But I'm not doing any of those. I grip the railing to support me as I continue tip toeing to the edge of the verandah where the sound generated from.
I extended my fisted hand to defend myself in case any harm comes. I'm well aware that my hand can't do more than to scare a crow away, but I'll still try. There's no harm in trying. I would have used my voice to ask who was there, but Jawad's room is behind the verandah area. I don't want to wake him up or raise any false alarm.
I look around when I get to the edge of the verandah. I see nothing except a big croaking frog. I can't believe a common frog startled me, a cute one at that. It croaked, hopped on the railing, then jumped out. But there is still this eerie feeling climbing my skin like a vine. The hair on my back stands, like someone is watching me.
I stretch my head to look behind the verandah when someone suddenly rushed past me. The action was very sudden that my back hit the railing causing me to release a low shriek. The person swiftly jumped through the other part of the verandah. I clutch my chest tightly to calm my raging heart.
Run. Run back to the room.
My leg refuses the command of my brain. I remain glue to my position, staring at the place the person just jumped through. The only thing I was able to grasp is the all black clothing the person wore. Definitely not a guard, a guard will face me and explain his reason for snooping around late at night. A guard won't even snoop; he will be busy protecting the inhabitant of the palace. I hug myself tightly, suddenly feeling cold. Not cold from the weather, but cold from immense fear.
I limp to the door leading out of the verandah, constantly looking behind me to make sure the strange person isn't returning. I almost get to the door when I spot a brown folded paper on the floor near where the unknown person jumped through. It wasn't there when I came, I'm sure of it. The person must have dropped it.
I limp towards the paper and pick it up. Then unfold it.
It is almost time.
Only four words are scribbled on the paper. I don't know what they mean, but it seems they carry a lot of hidden meaning. Who is that person? And why did the person drop this paper?
I fold the paper back and place it inside the black silk robe I'm wearing. I turn back to the door and I see a guard who has an unsheathed sword in his hand. He relaxes when he sees me.
"Is anything wrong, Amira? I heard your shout" the guard lowers his sword, but his eyes are still actively scanning the area for any form of danger.
"No, I saw a frog... That was why." I give him a tight smile, which might not be visible under the dark night. I don't know why I didn't inform the guard about the strange person and the letter.
I'm supposed to tell him, right?
"Okay..." The guard says, then sheaths his sword, he is still looking around.
I find myself limping back to the room with the letter under my robe.
Is it appropriate to keep the letter? They might need it. It might mean something I know nothing about.
I enter the room and close the door gently behind me to avoid any noise. Jawad is still sleeping, his light breaths echoing in the room. I amble to the closet and hide the letter beneath my pile of dresses.
I climb to the bed close to Jawad which he immediately snakes him arm around me bringing me closer, my face grazing his rough stubble.
"What's wrong?" he asks in his intoxicating deep sleepy tone. I find myself drowning in its sweetness, forgetting everything, including the letter and the strange person.
I look up at him, one of his eyes is open.
"Nothing," I say.
He hums in response and drifts back to sleep.
His thoughts invades my mind before I finally give in to sleep.
****
I sit on the bed staring at my bare hands. At least when I was a maid, I know there's always a thing for me to do. My schedule is always occupied that I don't mostly have time for my thought to waver endlessly. Jawad left earlier this morning, he said he had something to attend to.
My eyes shift to the closet. The letter still lay hidden there under my pile of dresses. This morning, a force greater than my physical movement, prevents me from handing the paper to Jawad. My heart stops me, no matter how much I want to shove my hands under the dresses and hand the letter to him.
Maybe I'm scared of all the numerous questions that will follow. What I was doing outside? How I got the letter? But will I not be in much bigger trouble if Jawad finds the hidden letter? I should shred the paper, that will be much better. I won't be at peace knowing the paper is with me and Jawad doesn't know about it, but if it's no more, I'll feel less guilty.
Right?
I amble to the closet. My feet don't hurt as much as yesterday, I can now place both on the floor. The ointment Jawad rubbed on it worked well. It still hurt a little, but I can walk, though not properly. In two to three days it will be properly healed.
I'm about to open the closet when a knock resonated.
"Come in," I say. The door knob twisted, and the door creaks open a bit. I stretch my head to see who the person is. Aisha stretches her head through the door. She scans the room warily, then she sighs. Her gaze settles on me, then she opens the door wider.
"I was scared. I thought I'll meet the Amir inside." She places her hand on her chest, like Jawad is some kind of hidden monster who must not be seen. I don't blame her; I was more terrified of him before I got married to him and found out that he was no monster, but an angel in human form.
I chuckle. "He is not in, he left earlier." She steps into the room properly, her brown maid's gown flowing to the ground with a veil over her head.
She passes me a toothy grin. She flattens her veil over her head with her hands. "I'm about to start my duty this morning. I came to inform you that Dalia is wounded-"
My adrenaline shoots up. "What? Is she okay?"
"She thinks she's okay, but I can see she's in pain. She doesn't want me to inform you, but I don't want her to be alone."
"Shukran Aisha, I would go check her now." I am already searching for a veil to go with my red robe. I don't even know when I opened the closet door.
Aisha and I leave the room together, and I shut the door behind me. She says she is heading to the kitchen, so we part ways, then I head towards Dalia's room.
There is a room closer to Jawad's chamber, which I asked Dalia to occupy when I moved out of the maid quarters. She generously declined, saying she will remain in the quarters. Aisha-Khadija's chief maid- moved in with her, making them roommates.
I rap my knuckles against the door when I face Dalia's room.
"It isn't locked." She replies in her lovely voice. I push the door. She is sitting on her bed, her back resting on the headboard. Her knees are folded up her chest, she swivels her head in my direction and I throw her a small smile.
"You were seriously not going to tell me something happened to you?" I saunter to where she is sitting. The room hasn't changed a bit, except now Aisha's luggage occupied my former space. I lower my bottom on her bed. "What happened to your face? Ya Allah Dalia." I grip her chin with my fingers to take a look at the other side of her face that looks deeply scratched.
She lowers my hand with her hand. "I did not want to tell you because I know you'll definitely react this way. It's nothing Amna."
"It is something Dalia your face is..." I grumble. "Your face is scratched." I hold her arm, causing her to groan silent. I release my hold on her to gauge her expression. "Don't tell me you're wounded in another place." I hold her arm, ignoring her protest and raise the sleeve of her robe upward. And there before me is another deeper scratch. "Subhanallah, Dalia how did you get this?"
"I fell," she says, shifting her gaze away from me.
"From where Dalia... it's so deep," I shriek with tears brimming in my eyes. I release her arm, her sleeve still against her upper arm. "We need to get this treated... we should go to a physician. I can cal-"
"Amna, I'm fine. You don't need to worry. I'm not going to see a physician. It will heal on its own."
"Dalia it can get infected... It can't..." tears are already streaming down my face. "I can't leave you like this. Stay here, I'll be right back. I'll bring something to rub on it."
She uses the thumb of her unwounded arm to wipe the tears out of my face. "Stop crying, I'm here, nothing is wrong." I nod, then saunter out of the room.
Sometimes I have no control over my emotions. Especially when it involves someone I love. I can't bear to see any of my loved one in pain. The ointment Jawad used on my leg yesterday worked well. I should get it.
I am lucky to find the ointment in a white bottle on the vanity table. I grab a pack of lint from my closet with the mixture of honey and grease that my Jida made for me. I hug them against my chest and saunter back to Dalia's room.
She's already lying on the bed, her eyes staring at the ceiling. She acknowledges my presence with a smile, which I return.
She says nothing as I begin dabbing the mixture against her wound. I blow air to ease the pain and constantly whisper words of apology.
Dalia is a strong woman, only the redness of her face and beads of sweats against her forehead gives you an idea about how much pain she's experiencing.
I tie white clothing around her arm to prevent disease from gaining entry. Her gaze meets mine.
"Shukran," she whispers. I tug my lips up.
"Get some rest now." Her head hit the pillow and her eyes close. I'll wait until whenever she wakes.
****
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