Iran (Khorasan Province)
15th century
"Stop that thief; she robbed me," a man said, running behind a girl.
She pushed her legs hard against the muddy surface. Thundering footsteps trailing behind her were getting closer.
Her lengthy hair danced against her hip as she sprinted with an unwavering determination, as if her life depended on never stopping.
Glancing over her shoulder, she checked if the man was still pursuing her but to her horror, she saw a thick stick in his hand. He looked like a maniac following her.
"Stop, you little scoundrel."
She grew increasingly frightened and quickened her pace, running with even more speed. She was already gasping for air, finding it difficult to run in a lengthy skirt.
Suddenly, she saw a big man coming in front of her. Not able to stop, she found herself crashing into him.
She winced in pain.
"Aah"
He resembled a massive wall, very huge. His face remained concealed behind a scarf, preventing her from catching a glimpse of his features.
"Huff, thank God you caught her" the grey man said, huffing like a pig.
"She robbed me in Bazar," he continued.
Oman looked at the girl and then at her hands. She was holding a piece of bread and clutching it to her chest. She was tinier and more fragile, as if a teen.
As the merciless sun sliced its way through the mist, his first impulse was to get the girl into the shade.
She raised her hazel eyes to his face which were unusually clear and steady. The long, curling eyelashes shaded her eyes. She was wrapped in a shabby old cloak. Her face was covered with dust, her skirt was torn, and her hair was dirty. She was the epitome of beauty, if the dirt on her face could be removed.
Her feet, despite the hot sand, were bare. She looked like a girl in her early teen years.
"Give that girl to me. I'll make her pay," the man with the stick said as he reached out his free hand to seize her wrist.
Before he could do that, Oman grabbed his wrist and clutched it in a tight grip. He had a way of looking at a person with his dark eyes. So focused and intent that it can make any man bend his knee and submit.
"What has she stolen?" Oman asked the old man coldly.
The old man paused for a moment, taken aback. Oman clutched his wrist even harder, making him wince.
"Aww, she took my loaf of bread and fled," he replied, attempting to release his wrist from Oman's hold.
Oman left him with a jerk. He grabbed handful of gold coins from his cotton bag and flung them carelessly onto the ground, causing them to scatter in all directions. The man looked at the ground in disbelief as he lowered himself to pick up the coins. Those coins were more than he needed.
He laughed evilly, showing his dirty teeth.
"Waah, Allah will give you double, my son," he said while laughing, and he walked away swaying his hand full of gold coins.
Her blazing eyes surveyed him. There was something about him; an aura of authority, a touch me not glaze-which dazzled and at the same time made her want her to reach out, just to see if he was real. He both compelled and intimidated.
He glanced one last time at her before walking away, leaving her rooted to the same spot. Carefully, she watched him strode away and then followed his footsteps.
After crossing five shops, he noticed the same little girl from before following him. He took long strides so that she wouldn't follow him. He was astonished to learn she kept chasing him. It was a funny sight to see her running with her small legs.
He walked past many shops; now houses started to appear. He knew the long-haired girl was still following him. He entered a narrow street. Not a single soul was seen on the path. Street walls were so high and hard to climb.
Her footfall was the only thing that he could hear on this silent, narrow street.
He stood in front of a small iron gate. His height was larger than the door frame that he had to bow down to enter the house.
She wanted to follow behind him, so she mimicked him but found herself a little scared. She stood in front of the gate. Hesitantly, she slowly pushed the gate ajar.
She noticed a house, so she entered. The house was spacious, and rooms stood adjacently. She assessed everything around her, then her eyes landed on a woman in her late 20s who appeared in front of her.
"Who are you?" the woman asked, surprised to see a teen in her home.
"Oman, who is she?" Fatima shouted, but didn't receive any reply in return.
Frustrated. "Who are you, girl, and how did you get here?" she asked while taking some steps towards her.
"Out of here immediately," Fatima commanded, pointing toward the exit. The girl became scared looking at the horrifying woman. Fatima went near her in an attempt to move her back. But when she tried to touch her, she flinched away.
"She followed me," Fatima said, looking behind her to see Oman standing behind her. He was holding a plate full of food in his hand.
"What? How can she follow you, and you let her come here?"
"She was hungry, so I didn't say anything," he replied bluntly.
"Are you out of your mind? If someone came to know, they would not give a single thaught before calling troops over here," she whispered at Oman.
Then Fatima looked at the bread in her hands, which the girl was clutching tightly to her chest.
"She already has bread."
"How could you say she is hungry?" Fatima asked; she was angry now. How could he be so careless?
Oman said nothing and walked past Fatima and stood in front of the hazel-eyed girl. He extended his hand to give her the plate of food.
She looked at Oman with doodling eyes and took the plate from him. Her stare was intense, void, and hollow inside. They held each other's gaze. His breath was taken away. For a good ten seconds.
The girl had stirred some instinct in him, he realised. It was instinct to protect and defend her and feeling felt so strong.
Coming to his senses, he took a step back and gave her one last look before storming into his room.
Fatima followed behind him.
"Oman, listen. Don't ever do that again. You're already in danger. Don't look for any more trouble," Fatima said in a worried tone.
She cared for her elder brother very much, and looking at how he believed in people made her irritated sometimes.
"Don't worry, it won't happen again," he said, pulling out a dagger from beneath a mattress and checking its blade. It needed to be sharpened.
"Whatever, you won't listen to me anyway," she said, folding her arms near her chest like a little girl showing her anger.
!!****!!
Oman was sharpening the blade on the rock. It was a legendary dagger and he had used it in many wars along with his heavy sword. He was always brutal when it came to fighting. He spared no one and was undefeated in combat.
He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice Fatima sitting beside him.
"That girl, is she mute? Because when I questioned her about her family, she didn't utter a word. Neither did I hear a sound come out of her mouth." Fatima was deep in thought.
"Perhaps, but I don't think so," Oman said while checking his blade to see if it was sharp enough.
Fatima hummed. "I wanted to give her some clothes. Her skirt was torn, and now I actually feel bad for shouting at her" Fatima has a soft side, even though she tries to become cold outside.
"Don't think too much, Fatima," he said, looking at her sad face.
"I don't want some dirty men to harass her."
"I wanted to give her something appropriate to wear, but she ran away."
"She ran away again?" he asked, but wasn't surprised.
"What do you mean again?" Fatima narrowed her eyes at Oman.
"I saw her many times in the streets. Whenever she saw me, she used to run after me. Today she chased me till our home," and he was amused.
"She doesn't have a family."
"I don't know Fatima," he said, taking a deep breath. It didn't seem she has someone to look after her.
"She was cute, though, and innocent too," Fatima remembered her facial features, like those of a princess. Her eyes were the most attractive; they caught Fatima's attention. Fatima wanted to help her anyway.
Oman was doing his work, but his mind wandered to her. She doesn't talk much; however, she speaks with her eyes. Her gaze always pierced through his heart with her sadness. A little girl who was fighting with people alone was really scary.
He had seen her many times, jumping here and there like a butterfly. He helped her by giving her something to eat whenever they crossed paths.
Maybe that's why she used to chase him. After taking something to eat from Oman, she used to run away. He always wonders how she survives.
He wasn't interested in her, but there was something... weird. which makes her interesting. After thinking for a while, he pushed his thoughts to the back of his head.
*******
She doesn't remember much, but eleven years ago on that fateful day, she got separated from her father. Her father went into the crowd and never came back for her. She tried to look for her dear father right there, around a bakery.
She spent days in front of the bakery, sitting by the side of the street. She had no guardian to provide her shelter. Then days passed and the weathers came and went. To fill her stomach, she started stealing food.
She still roams around that bakery, waiting for her father. In hope that he will come back someday and take her home -she still held out a tiny shred of hope.
She was treated like a princess in her own home, however she became a homeless girl, and people think of her as a thief.
she didn't had another choice, wasn't at a fault. If they wanted to call her a thief, they can- gladly. People were cruel to her and no one ever sympathized with her.
After meeting Oman, she instantly started admiring him. She desperately wanted his attention. She didn't know why it happens but one glance at
him, and she felt butterflies in her stomach.
!!****!!
It is said some lives are linked across times,
Connected by a great force,
that echoes through the ages,
DESTINY.
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