Author's Preface
"Tomorrow I'll speak with my father," Yahya said, still holding her hands, his voice thick with joy. "InshaAllah, we'll set the wedding date as soon as possible."
InshaAllah — if God wills it. Halima recognized the phrase, a quiet invocation of divine will that grounded his excitement with deep reverence.
Halima nodded silently, feeling strangely weightless, as if she couldn't fully believe what was happening. The journey back through the desert blurred into a warm haze — the palanquin's gentle sway, quiet voices outside, the sunset painting the dunes in the same violet-gold tones she'd seen that first night after the crash, only now without fear, without loneliness.
But the moment she was alone in her tent, as evening quiet settled over the camp and the oil lamp flickered in the corner, that lightness drained away, replaced by an unsettling wave of emotion she couldn't contain.
She cried silently, her face pressed into the pillow, and then smiled through her tears, pressing her hands to her chest as if trying to keep her heart from bursting. A man loved her. Not just any man — the one all the tribes looked up to, a future chieftain considered the finest man across all these lands for his beauty, strength, nobility, and status, who could have chosen the finest bride from any tribe. And he had chosen her: an exhausted technician carrying the shattered dreams of another world.
I have to take this chance, she thought, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. I have no right to let it slip away. Maybe this is the one time in my life happiness has come to me, instead of me chasing after it.
And then, like pieces falling into place, she understood.
That was why Amina had looked at her with such tender warmth from the very first day. That was why Mansur, the stern leader of his people, had blessed their union without a shadow of a doubt. That was why even Faris, sharp and hostile at first, had given alms to the poor, asking them to pray for her life. They knew. They had known long before she did that she wasn't a random stray, but part of their family, written into their destiny.
She couldn't be entirely sure of their true feelings — whether they had accepted her wholeheartedly or merely tolerated her. But she knew how to read subtle shifts in expressions. Years under her parents' tyranny had trained her to catch the flicker of emotion on a face before it turned into anger directed at her. She saw how Mansur, while welcoming on the surface, still watched her when he thought she wasn't looking, weighing who she was. Faris made no secret of his scrutiny, wanting to dissect her past. But perhaps, in time, genuine acceptance would follow. And even if it didn't — did she truly need it? Yahya loved her, and Amina treated her with a warmth she had craved all her life. That was enough. Even if all she received from the others was the appearance of acceptance, she could live with that. It was far more than she had ever known on Earth.
Her tears dried, leaving behind a deep, steady calm.
Thank You, Allah, she whispered in her heart, looking up toward the canopy of the tent, feeling for the first time that her dreams had finally come true. Thank You for bringing me here. To these people. To this home.
Wrapped in that rare, unclouded gratitude, free of fear and loneliness, Halima closed her eyes and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Morning brought laughter and lively voices around the low breakfast table.
"We must summon the elders from the neighboring clans," Mansur said, breaking off a piece of flatbread. "And send messengers to every tribe without exception — they'll take offense if anyone is overlooked."
"And the wedding tent needs to be expanded," Amina added, already tallying figures in her head. "Our current one is far too small for guests from across the lands."
Faris offered his brother dry congratulations and fell silent, lost in thought. Beside Yahya, Halima felt her cheeks burn every time a glance drifted toward her. Yahya was quieter than usual as well, answering in brief words, clearly just as flustered as she was.
"A month from now," Mansur declared, looking around the table. "A chieftain's son's wedding usually demands longer preparation, but—" he glanced at Yahya with a warm, understanding smile, "—my son has waited long enough. I see no reason to delay it further."
Everyone agreed, and the conversation turned to details: fabrics, feasts, and guest lists.
After the Council meeting, Faris waited until Yahya and the other men had stepped away. He had already asked his father for a private word.
"What is on your mind, my son?" Mansur asked.
"Father, do you trust this woman completely? She fell from the sky. Her motives are unknown. I know other worlds exist — the ancient teachings came to us from the Prophet Yahya himself. I can see from her clothing and how quickly she grasps our language that her people are advanced. But we know nothing of her origins or her character. Whenever anyone asks about her past, she shuts down and stays silent. It raises questions."
Mansur offered a faint smile. "You are truly my son. No, I do not trust her blindly — but I am giving her the opportunity to earn that trust. I assigned Darim to watch her. She has been with us for about two and a half months, and he has not reported a single suspicious action. I hope she proves worthy of the faith I am extending to her. Watch her as well, if you wish. But my instinct tells me she is harmless. Still, caution is wise. The blessing of soulmates returned after centuries — for that alone, she deserves a chance. The people accepted her because of it. Perhaps her arrival marks a turning point, and our daughters will be born in greater numbers once more. Perhaps she brings good fortune. We all see hope in her. As far as I am concerned, if she makes a good wife to my son, I will have no quarrel with her."
Leaving the table, Halima headed back toward her tent, a light step in her pace and a gentle smile still lingering on her lips.
She was only a few paces from the entrance when a wave of nausea hit her — sharp, sudden, forcing her to freeze in place with a hand clapped over her mouth.
It wasn't the first time.
For the past few days, she had felt queasy in the mornings, sometimes throughout the day, but she had brushed it off, blaming the spices, the unfamiliar diet, and the local water.
Standing motionless by the tent flap, trying to slow her hammering heart, unwanted realizations began to assemble in her mind — details she had refused to acknowledge. Her cycle. When had it last come?
She tried to count back the days, but they blurred together into the chaos following the crash. Tracing back through the weeks, horror slowly washed over her: it had been far too long to attribute to stress alone.
No, she thought frantically, leaning her shoulder against the wooden tent post. No, no, I can't be pregnant.
The moment the thought surfaced, memory yielded the only explanation.
That final night with Mir, just before the divorce — a desperate, bitter attempt to save a marriage already beyond rescue. A week later, he had announced he found his true love and filed for divorce.
She counted frantically in her head. Two and a half months. Maybe slightly more. She had been on this planet for just over two and a half months, which meant that if she was pregnant, the timeline traced back to Earth, before the crash.
A child conceived in a dying marriage. The child of a man who had replaced her without a second thought.
What do I do? Her mind spun in a panic. Get rid of it? But it's my own flesh and blood... No. I can't. But I can't tell anyone either. Not now. Not after last night, when everyone is so happy...
She took a deep breath, fighting to regain control. Maybe she was mistaken. Stress, climate change, alien food — any number of factors could disrupt her body after surviving a crash landing on a foreign world.
Nothing is showing yet, she thought, resting a hand on her flat stomach. I have time to figure this out. I have my lesson with Zoraida now. I'll go. I'll focus on that and decide what to do later.
Clinging to that fragile resolve, she wiped the cold sweat from her forehead, forced a calm composure onto her face, and walked toward Zoraida's tent, leaving the storm raging inside her behind.