Author's Preface
As the morning Council session ended, Mansur walked alongside his eldest son.
"At last, my son," Mansur said, resting a hand on Yahya's shoulder. "Years of waiting have finally borne fruit. Halima is a fine young woman. Worthy of you. I hope she'll be a faithful wife to you."
Yahya smiled, a quiet warmth settling in his chest. "Father, Halima is honest and kind to her core. I loved her the moment I saw her. Her heart is so pure. Thank you for approving our union — it has made me happier than words can say. You'll see, someday she'll become the finest Seyyida this land has known. Word of her kindness will reach every corner of the region."
Seeing the devotion in his son's eyes, Mansur exhaled, praying the young woman would prove worthy of such love. He walked away to attend to the elders, leaving Yahya alone for a rare quiet moment amid the sudden whirlwind of preparations. Organizing a chieftain’s wedding in just one month was a daunting task, and the camp was already alive with movement.
Faris stepped up beside his brother, handing him a waterskin. "You look like a man whose mind is miles away, Yahya."
Yahya took a sip, his fingers lingering on the leather strap. A quiet smile touched his lips, but a shadow of an ache flickered in his eyes.
"I am happy, Faris. Truly," he said softly, as if trying to convince himself as much as his brother. "And yet... the thought gnaws at my soul every single day. I see it when she looks at me — she doesn't love me yet. Perhaps she accepted out of sheer desperation, or because of my standing here."
He turned to Faris, searching his brother's face for a glimmer of reassurance, a belief he could hold onto.
"I just need to know it's not impossible. I want to win her heart, Faris. Our parents didn't love each other at first either, right? And look at them now. I pray our union can become just as strong."
Faris swallowed the sharp warning rising in his throat. Suppressing his own doubts, he forced a soft expression onto his face and placed a hand on Yahya's shoulder. "I only want you to be happy, brother. That is all that matters to me."
Inside, however, Faris felt no such warmth. His father had chosen to give the stranger a chance, but Faris still could not bring himself to trust her. Every instinct told him she was hiding something behind those quiet, guarded eyes. Yet, seeing the unshielded hope and raw vulnerability in his brother's face, Faris buried his mistrust for now. For Yahya's sake, he would keep his silence — and keep watch.
They turned their talk back to the celebration — the guest list, the date, the preparations — while elsewhere in the encampment, Halima sat in Zoraida’s tent, unaware of how fragile those very plans were about to become.
Zoraida's words reached her as if through thick fabric. Halima sat nodding mechanically, her mind trapped somewhere between that morning's sudden nausea and a frantic counting of days.
"You're not listening to me, Seyyida?"
Zoraida's voice came sharper than usual, and Halima flinched, lifting her gaze. The title — Seyyida — had been offered to her by various people across the camp these past days, even though the wedding was still a month away. The respect usually filled her with warmth, but now it only pressed heavier on her chest.
"I'm sorry, Zoraida. Please, continue."
The teacher frowned slightly, then returned to her lesson.
"So," she said in a measured tone, "under the law of our faith, a woman divorced from her husband must wait a set period before she may marry again. That waiting period — the iddah — lasts three months."
Halima went completely still.
"What did you say? Please repeat that."
Zoraida raised an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden intensity, but repeated patiently: "Three months. That is exactly how long a woman must wait after a divorce before binding herself to a new marriage."
A flurry of calculations ran through Halima's mind. Three months. She had been on this planet for two and a half months, and her divorce had happened just before she fell from the sky. With the wedding scheduled a month from now, three and a half months would have passed — meaning the standard waiting period would already be over. She would be safe.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a fraction of a second, relief almost washing over her, until the real terror asserted itself.
She had told no one here about her previous marriage. Not Amina, not Yahya, not even in their most quiet moments. Everything was at stake — happiness, safety, honor, love — and the thought of it crumbling the moment the truth surfaced terrified her more than the alien world ever had.
Swallowing hard, keeping her voice as even as she could, she asked, "And what if... a woman is pregnant from her previous marriage? Is it three months then as well?"
Zoraida paused, smoothing the edge of her headscarf as she considered the question.
"No," she said. "If a woman carries a child from a former husband, the law is different. She must wait until the birth itself, and three months after. Only then may she marry again."
Halima's heart dropped into a cold, empty void.
Until the birth. And three months after that.
A wedding in a month would be a direct, grave violation of sacred law if she were truly carrying Mir's child.
"And if..." Halima began again, selecting each word like a step across thin ice, "if a woman has no choice but to marry — out of desperation, with no other way to survive? What then?"
Zoraida regarded her quietly, as if searching her memory for an obscure exception.
"There is an opinion," she said slowly, "that in cases of extreme hardship, a woman may enter a formal union before the time has passed. But the husband and wife must not come together intimately. It is a marriage for protection only, nothing more. Permitted only under the direst circumstances."
Zoraida moved on to the next topic, unaware of the ground shifting beneath her student's feet.
Halima stared ahead with unseeing eyes as the realization took root. A way out existed. A narrow path that might let her keep the wedding, the family, and the life she had just begun to build — without exposing her secret to the world.
Only one question remained, heavy and frightening in the silence of her mind: was she truly desperate enough to walk it?