Author's Preface
A week later, Halima and Yahya reluctantly left their quiet sanctuary behind.
"I am going to miss this silence so much," Yahya’s quiet voice drifted through the heavy curtains of the palanquin atop the varak. "I cherished every moment when we belonged only to each other. Promise me we will steal away here again, Halima. At the very first opportunity."
Halima smiled, pressing her palm against the fabric separating them. "I promise, Yahya. With all my heart."
Around the same time, Mansur was making his way back from the tribal council. Riding through the encampment, he noted with surprise how warmly — almost with visible relief — the villagers, elders, and even seasoned warriors greeted him. The sudden flood of deference left him somewhat unsettled.
"Welcome home, Father," Faris met him the moment Mansur dismounted near their tent.
"It is good to see you, Faris," Mansur gave his son an attentive look. "But tell me... why are our warriors looking at me as if I just saved them from a calamity? The elders look so relieved, as though a storm swept through while I was gone."
Faris remained unfazed. "In your absence, some believed discipline could be relaxed. The guards grumbled about night shifts, and the merchants bickered at the bazaar. I doubled the watch and penalized the instigators. Order requires a firm hand."
Listening to his son’s report, Mansur offered a quiet, knowing smile. The reason behind the people's eager welcome was clear: Faris had governed with unyielding rigidity.
"You kept everything under control remarkably well, my son, and I am proud of you," Mansur said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But remember: justice must always be tempered with mercy, lest order turns into fear. We will soften your measures a bit in the coming days."
Returning home for the midday meal, Mansur stepped into the warmth of their tent, where Amina immediately greeted him.
"You are finally home," she whispered, pulling her husband into a tight embrace.
"I missed you, Amina," Mansur replied, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
Watching his parents, Faris felt a quiet tenderness stir within his chest.
As the family sat down to share the meal, Mansur remarked casually:
"By the way, Faris... At the council, Gaddar, the leader of the Banu Haman, approached me. A formal marriage proposal has arrived for you."
Faris did not even lift his eyes from his bowl. "No, Father. I decline. Outright."
Mansur nodded understandingly, showing no anger whatsoever. "I had no intention of forcing you, Faris. I merely wished to know where your heart stands."
"Do not rush him, Mansur," Amina interjected, offering her son a soft smile. "Who knows... Perhaps the day will come when our Faris, too, sees the face of his soulmate reflected in the waters of the Sacred Lake, just as Yahya did."
Mansur agreed with his wife without hesitation.
Faris, however, shook his head softly. "That will not happen, Mother. Many years have passed since I came of age. If a soulmate were truly meant for me, the Sacred Lake would have revealed her face long ago. But its waters were silent then, and they remain silent now. Besides... I watched for years as Yahya suffered over a distant vision. I have no desire for such a fate."
Amina only smiled knowingly. "You never know, my son."
Faris placed no faith in the thought, but he nodded anyway, unwilling to displease his mother.
The following day, the newlyweds arrived home. The family gathered around the low table, complete once more. The moment Amina set eyes on them, tears welled in her eyes. Halima, seeing her emotion, pulled her into a tight embrace, shedding tears of her own. The men shared quiet smiles, shaking their heads with affectionate amusement, though none could hide how deeply they had missed one another.
Mansur reached out, gently touching Halima's dark hair. "Welcome home, daughter," he said softly.
"Welcome home, sister," Faris added with a warm smile.
Halima looked from one face to the next, her smile widening as the last lingering doubts faded from her mind: they truly considered her family.
Faris then reminded them all that Ramadan, the holy month, would begin in a week's time, requiring a great deal of preparation before its arrival.
A week later, the sacred month descended upon the land, wrapping the camp in a quiet, solemn joy. It was a time when old grudges were dissolved and frayed family bonds were restored. Throughout the month, every believer observed the fast from dawn until sunset, abstaining from food and drink from the first light of day until dusk, turning their hearts entirely toward prayer and the remembrance of Allah.
To sustain themselves through the long hours of devotion, and following the Sunnah of the Prophet, people rose in the quiet darkness before dawn for suhoor — for great blessing lay in waking to partake in food before the fast commenced.
That morning, Halima woke to the soft sound of Yahya moving quietly about the tent. He had already prepared a simple meal of millet porridge with milk and placed it upon the table alongside a bowl of fresh dates.
Dates, as Zoraida had once explained to her, were among the favored foods of the Prophet — and during Ramadan, when hours of fasting threatened to drain the body's strength, they provided precisely what was needed: rich nourishment and steady energy to sustain a person throughout the day.
Halima lay still for a moment, in no rush to rise and help. She wanted, just for a little while, to allow herself to be cared for.
Yahya noticed her open eyes and smiled, calling her softly to the table. When she remained unmoving, he understood her silent plea. Crossing the room with light steps, he gathered her effortlessly into his arms. Halima gasped softly, throwing her arms around his neck. Looking into his face, she still found it difficult to grasp that a man so breathtaking was truly her husband.
Catching her gaze, Yahya pressed a tender kiss to her cheek before setting her down gently onto a cushion at the table. Charmed by his thoughtfulness, Halima confessed how much she appreciated his care, and they sat down to share the pre-dawn meal together.
Outside, Faris approached his parents' tent to join them, as was his custom. But as he drew near, he heard his father and mother sharing a quiet, joyful moment, their laughter soft in the stillness of the morning. Reluctant to intrude upon their peace, he stepped back.
He turned his gaze toward his brother's tent, realizing Yahya and Halima were likely wrapped in their own quiet joy as well. Deciding against disturbing either couple, Faris turned back toward his own tent, only to pause halfway in the cool night air.
Looking at the soft glow of light spilling from both tents, a strange, unfamiliar sensation took root in his chest — not sharp envy, but a quiet, reflective warmth. Only a week ago, his father's talk of marriage had felt completely alien, an unnecessary complication he had no desire to entertain.
Yet now, listening to his parents' shared laughter and knowing the peaceful happiness his brother had found, the thought of finding someone no longer seemed so ridiculous. Perhaps having a soulmate to share life with wasn't such a foolish dream after all.
Lifting his eyes toward the fading moon, Faris offered a low, self-deprecating smile. For the first time in years, a faint, curious question crossed his mind: what if the Sacred Lake still held a vision for him after all?