Author's Preface
After spending the night outdoors, Yahya and Halima made their way back to the settlement at an easy pace. The palanquin rocked gently on the back of the varak, lulling Halima into a half-drowsy state, until a thought struck her and she called out to her husband from behind the heavy woven drape of her palanquin.
"Yahya, tell me about Hayat. Did you two grow up together?"
Yahya went quiet for a moment.
Old memories surfaced — long ago, his father and Hayat's father, Chief Gaddar, had discussed a possible match between their children. But then came the vision: the Sacred Lake calling to Yahya in a dream, revealing the face of his true soulmate — the woman riding beside him now in her palanquin. After that, all talk of a match with Hayat had simply faded away.
He knew more about Hayat than he wished to. As a child, she had been remarkably bright and kind. But after her mother passed away, her father took her to live with him, and something in her altered. The warmth in her diminished, replaced by sharper, colder traits. Under Gaddar’s heavy influence — a man who weighed every decision solely by what it offered him — Hayat had absorbed his relentless ambition for status, longing to become the future Seyyida.
There had been small schemes over the years — nothing overtly dangerous, but enough to keep people cautious. Yet Yahya and his father had chosen to look past them. In their culture, women were far too rare and precious to be publicly accused or held to account for such quiet maneuvering, and his mother’s deep friendship with Hayat’s mother held weight as well. He still believed she wasn't inherently bad; beneath that defensive layer, a wounded, good-hearted soul remained.
He knew Hayat still harbored resentment toward him for never taking her as a wife, which was likely why she resisted his words. Yet he had noticed Halima drawing closer to her lately — a sight that brought him genuine relief. Halima possessed the gentleness and warmth needed to reach Hayat and perhaps guide her back to who she once was.
"We played together as children," Yahya said finally, offering an honest piece of the truth without burdening her with the rest. "But we drifted apart as we grew up."
Halima made a quiet sound of understanding, satisfied with the answer. Yet the mention of childhood lingered in her mind, prompting another question.
"What were you like as a child?"
"Quiet," Yahya replied, a soft smile touching his lips. "Calm."
"I was a total troublemaker," Halima laughed.
Yahya chuckled, imagining a younger, mischievous version of her.
"Then I'm in trouble if we have a daughter," he said. "Two troublemakers under one roof."
Halima burst out laughing. "You had better prepare," she teased. "Because I intend to spoil our children rotten."
And so, sharing lighthearted words about the future they both quietly longed for, they reached the settlement before they even realized how much time had passed.
After seeing Yahya off to the morning council, Halima found herself alone in the tent, looking for a way to occupy her time.
Back on Earth, during her rare off-duty hours — after grueling shifts at the academy or demanding rotations on the ship — her favorite escape had been curling up with a tablet to watch Turkish series or Korean dramas. It had been her way of stepping away from reality for an hour or two.
There was no such comfort here.
She sighed, mildly amused and surprised that out of everything she had left behind, missing those shows hit her the hardest.
Her thoughts turned to Hayat. Halima still lacked a true companion in the settlement, a connection she had longed for since arriving. Resolving to bridge that gap, she set about preparing a treat — determined not to arrive empty-handed. She rolled date balls coated in crushed nuts and sesame seeds, a delicacy she had tasted at a feast and remembered fondly.
With the sweets arranged, she walked over to Hayat’s tent.
Fortunately, Hayat was home. Seeing Halima at her entrance, her eyebrows lifted in brief surprise — but as her gaze fell on the treat, her expression instantly brightened, and she promptly moved to prepare the tea kettle.
Looking around, Halima noted how carefully the space was kept. Thick rugs, artfully placed lamps, and embroidered cushions gave the tent a welcoming feel. One cushion in particular caught her attention — decorated with an intricate, striking star motif.
"Where did you get this?" Halima asked, admiring the craftsmanship.
"I made it myself," Hayat replied with a slight shrug, as though it required little effort.
"It’s beautiful," Halima said sincerely. "I have a long way to go before I reach that level. My cooking and needlework are fairly ordinary. I rarely cooked on Earth, and I certainly never embroidered."
Remembering that her guest came from an entirely different world, Hayat’s interest was piqued.
"Tell me about your home," she said, her curiosity evident. "What was life like there? What did you do every day?"
A sense of relief washed over Halima. Finally, she had someone to converse with, share small memories with, and laugh alongside — precisely what she had been searching for.
Maybe we really can become friends, Halima thought with cautious optimism, as their conversation continued effortlessly.
Faris had been dreaming of a woman over the past few nights.
The details were faint — a slender silhouette without a clear face. Yet he was certain her hair color was unlike any he had seen among his people, and the surrounding environment in those dreams was entirely unfamiliar to him.
The realization settled quickly: much like his brother before him, he was dreaming of his soulmate. He desperately wanted to believe that the Sacred Lake would summon him soon to reveal her face, yet a cold knot of dread tightened in his chest. He remembered all too clearly Yahya's centuries of torment — five hundred years of agonizing, soul-draining waiting. Faris admitted to himself that he was mentally weaker than his brother. If he had been forced to wait five centuries, he would have certainly lost his mind, yet Yahya had endured. Still, hope outweighed the fear: soon — perhaps very soon — the lake would call him too.
He smiled to himself, recalling a night during Ramadan when he had stood with hands outstretched, praying earnestly to Allah for the kind of love he had once dismissed as foolishness. It seemed his prayer had been heard.
Yet if her features and surrounding environment were so foreign, did it mean she was an outsider too — someone from beyond their world, just like his sister-in-law?
For now, he chose to keep the matter private. It was better to wait until the lake formally called him before sharing the news with his family to avoid unnecessary speculation.
Still, it felt practical to learn more about Earth and its women in the meantime, should his assumption prove correct.
He let out a quiet sigh. It meant he would need to speak with Halima. Though he had fully accepted her into the family and defended her whenever necessary, her blunt, sometimes childish demeanor still caught him off guard.
Well, he reassured himself, my brother mentioned she had a difficult past. Perhaps that behavior is simply her way of seeking the warmth she lacked.
A wry smile touched his lips as another thought occurred to him.
The irony was hard to ignore: by all indications, his own future wife was destined to be an outsider as well.