Author's Preface
These days, Halima was genuinely happy. She'd finally made a friend. She and Hayat could talk for hours about anything, sharing little bits of wisdom and laughing over nothing in particular.
But something had started nagging at her lately. Faris had taken a sudden, strange interest in life on Earth — specifically in Earth women, their habits, and the way they lived. He kept volunteering to walk her to the market instead of Darim, asking questions along the way that felt completely out of step with the usual coolness between them.
What is going on with him, she thought, glancing at him sideways.
In some ways, she had to admit, he acted like a genuinely protective younger brother toward her husband. She couldn't deny that. But his personality still rubbed her the wrong way — blunt to the point of rudeness, always saying exactly what he thought with zero regard for how it landed. Looking at Mansur, at Amina, at Yahya himself — people so warm, so careful with each other — she honestly couldn't figure out how this family had produced someone like him.
Well, she concluded, with a touch of dry humor, every family's got one.
Still, if Faris wanted to reach out to her, she wasn't going to shut the door. She'd stay open, however odd his sudden curiosity seemed.
One day, as Faris was helping her carry market purchases back to the tent again, they ran into Hayat.
Hayat looked between them, a subtle shadow crossing her face — these two had been getting suspiciously close lately.
Faris, as usual, shot her a look of open hostility.
Halima, chalking it up to his generally difficult nature, nodded toward the tent.
"Just bring the things inside," she said, a little tired.
Hayat followed them in and found Faris and Halima already talking by the time she stepped through the flap.
"By the way," Faris said, setting down a bundle, "I haven't been sleeping well lately. You have an interest in healing, don't you? You wouldn't happen to have anything for that?"
Halima smiled thinly to herself. If only he knew.
Her "interest in medicine" had actually started for entirely different reasons — back before the wedding, when she'd used it as cover to make frequent trips to the House of Healers, quietly securing the sleeping draught she'd needed for her wedding night. That was when the settlement had first latched onto the mistaken idea that she was passionate about healing.
"I get sleeping herbs from the herbalist," she said aloud, keeping her voice level. "Ask him for the same thing."
Faris nodded, satisfied, made an excuse about having business to attend to, and left.
Alone with Halima, Hayat raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.
"Well, look at that," she drawled. "You and Faris seem to be getting along."
Halima smiled, warmth lighting up her face.
"The whole family's accepted me," she said simply. "It means... a lot."
Hayat smiled back, giving nothing away.
Viper, she thought, watching Halima's face glow. A clever, scheming little viper. Stole my fiancé and now she's got his whole family wrapped around her finger too.
Out loud, she just said something warm and empty, and the two of them settled at the low table together, the same way they had every other day, keeping up the quiet ritual of their friendship.
A few days later, Halima was standing at a pottery stall, studying two painted bowls, half-talking to herself:
Halima was standing at a pottery stall, studying two painted bowls, half-talking to herself.
"Should I get this one, or this one? They'd both look great in the tent..."
"Get both," said a familiar voice behind her.
She turned around and lit up at the sight of her husband.
"Yahya! What are you doing here?"
"Council ended early," he said, smiling. "And I remembered you're usually at the bazaar around this time."
She couldn't hold back the happiness spreading through her. Yahya gave Darim a short nod, dismissing him, and the two of them were left alone.
"I never had breakfast," he admitted, looking at her. "Want to grab something to eat?"
Halima nodded, already smiling.
They headed for a local open-air eatery — a place where food was cooked under a shared awning and then carried out to small, private tents, each serving as a secluded nook for dining.
Yahya walked ahead, scanning for an open spot, and Halima kept falling a step or two behind, his long strides outpacing her every time. She laughed under her breath at the height difference.
Settled inside one of the tents, they ordered local dishes, and while the food was being prepared, the conversation drifted.
"So how are you settling in here, really?" Yahya asked suddenly, looking at her.
Halima laughed.
"Isn't it a little late to be asking that?"
He smiled, a little embarrassed, conceding the point.
"How was council?" she asked in return.
"Fine," he said, but there was tiredness in his voice, and something heavy sat behind his expression.
They must have been dealing with something difficult today, Halima thought.
She reached out and touched his back gently.
"It must be hard, carrying all that," she said quietly. "Being the future Seyyid. I'm sorry so much of it falls on you."
At her touch, the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. He took her small hand in his large one, fingers lacing through hers.
Sometimes she still couldn't quite believe it — that this tall, striking man was actually her husband. MashAllah, she thought, the word carrying all her genuine admiration — the phrase people used here to mark something beautiful as a gift from Allah, a way of guarding it against envy and harm.
Yahya smiled, though something sad moved behind it.
"Sometimes I still don't believe you're really here with me," he said quietly. "That the ache is finally over. That I actually waited long enough and you came. Like you're a mirage that's going to disappear any second. Sitting here, talking to you, touching you — none of it feels quite real."
Emotion caught in Halima's throat.
"Sometimes it doesn't feel real to me either," she said softly. "Living here, with you. Sometimes I think it's just a beautiful dream, and one day I'll wake up."
She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him, and he held her back.
They sat like that until their food was finally brought out, wrapped in a quiet warmth that stayed with them for the rest of the afternoon.