Author's Preface
The sound reached Faris before full waking did — a thin, broken whisper threading through sleep, repeating itself in a voice he barely recognized as hers. "My baby... my child..."
He surfaced fully to find Latifa thrashing against the bedding, tears streaking her face even in sleep, her body curled protectively around her stomach as though shielding it from a blow that had already happened.
"Latifa." He gripped her shoulder, gentle but urgent. "For the sake of Allah, wake up."
She didn't surface. He tried again, shaking her more firmly, and when that failed too, he dipped his fingers into the water pitcher beside the bed and flicked cool droplets against her cheek.
Her eyes tore open, wild and unseeing for one terrible second before they found his face hovering above her.
"Faris." Her voice cracked. "You're here. You're really here."
He gathered her into his arms immediately, holding on as her whole body shook against him. "You had a bad dream, my love. Only a dream." He pressed his lips to her hair. "Spit lightly three times over your left shoulder, and seek refuge in Allah from shaytan — bad dreams come from him, meant only to grieve you. They carry no truth in them. Don't let it take root."
She did as he guided her, trembling, and the motion seemed to loosen something tight in her chest, though the tears kept falling freely. "Faris, I love you so much. Please — don't ever leave me. I'm so afraid."
"Latifa, you are my own soul." He kissed her forehead, slow and certain. "I will never leave you. I'm here. I will always protect you."
She sobbed against his chest, and then, voice frantic and raw, began making promises he hadn't asked for and didn't want. "I'll be a good wife, Faris. I'll obey you in everything, never question you again, never fight you the way I used to. You're the head of this family — just give me your orders, and I'll follow them. I'll give you as many children as you want, I'll—"
Something in his chest cracked painfully at the words. This wasn't his wife speaking. This was the ghost of what Jahim's months of cruelty had tried to carve her into — not the woman who'd once thrown a jewelry casket at his head out of sheer stubborn fury, not the fierce, unbending spirit he'd fallen in love with against every expectation of his own upbringing.
"There's no need for any of this." He cupped her face, forcing her tear-blurred eyes to meet his. "Be yourself with me, Latifa. Argue with me when you think I'm wrong. Go on with your research, your work, whatever your heart still wants from this life. I don't want obedience from you. I never did."
"No — no, I have to obey." She shook her head frantically, clinging tighter. "Order me, Faris. I'll do it."
He let out a slow breath, holding her face steady between his palms. "Do you know what our faith actually teaches about a wife's place? A woman was created from a rib. Not from the bone of the foot, to be stepped on and walked over. Not from the bone of the skull, to rule and command from above. From the rib — right beneath the heart, sheltered close under the arm." His voice gentled further. "A husband is commanded to guard his wife, not rule over her like a servant beneath him. You live right there, Latifa. Beneath my heart, under my protection. No one in this entire world stands closer to me than you do."
She stared up at him, something in her finally breaking open properly, and buried her face against his neck, weeping freely now — not the frantic, fearful tears of a moment ago, but something deeper, older, finally given permission to simply pour out.
He held her through all of it, rocking her gently, and beneath his own steady calm, something cold and absolute settled into place in his chest. Jahim had done this to her. Had reached into the strongest spirit he'd ever known and tried to hollow it out from the inside. Faris made himself a quiet, merciless vow in the dark, holding his weeping wife against him: that debt would be paid in full, whatever it cost him to collect it.
A week later, morning light caught the dust rising around Yahya's varak as he checked the last of his saddlebags for the long ride home.
Ahmet pulled him into a firm embrace. "I entrust you to Allah's protection, nephew."
"Fi amanillah, uncle." Yahya bowed his head respectfully before turning to his brother.
Faris gripped him tight, the embrace lasting a beat longer than strictly necessary. "Safe travels, brother. May Allah guard every mile of the road."
"Safe journey," Latifa added, warmth plain in her voice. "Give our love to everyone waiting for you."
Yahya mounted his varak with a final nod to them both and rode out across the gold-lit dunes, the camp shrinking slowly behind him as the long road home stretched out ahead.
Weeks of hard travel later, Banu Rayyan's familiar gates finally rose on the horizon, and Yahya felt something in his chest ease at the sight of them.
He'd barely dismounted before Halima came running, throwing herself into his arms with enough force that he caught her mid-stride and spun her once, both of them laughing with the pure, uncomplicated joy of two people finally together again.
"I missed you so much," he murmured into her hair, setting her back down.
"I missed you just as much."
A deliberate throat-clear sounded nearby. Mansur stood watching them with a wide, unbothered grin. "We missed you too, Yahya, in case anyone was wondering."
Laughter rippled through the gathered family. Yahya crossed to embrace his father properly. "How are you, Father?"
"Well, my son. Better, now that you're home."
Amina pulled him into her own tight embrace next, holding on a moment longer than usual, relief plain in every line of her face.
Hayat stood nearby, little Umniya balanced on her hip, and Yahya crossed to lift his daughter into his own arms, pressing a kiss to each round cheek. "Did my girl miss her papa?"
"Missed you?" Halima laughed softly. "She searched for you in every corner of this camp. Kept crying 'papa, papa' until we nearly lost our minds. We used to brag about how calm she was — I think we cursed ourselves with the evil eye, saying it so often."
Yahya breathed in his daughter's sweet scent, something fierce and tender rising in his chest. "So you wept for your papa, little one?" Umniya only giggled, delighted, tugging at his collar.
He turned toward Hayat next, mischief surfacing despite himself. "And how was your journey home? Did Darim accompany you well? If the two of you grew close along the way, just say the word — I am ready to speak with your father myself and ask for your hand on Darim's behalf!"
Color flooded Hayat's face instantly. "Yahya!" She swatted his shoulder, flustered. "Stop that!"
Mansur and Amina traded a quiet, knowing look over the children's heads. Darim, standing a short distance off, had gone red to the tips of his ears, suddenly very interested in adjusting the clasp of his cloak. Halima bit back a knowing smile of her own.
Amina stepped smoothly into the moment, motherly and practical. "We already have the broad strokes from your uncle Ahmet's letter. Go rest now, Yahya — the rest of the story can wait until you've properly settled back in."
Yahya nodded gratefully, Umniya still balanced on one arm, Halima's hand finding his other as he led them both toward their tent.
Behind them, in the quiet left over in the courtyard, Hayat and Darim caught each other's eyes for one brief, breathless second — and both looked away just as quickly, faces still faintly burning.
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