He, like me, is haunted by his heart.

— Mahmoud Darwish

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Him

It was the first time he had seen her in the bazaar that day-- the first time he had seen her since their childhood together. He would never have recognized her had her mother not been with her who had served the royal family in her prime and he was there to witness it. She was only a youngster back then.

But where their friendship in their early days was only their innocence, he knows now it's anything but innocent. For now it is a yearning he has been feeling ever since he laid eyes on her in the bazaar, the little girl who would once narrate stories and poems to him having grown into a woman more bewitching to him than a sorcerer's spell. There has been a dull ache in his bosom since that day, and he knows there's only one way to ease it.

"Noura." He looks up at the full moon sparkling over the desert dunes in the dark night. "My light." He smiles.

She belongs to him or destiny wouldn't have conspired to bring them back together. She belongs to him and he will have her.

Her

It has been a long time since Noura had stopped seeing Eskander as an older brother but rather as someone more than that. It happened slowly over the span of them growing apart when he left to join the army and she stayed at home. The days away from each other changed both of them-- his semblance and her heart. The relationship of siblings they once had is no more. After all, he isn't her kindred and the fact has taken its roots in her head firmly now.

Eskander was adopted by her parents when his father was martyred in a war, his mother having already died giving birth to him. Unlike her father who was part of the advisory council of Khalid ibn Al Malik, one of the former caliphs, his forefathers had served the royal family in the army for generations. And later on, he took over that duty too.

When they were both kids, she would like to play his little sister. None of them having any sibling of their own, they were each other's best friends. When time passed, that bond grew weaker on her part. It wasn't until he left and returned years later that the bond completely broke and turned into something else entirely for her. Guilty of her feelings, Noura has been hiding them from him. Eskander probably still sees her the same.

Or maybe not. She hopes.

He might very well be aware of this change too. And if he is, he's feigning oblivion. But he doesn't call her his sister anymore, that habit long buried after returning home from his training in the army. Kinship is made upon blood, not words, Noura thinks to herself. And Eskander isn't her brother by blood-- never had been. And with her heart's inclination towards him, he never will be.

"Nour."

She blinks out of her reverie as he calls her, her name always sounding different to her from his lips. She doesn't bother finding the cause of it-- she knows the reason very well of it.

Noura walks to where he's saddling his horse, preparing to leave for the palace. She gently starts petting the horse's mane and he turns towards her.

"Take care of yourself and mother," he advices and she nods at him.

"Come home soon."

"I will."

Ever since him being promoted to the rank of general, he has been given the command of army in Baghdad and comes home more often to Isfahan. She's glad she doesn't have to wait so much as before for his every return when he was appointed in Ar Raqqa. His departures still pain her, but not how they would in the past, where she would've to count days into months until his face would bless light to her sight again.

He prepares to mount the horse.

"Eskander?"

He looks at her.

"Take care of yourself too."

"I will, azizem."

The sun is setting over the overlying dunes and the day is slowly dwindling into the night. The sky in its brilliant shades of orange and gold has painted itself in his eyes, specks of golden scattered into his light brown orbs like narration of a celestial tale enrapturing every listener. Her sorrows evanesce there, fading away in his presence as if never birthed and existed. He puts an end to everything dark in the world for her-- he lives to his name for her. He will always be her warrior.

"Keep me in your prayers."

She places a hand over his heart at his request, his armor keeping it layers beneath where she cannot feel it beating.

"You always are," she tells him quietly.

He smiles and pats her cheek, a feather touch too brief to be even felt fully before he pulls away, leaving longing in its wake.

"And you, Noura, are always in mine."

She smiles back at him, trying to grasp the moment with both of her hands and prolong it until it's etched on her memory like a stone carving. But like everything in time, it's too fleeting to stay and only to linger as he turns his back on her and mounts his horse.

"Eskander?" she calls him.

Their gazes meet again, and she realizes she doesn't have words to offer him anymore but tried to steal another moment. So after a few slipping seconds, she shakes her head and steps back.

"God be with you," she says.

"You too. I leave you in His protection."

With that, he pulls the reins in opposite direction and soon his horse is galloping down the path, taking him away from her. She stands there watching him until his figure flickers and disappears. The time they have together always seems to shrink into a lesser period than natural. Noura heaves a dejected sigh.

"How do I even tell you what's in my heart, Eskander?" She wraps her fingers around her pendant, peeking down at the name of Allah in gold. "He belongs to the palace, and maybe I don't, my Lord."

She turns on her heels towards her house. After saying her farewell to Eskander, her mother had left to visit her older brother who has been ill. So Noura knows her evening is to be spent alone and bland. Now when Eskander is no more with her, it'll take her a few days to find serenity in the world without him.

Such irony, she wonders, how of all the men her heart could have submitted to, it is the man who might be surrounded day and night by women at the palace besides her. Eskander might permit any other to rest in his heart but not her. The thought troubles her but her but feelings stay rather defiant and reckless, just how one is in love. But what good can be unrequited love?

The dying sun rays allow the darkness to start enveloping everything into it. Sounds from the bazaars and children playing in the streets become only a dull echo as she nears her house. Noura pulls her stole over her head and quickens her pace. It's time for everyone to return to their homes-- the streets are quiet and the people faded.

She turns around the corner and halts in her track upon seeing a cloaked figure looming over the window of her house, peeping inside. Her heart thuds and she gives it a moment to process what is happening, unsure if it's a passerby or a thief trying to break into the house. The blood in her veins rushes through her body at the latter thought, alarming her.

He's a man, tall, hood pulled over his head to cover his face, and the cloak concealing his form. Yet still, Noura can tell he is probably well built by his exposed forearm and the ease with which he's holding a beast of a horse from its reins, keeping it tamed even when it hits its hooves against the ground and tries to pull back its head. The man delivers a few firm pats to the horse's back, urging it into his submission, and it blows and stalls its attempts.

The animal is fancy, strong, and black like a midnight, its mane long and shining. One thing Noura gathers right away: the horse is definitely a good breed and well spent on. The thought that this man could be a thief trying to steal from them loses its grip on her nerves and she takes a few calming breaths before deciding her course of action. Just a passerby or a traveler, she tells herself.

But her peace is short-lived as the man turns towards the door and starts picking the lock. Thief. Her instincts kick in. Definitely a thief trying to break into the house when he has made sure it's empty. Her hand jerks to the dagger strapped to her waist and she strides towards him nimbly before she can stop herself.

Run. A voice in her head warns her.

He can easily overpower her. He can be armed.

Run. But she ignores the warning of her gut.

With quick steps in succession, she nears him. His form grows bigger. Her focus fixates on him. Her brain triggers the reaction.

Now!

She attacks him. The dagger in her hand flies towards his neck. A second ticks. The horse neighs. The man turns around. The blood pumps through her maddeningly. Their eyes connect for for a tick in time. The fraction is lost too soon as he swivels away. The dagger hits the door. Noura jumps away before attacking the man again.

"Argh!"

She leaps at him. He's light on his feet and swiftly moves away. She slices the air multiple times as he dodges each of her attacks. He's trained. His movements are too skillful. But she isn't naive to the blade either. Noura flips her blades to the opposite hand and targets his unguarded points. She manages to cut his upper arm where he's not expecting her to attack. He retreats but only to take her by surprise as he counteracts the very next minute.

In one agile motion, he grasp her wrist midway and forces her back against the wall. She tries to kick him but misses. He twists up her arm and presses the dagger to her own throat instead. Her breath hitches as he fails anymore effort from her. He applies pressure and the blade digs into her skin. A whimper leaves her lips as pain shoots up through her. She doesn't dare to move.

He towers over her. Any daylight that is left to transverse the universe hits him from behind before reaching her pupils. She cannot see his face, both because of the dark and the hood of his cloak. If she had caught sight of him during her little fiasco, her mind was too focused on injuring him than registering him. But when the man tilts closer his head to peer at her, she notices a cloth wrapped around his nose to cover him up. Only his eyes are showing, those too barely visible due to the declining dusk.

Noura struggles against his grip. He won't kill her, she consoles herself. God will save her. She has a life ahead of her. She has planned too much. And though fate be unfair at times, it cannot be so cruel.

"Let me go," she commands weakly, becoming once more well aware of the blade at her neck as she speaks. "I've nothing you want."

He doesn't comply, staying rock still in his position, and her mouth dries up as fear starts overtaking her.

"Don't kill me."

Her voice betrays her as it wavers despite her trying not give away her terror. A tremble in her skin causes her to gasp. She feels a pang in her bosom. Suddenly death is so close to her and she's not ready. Not yet. Not so soon.

But then to her relief, the man flicks her wrist and the dagger drops to the ground from her hand. He drags it away with his foot out of her reach. Before she could move, his fingers replace the blade, coming to wrap around her neck in a light but firm grip. Her satisfaction is only temporary as her body paralyzes again.

"Who-who are you?" she stutters, fingers frantically searching around the walls as if for a secret weapon.

Theif. Her barely rational thoughts answer her, her intellect disarrayed and dead. She's unable to find an escape, especially with her neck in his clasp.

"I've nothing you can steal," she chokes out and his grip on her throat loosens. For a moment she thinks he might just let her go, but then his hand drops to her pendant and he rips it off her neck.

"No!" Noura cries desperately. This is a gift from her late father. This is his last sign of him with her.

He hold up the pendent as if to study it more keenly. She lunges at him without thinking. Like before, he's swift to move out of her way and she stumbles forward and falls to the ground. He doesn't give her a chance to regain her footing and mounts his horse.

"Please no."

Noura pushes herself up urgently and he throws something towards her. She doesn't get a chance to catch it and it rolls away towards the door of her house. He snaps the reins of his horse and within seconds it's galloping down the pathway faraway from her reach. And she's left only staring after the man heartbroken and devastated, having lost the last token of love from her father.

"Baba," she hiccups and her tears threaten to fall. Her fingers hover over her now bare breastbone where the pendant would rest. That piece of jewelry was more precious to her than all the jewels in the world combined.

Her eyes catch sight of what the man had thrown at her lying by the door. She goes to pick it up and holds it up on her palm. It's a seal made out of gold. She brings it closer to read the intricate writing on it.

"Al Shafay."

The Khalifa.

The name weighs so heavy on her tongue that she goes mute. Her heart begins to sink until she doesn't feel it anymore. A newfound dread takes her, stronger than that of her death this time. The thief probably stole the caliph's seal and now she has it. Her hands shake from the mere power of this thing and the appalling consequences she must face if someone finds it with her.

"Oh my God." Noura clasps the seal tightly in her fist. "Dear Lord, what is happening to me?"

She does realize how this little item can change her life in many possible way. But what she doesn't realize is the fate awaiting her which so far she had always considered impossible-- the sinister mysteries of the palace yet to be discovered by her. From its slave and soldiers to that of its Khalifa.

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Hello again.

First impression?

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