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We chat about inconsequential things — how I’m feeling better since this morning, the weather — but the words are just vessels for the unsaid, each sentence carefully navigated like a path through a minefield. Ali’s name rests heavy on my tongue, but I dare not let it slip free in these halls where it could echo into the wrong ears.
“Did you receive my list of foods for you to avoid?” she asks. “I sent it to your email.”
“Yes, I did,” I assure her, suppressing a smile at the concern in her gaze. This is what draws me to her — not just her beauty, but the way she cares so deeply about her work, about us. “I’ve already weeded out all the problematic items from my pantry.”
She nods, visibly relieved. “Good. I know it’s annoying, but it’s important for your?—”
“Heart,” I finish softly for her, letting a meaningful pause linger in the air. The word echoes between us, an unintentional metaphor for the vulnerability we’re both grappling with.
She laughs. “Heartburn. Indigestion.”
“Oh. Right.” I laugh along with her. “Yes, it’s important. For my health.”
Her cheeks flush a delicate pink and she looks away. It’s this kind of unexpected reaction that reveals another layer of Tara — shy and endearing.
“I suppose I should go down to dinner,” I say, noticing the time on her wall clock.
She nods. “I’ll be there shortly. I just need to wrap up an email.”
I linger a moment longer, absorbing the sight of her, committing it to memory for when the loneliness creeps in. Then, with a quiet farewell, I step back into the corridor, closing the door on the gift of her presence.
Turning on my heel, I’m about to make my way towards the grand dining room when a flicker of movement catches my eye. It’s my brother, lingering at the end of the corridor, his presence almost ghostly with the way shadows cling to his lean form. For a heartbeat, I wonder if he’s been there long, if he’s seen more than he should. But his expression is unreadable, not giving away a thing.
“Hamza,” I call out. It comes out colder than I intend, years of distance jammed into those two syllables.
He doesn’t move closer, nor does he vanish like a mirage. We stand there, separated by familial tension and the length of the hallway — a space filled with unspoken words and eroded trust.
“Faiz,” he answers, his voice carrying an edge I can’t quite decipher.
Is it curiosity or something darker? The question lingers, but I brush it aside.
We haven’t spoken much since Ali came into my life, his existence a secret that has built walls between everyone I once held close. Hamza and I, we used to share everything — our dreams, fears, the stress of all the expectation. But now… now there’s just this empty space that neither of us seems willing to bridge.
“Everything okay?” I ask, though part of me doesn’t want to know. Part of me prefers this detachment — it’s simpler, less volatile.
“Fine,” Hamza replies, his gaze not meeting mine. “Just didn’t expect you to show up early. Or at all.”
“Mother would have my head if I missed another dinner,” I say with a halfhearted attempt at humor, yet the jest falls flat, dissolving into the silence.
“Right.” A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before it disappears as quickly as it came.
“See you downstairs,” I tell him, not waiting for a response.
I start walking away, not quite satisfied but eager to end the conversation. As I make my way down the grand staircase, a pang of something akin to regret flares briefly in my chest. We were brothers in arms once, Hamza and I. Now we’re just brothers in title, orbiting the same sun but worlds apart.
It’s not ideal, but it is necessary. And while I do mourn what we once had, my devotion to our country and my son is greater.Also, I know that there’s a possibility now — a true possibility — that my days of loneliness might be over soon.
For Tara has slipped her way into my life and heart. God willing, she will be here to stay.
CHAPTER 16
TARA
Even though I haven’t seen Faiz since last night, his cologne lingers on my senses, stubborn and sweet — much like the man himself. I’m back at the main palace, clipboard in hand, meticulously ticking off each name as I order flu vaccines for the staff and royal family.
But the task feels mechanical, my thoughts uncooperative; they’re ensnared by last night, weaving around the image of Faiz as he excused himself from dinner, his gaze lingering on me just a beat than could be considered normal.
I know why he left early, though he didn’t voice it. Ali needed him, and in that silent exchange, an invisible thread pulled taut between us. There’s an intimacy in what’s unspoken, in understanding without words. The knowledge that I’ll see him again, though, keeps the loneliness at bay.