Princess Maryam's POV
Across the golden courtyard, Princess Maryam stood near the marble pillars, her eyes searching too—but not like Nayab. She wasn't searching with hope. Hers was a silent prayer.
"Where are you?" she whispered to herself, glancing toward the grand entrance. "You were supposed to come today…"
And then—her breath halted.
A man walked in.
Not dressed in royal garments. No jewels, no sword, no silk robe. Just simple clothes. His face partly hidden behind a soft cloth, eyes lowered. But there was something unmistakable about the way he walked. Steady. Silent. Familiar.
It was him.
Yousuf.
Her heart knew even before her eyes confirmed it.
She turned to the nearest guard, her voice filled with urgency, yet wrapped in softness.
"Go to him. Tell him Princess Maryam wishes to see him—at once."
The soldier obeyed, weaving through the crowd. As he reached the quiet figure, he lowered his head and spoke the message.
"She is asking for you."
The man lifted his gaze slowly. Calmly. And nodded.
"I'll come."
He walked across the marble floor with quiet dignity—like the sound of distant rain. When he reached her, he bowed—not out of formality, but something more sincere.
Maryam exhaled, her heart easing for the first time in days.
"How are you now?" she asked, voice almost a whisper.
He looked at her with calm eyes.
"I'm alright now… Princess."
The word lingered in the air. Foreign. Unnecessary. She noticed it, and so did he.
Maryam smiled faintly, tilting her head.
"Thank you… for coming back. I thought you wouldn't."
He didn't reply. But in his silence was memory. In his stillness, there was something deeper. They didn't need to say more. In that moment—they both understood what remained unspoken.
Back to Nayab's POV
Just across the courtyard, Princess Nayab stood unaware of who Maryam was speaking to. Her eyes wandered again—drawn, almost pulled by an invisible thread—and then they stopped.
There, under the farthest arch, stood a man in white with delicate golden threadwork. He looked noble, yet wore no crown. His presence was quiet, yet undeniable.
He was already looking at her.
Their eyes locked.
Time hesitated.
Nayab's breath caught. Something in his gaze stirred something within her—not desire, not fear. Just… presence. A strange knowing. As if they shared something neither could explain.
And then—he looked away.
Just like that, the fragile thread broke.
He turned, disappearing behind a stone corridor, his movements calm, but his silence unsettling.
Nayab stood still, her thoughts spiraling.
"Why does it feel like I've seen him before?"
"Why do I feel… something?"
"Why does it ache… when he leaves?"
She blinked, trying to quiet the noise in her chest.
Then she glanced across the court—towards Maryam.
She was standing closer to the same man now. Her voice gentle. Her eyes calm. Her body language—softened, familiar. Nayab watched as Maryam smiled with a kind of relief.
The man's face was still partly covered.
But something clicked. Not in her mind—her heart.
A quiet whisper rose inside her:
Abdul Rehman… Where are you
Her gaze lowered. A strange silence filled her soul.
And just like that—the moment passed.
Question for readers:
How the story is!
Written by
Sabir Ali
Thaks for reading