The morning light filtered through delicate silk curtains, casting golden lace across the polished marble floors of Tariq's quarters. Outside, the city of Nuradrah awakened in waves of sound and color merchants rolling up their shutters, the melodic clang of copper pots being arranged, and the distant, honeyed call to prayer echoing from minarets. It was the kind of morning that usually brought comfort.
But not today.
Inside the mansion's quiet heart, the world was shifting.
Tariq bin Aslan sat beside the carved window lattice, the pearl necklace Zahra had given him resting lightly against his collarbone. It had become more than a keepsake, it was a weight he now wore not just on his chest, but in his heart. In its luster, he saw her uncertainty, her guarded generosity, and the immense risk she had taken in choosing him.
And now, those choices were stirring unrest.
A brisk set of footsteps echoed through the corridor. Tariq turned just as a young house attendant appeared in the doorway, breathless, her veil slightly askew.
"Sir," she said, bowing low, "a guest has arrived. He says it's urgent. He would not wait."
Before Tariq could speak, a tall figure stepped into view, framed in the sunlit doorway. Dressed in understated yet authoritative garb; a charcoal-colored thawb with silver-threaded embroidery, his presence was immediately commanding.
"I assume you are Tariq bin Aslan," the man said smoothly, his voice even but laced with an edge of scrutiny. "I am Al Salim, envoy of the House Council sent on behalf of the Az Zubair estate."
Tariq's chest tightened.
He had heard whispers of them;the family council of Nuradrah's old bloodlines, a shadowed body of influence and power that kept the house's affairs veiled from the public eye. If the council had sent someone, it meant the silence around his marriage to Zahra bint Az-Zubair was beginning to rupture.
Tariq rose slowly, steadying his voice. "To what do I owe the council's concern?"
Al-Salim stepped forward, hands folded behind his back like a scholar preparing to pass judgment. "There are questions," he said simply. "Your sudden entry into this household. Your motives. Your bloodline. Your silence. The secrecy surrounding your union with Lady Zahra has begun to spark...unease."
Tariq's brow furrowed. "Our union was kept private out of necessity not deceit."
"Perhaps," al-Salim replied, tilting his head. "But in Nuradrah, secrecy is a double-edged blade. It protects and it cuts."
The words hung in the air like incense smoke.
"I am not here to accuse you," al-Salim continued. "Only to observe. To ensure that this bond is one of honor not advantage. The council respects Lady Zahra, and many still hold deep loyalty to her late father, Malik Az-Zubair. They will not allow his legacy to be dishonored."
Tariq met the man's gaze evenly. "I do not seek her wealth, nor her name. I came with nothing and I offer her only truth."
Al-Salim's expression remained unreadable. Then, after a pause, he nodded once. "Then you should know: not all within these walls welcome you. You may have married into the family, but loyalty here is earned... and tested."
With a slight bow, the envoy turned and left, his footsteps fading down the hallway like a closing door.
Tariq stood alone in the silence, his pulse quickening. The pearl at his throat felt heavier now; its symbolism tangled with tension.
Just then, the same attendant returned, eyes lowered in reverence. She held a delicate envelope sealed with Zahra's private sigil; an inked rose pressed into wax.
Tariq unfolded the note carefully:
"The world outside may watch, but tonight, meet me in the east garden. There is much we must speak of."
— Z
His fingers lingered on her elegant script, the curves of her writing echoing the grace he saw in her every movement. A hush settled over him, not of fear, but of anticipation.
East Garden
The sun slipped beneath the horizon, and Nuradrah glowed beneath its canopy of stars. In the east garden, moonlight silvered the olive trees and kissed the petals of blooming jasmine.
Tariq stepped through the arched walkway, the gravel path crunching softly beneath his sandals. His eyes found her at once; Zahra, waiting beneath the old fig tree. Her veil tonight was gossamer, almost translucent, and her presence shimmered like dusk itself.
"You came," she said, her voice softer than usual, yet no less sure.
"How could I not?" he replied.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then he asked, "Do you fear them? The council. The judgment."
Zahra's gaze didn't falter. "I fear being trapped in their games again. But not you."
He stepped closer. "They came today. They warned me. Tested me."
"I know," she said. "They always test what they can't control."
He reached for her hand, fingers brushing against hers. "They'll try to pull us apart."
Her lips curved faintly. "Then let them try. They'll find no fault here but the truth."
For the first time, Zahra let her hand rest fully in his.
"Your name was whispered in rooms they thought I couldn't hear," she said. "But I chose you anyway."
Tariq felt something shift an unseen current, strong and magnetic. Between them, the first spark had turned to flame.
But as the moon climbed higher, Zahra's expression grew more solemn.
"There's something else," she murmured. "Something I must tell you soon. But not tonight."
He frowned slightly. "You don't trust me yet?"
She stepped back, just out of his reach. "I trust you. But I also know that trust is a door that once opened, cannot be closed."
She turned away before he could respond, vanishing into the darkness of the garden, her footsteps light as breath
---
The Visit of Faruq bin Aslan
The gates of the estate groaned open with quiet dignity as Faruq stepped into the inner courtyard, his eyes sweeping across the polished stone, trailing vines, and towering pillars. It was the first time he'd laid eyes on Tariq's home; his new life.
He paused at the carved fountain, running his fingers through the falling water as a servant approached.
"His Lordship awaits you in the west wing garden," the man said with a respectful nod.
Faruq nodded, his gaze briefly drifting toward the sprawling estate. "Of course he does."
Tariq sat beneath a fig tree, sleeves rolled, collar open, as though the wind might help him carry what weight he didn't speak of. He looked up as footsteps approached.
"Took you long enough, brother," he murmured, a faint smile playing at his lips.
Faruq chuckled. "You marry into mystery and send no word, and now I arrive by letter... from mother?"
Tariq gestured to the chair beside him. "She insisted."
"She threatened," Faruq corrected, sitting. "Said if I didn't go see 'what your brother has buried himself in,' she'd send the caravan of family herself."
Tariq laughed ;short and low. "She exaggerates."
"She worries," Faruq said gently, his tone shifting. "You vanish into this estate, marry a woman no one's heard of... and say nothing."
There was a pause.
Tariq looked away, toward the trimmed hedges and the rose bushes blooming beyond. "Not everything can be explained in a letter."
"Then try with words," Faruq said, leaning forward, voice low. "I'm not here as the son of Aslan. I'm here as your brother."
Tariq didn't answer right away. He reached for the teapot between them, pouring two cups.
"She's not what I expected," he said finally. "Or maybe...she's exactly what I never knew I needed."
Faruq accepted the tea but kept his eyes on him. "And that frightens you?"
"Not really, it humbles me though."
Faruq leaned back, a knowing smile forming. "Then maybe that's the start of something real."
They drank in silence for a moment, the air filled with the scent of mint and the quiet buzz of bees in the garden.
Faruq glanced around. "Beautiful place. Isn't this far too big than what we are used to? It feels cold."
"She's warming it," Tariq murmured, almost to himself. Then, looking back at his brother, "You'll meet her soon."
His brother smiled. "If she's won your silence, she must be rare indeed."
Tariq didn't reply, but his expression said enough.
Cliffhanger
Somewhere deep within the estate, Yasmina bint Rahman received a message of her own; a name, scribbled in haste, circled twice:
Tariq bin Aslan.
She smiled coldly.
"So... It begins."