٣. 

THE HOT SANDS BLEW EVERYWHERE DILRUBA BADAWI looked, mounted on top of her camel as she was, the reins being controlled by the camel's master—a sturdy yet short man wrapped from head to toe in a dusty off white, only the man's eyes uncovered as he shared his camel's task, using his eyes to pierce the sandy winds and carve out the path ahead.

The man's steps were efficient and in control on the grounds that they traipsed, sandy and stony alike, as he led his camel and the damsel mounted on top of it.

The damsel in question, who had paid handsomely for the use of the man's camels and his guide for the entire course of the journey to Agrabah—upon which they had been on for five days now, having set off from Hegra on a full moon's night five days ago—had also her own litter to travel in.

Dilruba's litter had been fastened onto the back of another camel—out of the four they were travelling with—and she alternated the journey in between sitting in the shaded shelter and cushioned compact of her litter, and riding shelterless underneath the sun—when it was not too raging—on the back of the guide's camel, for that camel was the sturdiest and the one in the lead.

From the rest of the four camels on the journey, one carried the form of Ahya, Dilruba's maid. The other carried the entire supply of food for the journey, as well as all of Dilruba's clothes, essentials, and overall luggage that she would require for a brief stay in Agrabah. The remaining camel carried the form of a man—the guide's partner—the man's form too covered in a off white fully, face wrapped to protect from the wrath of the blowing sands and the sun, leaving the eyes bare.

Dilruba considered it imposing, for her to abandon her litter and take the guide's camel, reducing him to make parts of the journey on his feet. But the girl was impatient, her body refusing to sit still cooped up for long periods, and besides, she was encouraged by the guide for he claimed that her alterations were no imposition at all.

"Ah, no, no, sayida," The guide had clicked his tongue when she had apologized for a third time a day ago, "Please, do not worry. If I can make your journey comfortable, that is my pleasure."

The guide was an older man, seeming to be in his late forties as her own father was, but stouter and in possession of a pure humble drive. Dilruba was certain that she had made the correct choice in choosing him for the journey the moment he had protested at her payment being too much, wherein she was certain others would demand more.

This was the sort of man who believed that carrying Dilruba on her journey would somehow bless him. Perhaps it was her youth that he attributed this power to initiate a blessing to, or perhaps it was only the girl's beauty or even her association with the governor. There were too many in Hegra who believed that the governor's touch was gold itself, and Dilruba wouldn't be surprised if her humble guide counted himself amongst those people.

At present, the sun was softer than it had been the previous five whole days of the journey, and when earlier the travelling party had shared the routes out of Hegra with travelling merchants and other people, there was now no one else on this path, for they were slowly but surely nearing Agrabah's border, and Hegra's trade system was largely limited to the circle of cities that neighbored it. Trade relations with Agrabah were rare and scarce, which is why the paths the party were currently undertaking seemed all but abandoned.

The guide's partner—a tall, younger and lanky man in his late thirties, with sand coloured hair and sun darkened skin—yanked on his camel's reins to bring it right beside Dilruba's, something he had been doing whenever the opportunity arose for him, for the past five days.

"Would you like to stop, sayida?" The man—his name Talib, as per the guide's initial introduction—asked her, his tone surer and firmer than the humble one of his older partner's.

"If the sun is too much for you, I implore you to rest," The man spoke, his torso higher somehow as though he was ordering her rather than actually imploring her.

"The sun is just fine for me," Dilruba kept her gaze fixed ahead, conscious of the lanky man's eyes on her form.

The girl's olive skin glittered gold under the light of the sun that was supposed to be too much for her. Her skin thrived underneath the fireball's caress, and though it were only her wrists and ankles on display for every other part of her was covered in the cloak she had wrapped around her form and the hood that covered her head, the lanky man on the camel couldn't help but stare at the woman's regal form atop the camel.

His eyes were drawn to her ankles, where she wore a glittering gold anklet each against her golden skin. When he tried to look away, his eyes caught onto her exposed wrists with which she touched the camel's hump, or rested her palms on the camel's neck, stroking the creature gently. Her delicate golden fingers bore delicate golden rings, her nails polished to perfection and shining as though she had oiled them freshly.

His eyes, more often, caught onto the sides of her face—or her whole face when she had looked at him one or twice in the course of five days. The girl's beauty was a startling jolt whenever he glimpsed it, her sharp features perched on olive golden facial skin, seemed to be carved personally by God himself. Talib—in his entire twenty years of taking payments to act as guide alongside his partner to get people from one city to the other—had never accompanied a woman as beautiful as this one.

For a moment, treacherously, he wondered what the consequences would be were he to knock his older partner out, and snatch the girl for himself. The temptation was blinding him, infusing his mind and poisoning it. The paths they were to take from here on out would be abandoned until they actually arrived on Agrabah's border, so what, he wondered, would those damn consequences?

"You will hurt yourself, sayida," Talib uttered, mouth stretching thinly underneath the cloth he had tied around his face.

"You should rest."

Dilruba's jaw tightened as she maintained her composure. The gilded knife she had hidden in her cloak felt tempting to be brought out. She could bare it, startle the man away. But this wasn't a street in Hegra, there were no people around. It would be foolish of her to rile a man where he would have no judgement from others around him, where he would have no immediate consequences.

In Hegra, she was safe from the advances of random men and street rats because she was known to be in association with the governor, and people feared the governor's wrath like they feared the Arab Sun's. But she doubted her association with the governor mattered anything in the middle of desert, outside of Hegra and the governor's jurisdiction.

She was brought out from her thoughts when she heard Ahya. Her maid pulled at her reins of her camel and neared Dilruba's side, audibly reciting an ancient Slovakian folk song in manner devoid of any tune, only a recital reminiscent of those who worshipped a secret entity in the dead of the night. The deadpan intensity of her tone startled the guide's lanky partner, and the man quickly recited the religious Tauba under his breath and veered his camel to a distance, not wanting to be near someone who associated with an unknown entity or possibly forbidden dark magic.

Dilruba exchanged a look with her maid, and stifled the giggle that surfaced on her lips. She was habitual of hearing Ahya sing the harmless ancient Slovakian folk song often times around her flat in Hegra, but this was the first time the girl had experimented such so with it.

Ahya managed a wink in return, continuing her deadpan humming to set a firmer point, just in case. The girl's frailty of her form, her high cheekbones, large dark eyes and the lack of meat in her face perhaps added to the effect of her humming, and if Dilruba wasn't habitual of her the girl's image, she too would've distanced herself with an odd shiver melting down her spine like honey dripped baklava left out in the desert heat. 

Ahya wasn't Slovakian, but her late grandmother had once spent a portion of two decades of her life in the region, before going to live in Egypt and then returning to Arabia to spend the remainder of her life. The woman had been a nomad at heart, and she had picked up many such ancient folk songs that sounded blasphemous to most. Presently, Ahya had no blood family, after the death of her grandmother, and the girl always seemed to hold her nomad grandmother close in herself like a cherished Oudh odor, nostalgic and sweet. 

Soon, alternating her place between the camel's back and inside her litter to seek refuge from the intensity of the heat, Dilruba arrived at the borders of Agrabah, whereupon herself and the party she had travelled with underwent a rigorous check through their belongings and their person by the Sultan's stationed border patrol guards. 

The border into Agrabah was boisterous, trade merchants and travelers alike perched waiting to undergo their own turn for their credentials and cargo to be thoroughly checked before they were allowed to cross. Dilruba and her party would have had to join the perched queue, but in a stroke of luck, her form was spotted by one of the haughty and aggressively bored looking patrol guard on duty, in the aftermath of which, the man straightened up and an interest weaved into his manner and his facial features as he drew close to Dilruba atop her guide's camel. 

"And what cause does such a beauty have to enter Agrabah with such an unremarkable party at her heels?" The man grinned, and Dilruba watched the sun rays light up his perspiring dark forehead, his hair encased in a guard's turban as a sword glinted tied around his waist.  

Dilruba Badawi hated to oblige him, her fawn eyes—in the shelter of her cloak's hood—observing the Agraban and deciding that perhaps all Arab men were alike each other in numerous ways. But she knew she still had to oblige him, if she wanted a head start on this busy queue, that is. Else she would be stuck waiting for her turn till sunset, and sunset seemed to her to be still ten hours away yet.  

She dropped her hood at the back of her neck, letting her face emerge into the light, hoping that her hair hadn't quite lost it's luster from her journey on the sands from when she had oiled it and styled it with her hands a few hours ago. 

"I have a wedding to attend," She managed with a demure smile as the man's eyes widened in hers. She heard weary exclaims around her cease as men and women turned to look at her, temporarily forgetting the burden of the heat and their grumbles upon having to wait in line under the wrath of the sun. 

"And to perform for, my lord," She added, using the addressing with a submissiveness in her tone, and feeling satisfied when it had the desired effect, for the man seemed to puff out his chest higher. 

"Why, are you the court dancer sent for the Princess' wedding?" The guard asked with a surprise, eliciting a ripple of whispers and exclamations around them. 

"Yes," Dilruba uttered, "I am also a poetess, and I have the royal invitation in my possession." 

With a gesture of her hand, she instructed Ahya to produce the invitation which she had made the girl carry. The guard reached out to take the invitation from the maid's hand, reading it briefly and handing it back, before his intrigued ayes met Dilruba's. 

"Hegra, huh?" The guard grinned and whistled lowly, "The Sultan seemed to secured a rare jewel to help celebrate. I didn't realize Hegra would be such a treasure trove to have borne the likes of you."  

Dilruba managed to keep the curious look from her face. The guard had clearly only recognized the Sultan's seal on the invitation, and had not read it. For if he had, he would've found out that she was cousin to the Princess Jasmine as well. Perhaps, patrol guards had no want for reading, their only required task being to fight and to recognize the royal seals on documents and invitations merchants and travelers brought into Agrabah. 

The girl didn't respond to the guard's observation, only kept a small smile plastered on her face as he called out for some other guards to go through the possessions the party had brought. Amidst the inspection, the guide came to Dilruba to signify the end of their agreement. She paid him his due up front, and then bought two camels from him—including the sturdiest one which had been the man's own, for which the man rather reluctantly accepted payment for he hadn't wished to sell. Still, the deal was made, and Dilruba—with Ahya and their luggage beside her on the two camels they had bought—watched the guide and his lanky partner ride further along the border to replenish their supplies for their journey back, with the man named Talib stealing furtive glances backwards as though he intended to drink in the image of Dilruba before she vanished from his sight and never reappeared again. 

"How long is your visit to be?" The head of the patrol guards asked as the stout by burly man stamped at some paperwork on his desk—paperwork that approved Dilruba and her maid's formal entry into Agrabah, and would count as proof of her existence as long as she was in the city. 

"I am not sure yet," She spoke, exchanging a glance with Ahya. "It shan't be more than a month, I believe." 

The guard hummed under his breath, the question had only been asked out of a need for conversation, for the men dealt in entries into the city and not exits. The entries he stamped his approval for—according to the law in Agrabah—expired after six months, whereafter any vagabond who had not renewed his entry documents for one reason or another, or hadn't filed for a permanent stay document if he or she had established business in the city or had married someone with an established livelihood in the city and wished now to stay, was thrown out. The throwing out and the exits were dealt by another institution of the Sultan's government, and the border patrol guards were only included if things had to be verified. 

In Hegra, the entry documents expired after a mere month, as per the governor of Hegra's law—a law that was much stricter and harsher than Agrabah's, it seemed to Dilruba. For what indeed could a man accomplish significantly in a single month? A man starting from scratch in a new city were he knew less people or no one at all? Dilruba shuddered to think of the pressure. 

Soon, she was in possession of her entry documents, stamped by the head of the patrol guard's own copper seal. The girl made sure the papers, as well the Sultan's invitation was kept in a safer place amongst her things, instead of entrusting them entirely to Ahya, for theft of these documents could land her into quicksand in this new city she had little idea how to navigate presently. Besides, if the Sultan had invited her merely to perform at his daughter's wedding like she had realized, than he wouldn't care too much to vouch for their familial relation to aid her in the aftermath of any thievery of her documents. 

Was it the shame, Dilruba wondered briefly, as she set out with Ahya, both girls mounted atop their camels, venturing into the heart of the city. Was it shame that made association with her such a terrible thing? Being an admired court dancer and poetess hadn't ever seemed a shameful occupation to Dilruba herself. She had always seen the awe in the eyes of others who looked upon her, she had heard their praises, she had heard them swoon over her voice and had felt their entranced eyes on her every move she made. Was such an occupation shameful in the eyes of the royals of Agrabah? But then, why invite her to perform? 

Or were her uncle and cousin merely ashamed of Dilruba's father? And believed that a girl wore the dirtied traces of her father around her neck like a medallion? 

In either case, they were wrong. And Dilruba felt her contempt rise up again, for such discriminations against her when she hadn't done any wrong to any of them. 

In a few hours, she had secured a significantly sized room for herself and for her maid both at an apartment building in the market square of Agrabah owned by a rather tedious middle aged woman who had insisted upon the entirety of Dilruba's family background information and that of the maid's in order for her to even consider sparing a room for the girls from Hegra. But she had finally caved, when she had seen the one large gold coin glinting in Dilruba's offered palm, covering the girl's entire rent for the room for a whole week. 

"I will be arriving at your doorstep for the next week's payment the first day of next week," The woman spoke curtly, her Arabic was concise and curt, just like most other Agrabans Dilruba had spoken to. The most others being the patrol guards and the few bystanders on the streets she had asked direction for apartment buildings with rooms to rent, from. 

The woman, her bulging pregnant belly more of a displeasure to her than a pleasure, spoke with a grimace as she watched Dilruba settle her luggage down on the bed of the singular room. Ahya walked over to inspect the kitchen station on the left, asking questions about the cooking gas supply and the water supply. 

On the east wall of the room was a giant window, a cutting made into the brick wall that was the entire width of the wall itself, with tall translucent curtains framing the opening, offering Dilruba a half promise of respite should she need it from the towering view of the city. The room was situated on the higher floor of the apartment building, so from the window, she saw the entirety of the market square down below, and in the horizon, the dome spectacle that was the palace of the Sultan of Agrabah, Dilruba's rather aloof uncle. Between the palace and the market squares, rectangular and square houses stood packed and littered like sandcastles the side of her palms, each stacked close beside the next as though they were gathering support from the other. 

Overhead, the sky beamed so bright, it was difficult to look up for fear of hurting one's eyes. 

"Also, listen girl," The landlady called Dilruba's attention to herself, watching the girl with a distaste in her eyes and in her features. "I will tolerate no man going into and out of this room. This is not that sort of apartment building. I am not that sort of landlady who will look the other way in face of your debauchery. I have respectable people staying in this building, and if you do anything to discomfort them and run my business into the mud, I will throw you out on the street." 

Dilruba startled at the ferocity of the woman's words and the content of them, when it was the woman herself who wore no copper wedding ring on her fingers, had told by way of introduction that she had no husband and ran the establishment alone, and was indeed the one sporting a heavy pregnant belly. 

Ahya stirred, her face reddening as she parted her lips to utter a rebuke, but Dilruba shot her a glance to settle her, before moving her eyes towards the landlady.

"Noted," She managed with a smile, "You shall have nothing to worry about from us." 

The woman hmphed, and turned away, shutting the door on her way out as Ahya hastened to lock it. Dilruba was reminded of the existence of the solid door in this new room in an unknown city, and not just a weather beaten curtain as a way of separation, and she breathed lighter in the relief of it. 

"The nerve of that vile woman!" Ahya hissed as she sauntered back, taking off the scarf over her head and bending slightly to pull her slippers off her feet. 

"I shall make you some warm milk, mistress," The maid spoke then, hurrying to put her slippers to a side, and those of Dilruba's, who had already taken them off and was stretching her feet on the surprisingly comfortable bed. 

"Make some for yourself as well," Dilruba exhaled, "We have both had a long journey." 

Ahya murmured an approval as she began working at the tiny kitchen station setup at the corner of the room. 

After having her glass of warm milk, Dilruba slept for a while, more comfortably than she had slept in the past six days of her journey to Agrabah. When she awoke, the sun was setting outside.

"I shall head to the market square, mistress," Ahya was putting on her scarf and pushing her feet into her slippers as she hug her cloak close to her body. 

The room was already plunging into a darkness, and the maid had been careful to light up enough candles on flat surfaces for Dilruba's comfort. 

"We need more food, and some essentials for your toilette," The girl spoke hastily, "I won't be late, but in case you are hungry, I have prepared some food on the stove." 

Dilruba nodded to the mention of prepared food, and the maid ventured off, shutting the door behind her as Dilruba locked it. Then the girl made her way to the stove, grabbing hold of a plate in order to pour for herself some chicken gravy that Ahya had made, with a side of bread. 

Then, the girl carried her plate to the cushioned seat underneath the large window, placing her plate on the sill and feeding herself as she watched the sun set behind the Sultan's palace, and Agrabah counter the impending darkness by lighting up into flares and extravagant candle lights beaming from behind coloured lamps in the market square below. The square was still crowded, even more so than it had been in the daylight, and the exclamations of the vendors and the adamant bargaining of the people dulled to a hum into her ears this high up from where she looked. 

But at least, Dilruba thought as the taste of the delicious gravy poured down her throat and warmed her, the wind is blowing. 

The Agrabah night she was being privy to at present was cool and soft, with the wind careful and cool as it blew past and caressed Dilruba's exposed skin. 

She finished her food, and set the plate aside, placing her arms on the window sill as she gazed up at the night. The moon was gorgeously full and plump, rounder than she had ever seen it to be, and she was convinced—though she knew it wasn't possible—that this was a completely different moon from the one back in Hegra. 

Suddenly, her eyes dropped from the moon and onto the building right adjacent to the one she was in. The building went a floor higher, whereas Dilruba's room was the highest room in this apartment building. But where hers was encased in light and had people renting almost every floor of rooms, the building adjacent was entirely darkened and looked to be abandoned. She remembered the ground floor exterior of the adjacent building—when she had glanced at it in the morning—was darkened too and her landlady had referred to it as a competitor with the same business as hers, except, the competitor had played host to a fire and had succumbed to it. 

What made her eyes glance at the building from the moon was the strange notion that she had caught movement in the exact floor adjacent to hers in that building. In the darkness, she forced her eyes to concentrate, and almost saw no movement again, until she did. 

With a soft exhale, she watched as a figure of a man materialized in the darkness and approached the large window of the floor that was the same floor that Dilruba was on in her building, with a certain stealth and swiftness. He was darkness itself, she could make out nothing of him, only the white of his eyes, as he leaned a dark—and alarmingly muscular—arm against the uneven brick wall of the window, standing tall upon the window sill. His entire form, tall and burly with muscles outlining his frame in the darkness, leaned against the window. 

So lost was she in her inspection of this Agraban stranger, that she didn't realize he was looking right at her. And unlike her, he had a clear view of her, for her room was alight with candles and her frame was entirely visible. 

She startled in that realization, curious as to the brazenness of the man's scrutiny of her. How long had he been watching her in that darkness? Had he only emerged because he had affirmed she had seen him? 

From this distance, she supposed, that an eye contact wasn't truly an eye contact, for who knew where else the mysterious man was looking? Was he making inventory of her room? Making a note of everything he could steal? Or was he merely just sizing her down, reducing her to her solitary position in the room, thinking of Allah knows what he could do to her, steal her away to sell her off into slavery perhaps?

Dilruba shuddered at the thought. Being stolen and sold off to slavery was a common threat to young girls in Hegra as well, and when it happened, the governor only intervened if the young girl stolen was of an influential family or if her uninfluential family could produce an adequate sum enough for the governor's troubles should he decide to intervene. In Hegra Dilruba had no such family who could produce such a sum for her, her father was entirely incapable. Still, the only thing that had protected her was her own independence and her association with the governor. 

Here, in Agrabah, her independence didn't value much and she had no strength to rely on whatever blood association she had with the Sultan and the Princess of Agrabah. 

As she watched the man, her mind dooming her with all the possible threats and dangers she could succumb to in this unknown city, the muscular man shifted. He moved and dug inside the pockets of his black vest, and Dilruba saw his bare muscular arms flex more at his movements. She realized he was only in just a vest and dark billowing trousers, with his head wrapped in a dark cloth that fell past his shoulders, leaving his face—which she still couldn't entirely make out—bare. 

He pulled out something—two things, and as she watched, he struck the two things together and a flare of fire lit up in between his fingers as an aftermath. Dilruba realized he was carrying a matchstick. The fire light reflected on his chest, and she saw his muscled physique in his tight vest in glimpses, before the man brought the matchstick in front of his face, and his facial features lit up, affording Dilruba a glimpse of his face as his unmoving dark eyes remained fixed on her with a fierce resolve that she couldn't decipher. 

***


A/N:
I can't wait for this story to actually begin!! setting up the initial scenes takes so much patience lol i want to get to the exciting parts so bad<3