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DILRUBA BADAWI AWOKE IN HER RENTED ROOM in the apartment building situated in the city of Agrabah's market square, for the fourth morning since she had arrived.

This was already her fifth day here—fourth morning because she had arrived in the rented room in the afternoon of her first day in Agrabah, so that morning technically didn't count.

Dilruba stretched her slender form on the bed, hearing the early bustle of the market square chirrup into her ears, the sounds of vendors setting up stalls and the arguments of the early bird customers who had made use of their early rise that day to haggle some good deals and bargains before the rest of the city awoke.

She watched the translucent curtains on her large window flutter in the early morning breeze—which was significantly cooler than any breeze she'd felt here since her arrival. She watched the glimpse of the abandoned building adjacent to her own where she had first seen her mysterious savior.

All Dilruba could think about when she was back in this room, was him, it seemed. For she couldn't look at the window and not notice that darkened abandoned building where he had stood at the window's edge and stared at her. She couldn't then stop thinking about her brush with a gruesome death that he had saved her from. Then, she couldn't stop his spoken words from flooding her head, and the vision of his dark eyes from torturing her.

Dilruba knew it was all because he had saved her life. If he had just looked at her—stared at her while standing at a window sill of an abandoned room in a darkened building, she would not have given him a second thought after that dream she had had. The human mind was complex, it craved stimulation, she knew that. That dream was just her brain using fodder for stimulation. Dilruba would've forgotten about the man quickly, for she was used to men looking at her. The way she earned her living called for people to look at her when she danced, or recited poetry. So she wouldn't have minded the man's impudence much.

But then he had saved her life, and she couldn't stop thinking about it. She was forced to think about him, to make space in her mind for him. She had done that with all who had ever genuinely helped her, and then she had dedicated herself to them, making a promise to herself to always consider them for however long she lived. The number of people on that list weren't many, in fact, she only had Fatima aapa's name on it. The old woman had saved Dilruba on the streets when she was fifteen, letting her do what she needed to do to beg for money, but making sure no man preyed on her in any sort of way.

Fatima aapa was the only name on Dilruba's list, and when she had become old enough to realize the woman's aid and had cultivated her own talents and had gained the governor's association, Dilruba always considered the woman. She had gathered money enough to buy the woman a vendor's stall, bought materials for her when the woman had hinted at the fact that she had made jewelry as a young girl. Dilruba helped the woman start to earn properly, and though her earnings were still not that steady, Dilruba made sure to contribute every day. She started calling the woman "aapa" after her name, a term of fond addressing used for elder sisters or other elder females to whom one was not necessarily related.

Slowly, Dilruba ran her fingers through her locks and made to get off the bed, her bare feet touching the wooden floors as she reached for a side table where she had laid out the recent Opal stoned bracelet she had bought from Fatima aapa on her last day in Hegra. Admiring the iridescent gleam of the stones, Dilruba fastened the bracelet onto her wrist.

It looked elegant resting against her smooth olive golden skin. She had resorted to wearing it daily whilst she was in Agrabah, as something to keep her grounded and on her feet. Her eyes ventured back to the window, and she thought of her other savior as she reached her hands at the back of her head to gather her hair and put it up in an embellished claw clip she had at hand.

Fatima aapa had saved Dilruba's body on those ruthless streets when she had been just a clueless, motherless and desperate girl begging for coins. But the man from the abandoned building had saved her life. Dilruba valued both her body and her life equally, so how was she to consider this man too and endeavor to repay him for saving her? Where would she even begin were she to start?

With Fatima aapa it had been relatively easier to decide, giving the woman a way to earn by helping her set up her very own vendor's stall. But this man? Could she help him with anything? How could he just save her life and walk away? If he had demanded payment then and there, Dilruba would've atleast been relieved. She would've handed over her jewelry, or even money up front had he so asked. She wouldn't be in this restless dilemma then, owing her life to a man she knew nothing about.

Last night, after having returned from the palace again—her mind still swimming with a new set of vibrant fabric choices imported from Egypt that Jasmine had displayed in front of Dilruba for her reception gown, while the clothseller sat in a corner waiting with anticipation as to if a decision would finally be made for the bride's dress number two for the event this close to the wedding date—Dilruba had lingered by the window and looked at the darkened abandoned building, hoping to see the man again. But there had been no movement.

She had chided herself for being foolish, and had then walled away from the window, pulling out her book of prose and opening it to a fresh page to write a few words in order to ease the rampage in her mind.

The visits to the palace for the past four days had taken much out of her. Jasmine hadn't allowed her to leave yesterday until it had been midnight, engaging her in the selection of even the most meaningless things such as the color of the tablecloth for the guest tables at the wedding. It seemed to Dilruba that the girl had been purposely saving up these tasks to wrap up in the presence of Dilruba, just so that she could feel included. Dilruba saw it as a weak attempt to throw ice over the heat of the past eleven years. Was it so easy for one to forget their grievances?

Truth be told, Dilruba wouldn't have wanted her uncle and cousin to shower her with gold and whisk her away as a fifteen year old girl to live in the palace of Agrabah. All she had wished for was a bit of support—a bit of consideration. All she had wanted was to hold her cousin's hand in hers and hear her uncle say that everything will be alright. Even those three words of consolation would have been more than enough, but they had never come.

It might be easy for Jasmine for forget everything, for she was the privileged one. For those unprivileged, forgetting didn't come so easy.

Which is why the man who had saved Dilruba's life had done her a wrongdoing as much as a favor. He had forced himself into her psyche and her soul with the sheer shock of gratitude that she felt towards him. For who in Hegra would ever jump in after her like that? Who in the world would've ever saved her like that? She had long made herself believe that there was no one at her back but herself. She had long ago understood that if she didn't fall on her feet, there would be no else to pick her back up. The governor would move on to pushing other girls onto her clients, and her own father wouldn't ever begin to care like he once did again. Fatima aapa too was dependent on Dilruba now, it was unfair of the girl to even put on the old woman the burden of her reliance, for her age was now too much for Dilruba to be so careless. And Ahya too was nothing without the wages Dilruba gave the maid for her service. Yes, there was a certain friendship between Ahya and herself, but Dilruba would be furious with if the girl lingered after Dilruba's fall and docked the coins she could've earned had she moved on. 

Dilruba wouldn't blame any of them if she were to fall one day, which was why she never expected anyone to come to her aid ever again. She was thankful enough for when they had come, but now she knew it was cruel to expect the same thing. 

But that man.. Why had he so blatantly come to her aid? Didn't he understand that all this wasn't so simple, that he couldn't just save her life and whisk himself away? Didn't he realize that he had disrupted the calm inside her brutally? She hadn't even seen him again since he had saved her. It had been two whole days since, and Dilruba found her calm being disrupted more with each passing day. 

Dilruba exhaled, holding the back of her neck with one hand as she tried to relax her muscles. Her body was so tense. She had slept a full six hours since returning from the palace last night from her third visit, still she felt as though her body hadn't relaxed a single bit. 

"Mistress," Ahya ventured into the room on quiet feet from the washing area. 

The washing area, a small portion of the rented room encased in an aging marble with a copper bath tub and other essentials, was tucked away in a doorless corner after taking a right turn from the kitchen area. Dilruba was grateful for the provision, for she knew had she paid less, she wouldn't even have a bathing area at all, and would have to resort to finding the public bath house and spending extra coins there just to book a place for herself. 

"I have prepared your bath, I have added ice to it like you asked." 

Dilruba needed a cold bath. She had been craving one since Hegra, but the heat has been just as intense as her schedule. And besides, ice had proven to become a very expensive commodity these days, even in Agrabah. 

"Alright," Dilruba spoke, walking over to the center of the room as Ahya quickly covered the open window with the translucent curtains as Dilruba slipped herself out of the silk she had worn to bed, the material pooling at her feet and leaving her body bare, only the opal bracelet glinting at her wrist being the only thing she was wearing. 

Laying in the bath, her hair pulled up by the embellished claw clip she wore, Dilruba exhaled and tried to relax her body as Ahya massaged the stubborn muscles at Dilruba's shoulders. 

"Have you written to the governor yet, mistress?" The maid asked into the silence then, knowing her mistress' intentions about not wanting to stay after the wedding fully without even having to converse with the girl on the matter. 

"Not yet," Dilruba spoke. "I shall do it later today." 

"What if he insists that you stay a while? The wedding is the day after tomorrow now."

Dilruba's green eyes rested on the opal bracelet at her wrist as she clasped the sides of the copper tub. 

"Then I shall stay," She breathed, "I cannot disobey the governor." 

Dilruba spoke nothing more, and the maid took it as a sign to ask no more of her as she helped wash her mistress' body. After the bath was finished, Dilruba stepped out of the tub and her body was dried, before Ahya started rubbing a mixing of fragrant essential oils onto her body. Dilruba dressed herself then, slipping into a beautifully cut flushed salmon colored embroidered blouse with a heart neckline and sheer long puffed sleeves that cuffed at her wrists, and matching puffed trousers that cuffed at her ankles. Carefully, she added a glinting golden chain, clasping it around her exposed belly before venturing to add in a matching piece to her belly button piercing and putting on matching anklets and a necklace. 

Her wrists she left bare, except for Fatima aapa's Opal stoned bracelet glinting in one. 

She was summoned to the palace again today—a ritual that she had realized upon her first visit, would continue as long as she was in Agrabah. Dilruba's heart dulled at the thought of being made to give more opinions on the wedding decorations and the like—random, meaningless details that guests probably never noticed. Surely the royal caterer's job included the intersection of those meagre details as well? If not, certainly there was a planner who organized royal events for the Sultan? Her cousin and uncle were going above and beyond with making Dilruba feel included, and they were not doing it right at all. The girl had half a mind to tell them exactly that. 

She would much rather be asked no opinion of, because she had none—in regards to the wedding—to give. 

Before the summons to the palace however, she had an appointment to attend to. The governor had written to her and as per his letter received late last night, a rich noble in Agrabah had reached out to him to supply female entertainment—dancing in particular—for the man was hosting the a gathering in honor of an alliance he had recently made in regards to his business. The governor had explained the purpose of the event like he did every time, so that Dilruba was prepared beforehand. She liked knowing what sort of event she was to perform at, birthdays and weddings called for a certain type of consideration and homage in her performance, whereas with other gatherings she could make other adjustments to her routine. 

The Agraban noble was called Hajjar Dagher, and the directions to his abode as well as the duration of the event and the time she had to arrive at, was explained all in the letter. 

The governor must've been paid a lot for him to make such an arrangement so quickly from all the way in Hegra. Usually, he never sent Dilruba or the other girls he repped, outside of Hegra on appointments if the prices weren't what he liked. But since Dilruba was already in Agrabah, the governor must've been convinced. Though she took solace in the fact that he would never settle for low prices and send her somewhere just for the sake of it. 

Dilruba ventured out towards her bed, seating herself down as a relatively cool wind blew in the smell of street spices and fresh produce being brought into the market square below, from the giant window in her room. She glanced towards the window, watching the translucent curtains swim in wind, no longer covering the window. 

She had still half an hour to leave for the appointment at the abode of Hajjar Dagher. 

It was then that her eyes caught onto a green glint on the sill of the window where on her first night she had rested her dinner plate. The sun light falling directing on the green glint intensified it, and it shone brilliantly suddenly. Dilruba got up, and walked over to the window, her eyes falling onto the foreign object as she neared. 

It was a carved emerald jewel. It was the emerald stone itself, a striking green carved into the shape of a.. butterfly? Dilruba hesitantly picked it up, feeling the coolness of the pretty thing against her hold as she turned it in her hand. The wings of the thing, made of emerald stone, glittered as they caught the sun rays. There was no copper gripping on the back of it, nothing to indicate that it had been a pendant to a necklace perhaps, or a dangle to an earring or a bracelet. The carving looked like it had been done just for the sake of it, no initial intent to attach it to any piece of jewelry. Dilruba knew it wasn't hers. If it had fallen off from one of her jewelry, it would have some sort of grip on it, and besides, she knew all her jewelry. 

"Ahya, is this yours?" The girl asked, throwing a glance over her shoulder at her maid, who was now working at the kitchen station, preparing breakfast. 

Dilruba held the emerald butterfly up and the maid shook her head, confusion in the frail girl's eyes. 

"No mistress," The girl shook her head, her confusion vanishing as she turned her focus back to preparing food. 

Dilruba admired the emerald in her hand, her delicate finger tracing the carved outlines of the stone as a bit of emerald dust brushed across the whorls of her fingers. The carving was fresh, the carver—whoever the person was—had just made this beautiful thing. But why was it on her window sill? 

Farashat rayiea. The words suddenly crashed into her mind with force and Dilruba gasped, her eyes landing onto the abandoned building adjacent where she had first laid eyes on the mysterious man who had paid her the compliment and saved her life. In the fierce daylight, the state of the abandoned building was illuminated enough for her to see no presence there. Still, Dilruba's heart pounded in her chest. The carved stone hadn't been on her window sill when she had awoken this morning, it had only appeared after she had had her bath. 

Allah, had the man been here while she was bathing? Has he climbed up to her window to give her this before disappearing? But why? Why would he go through so much effort to carve this for her and think it prudent to leave it to her? It had been two whole days since she had seen him. Why would he suddenly do something like this?

Suddenly her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. It took effort to carve emerald like this. It must've taken so much effort. Was he still thinking of her? Was he—like her—not able to get the person he had saved out of his mind? 

Curiosity and intrigue plagued Dilruba with a fierce feeling of something else that she couldn't name. She found herself stirring with this intense need to see him again. 

Shutting her eyes and grounding herself, she tried to think of other things to calm herself. She would finally be performing again, and the thought of the music and work made her relax. After taking a break since being in Agrabah, she found herself eager to go to the appointment give it her best. 

Dilruba kept the emerald butterfly at the side table beside her bed, and made her way towards the mirror, looking at herself and trying to make herself forget about the man. For all she knew, the emerald could just have been accidentally dropped by someone from the floor above hers. Perhaps it belonged to them. Or, even if the mysterious man had left it at her window sill, why should that make her lose her mind? He was just a man like every other man. He had saved her even without knowing her, but would he have saved her had he known her beforehand? Wasn't that what mattered the most? To have people save you and care for you whilst they knew who you were as a person? Wasn't that where her cousin and her uncle had went wrong, abandoning her whilst they knew who they were to her, and she to them? 

Dilruba was satisfied with her look. She had had to send Ahya to purchase this new ensemble last night for her appointment today, for she wasn't certain if Agrabans would appreciate one of her Hegra ensembles for the performance. One of the nobles had complained to the governor once about one of the other girls, and after that the governor had always reminded Dilruba to be mindful of who she performed for and not herself. 

She left for the location soon after, hiding her extravagant two piece attire under her abayah cloak, covering her head as she did so. Followed by Ahya, the two girls together made their way through the bustling market square, the maid asking for directions as they did so, crossing over outside of the market square and into the neater streets—the richer neighborhood—and houses perched alongside. 

Dilruba relaxed slightly as she found herself walking along these streets, some of the rich houses had a guard each guiding their doors, and the safety of it all and the lack of crowds calmed her. 

"I think it is that one, mistress," Ahya pointed to a house further along a street they were in, a large house with an intricate red painted iron door and two stout guards guarding the doors with swords shining blindingly at their waists. 

"According to the governor there is only a single house here with the red door," The mistress recalled from the letter Dilruba had read to her.

Red was supposed to be the nobleman's family color, and apparently, somebody else painting their house or door in the same color amongst their contemporaries, could start a full blown vicious feud. Even in the poorer neighborhoods, it was said that these nobles refused to allow anybody else to share the color or make prominent use of it for their homes. This wasn't something unknown to Dilruba, for Hegra was the same way. Except in Hegra, their was stricter adherence to family colors, and stricter punishments for those who didn't adhere to it. 

"I've been sent by the governor of Hegra," Dilruba spoke as she approached the two guards once the girls neared the house. 

She took out the governor's letter and showed the men the seal. 

"I am here to perform for Hajjar Dagher's gathering, he sent for a dancer." 

The suspicious looks were wiped clean from off the men's faces then, as they exchanged a look and grinned, before flashing a look to Dilruba. She was certain they would say something else, keep her at the door and she would have to ground her feet some more to get the entrance, but instead, the men moved out of the way and open the door to let her pass. 

"Our lord will be pleased at this.. punctuality," One of them muttered as Dilruba passed them by, followed by Ahya. 

It wasn't difficult at all after that to navigate her way inside, for Dilruba found herself being ushered by the nobleman Hajjar Dagher's secretary, into a room where the man's other entertainment for the afternoon event had been sequestered in to wait. She didn't see the main hall or any other part of the grand house. She would only be seeing the grand hall once the event started and it was her turn to provide the entertainment. Usually, she performed after the lunch or dinner had been had, and everyone was drunk on their last sips of the drink. 

So Dilruba waited, with Ahya close by as the girl made sure her mistress' look was maintained, and making short trips to fetch water for her when she needed it. Heavy belled anklets were fixed onto the court dancer and poetess' ankles, and a glittering pink net veil was fastened onto her face, covering half of it and leaving her gleaming green eyes on display.

Soon, the other entertainment in the waiting room was emptied out one by one. Amongst them, was a female magician, a hermaphrodite comedian, and a snake charmer act. Dilruba's performance was being saved to the last, and she only had to wait for her turn. 

Having only had breakfast at eight before leaving her room to set out for the appointment, Dilruba hadn't eaten anything else, it was almost half past two in afternoon when her turn for the performance came. 

Ahya stayed behind in the waiting room, as Dilruba took one last look at herself in the mirror and followed after the nobleman's secretary who had come to fetch her. 

Hajjar Dagher's hall was grand, and a brilliant glass chandelier that she had heard was the norm in the high society in the west, hung overhead from the middle of ceiling as it caught sun rays and broke them into six different colors all across the wooden floor that had been emptied for her—her platform to perform. 

She saw Hajjar Dagher. The nobleman was old, his silver beard so long it pooled in his white robed lap as he was sat in his chair opposite to where Dilruba stood in the middle of the room. She dropped into an elaborate performative curtsey, her forehead almost brushing against the ground as the nobleman watched her with a keen interest, all his guests and contemporaries sitting beside him, forming a circle all around Dilruba, as they were all seated on the floor. The nobleman's skin was pink and looked paper thin, with patches of stark white scattered all over his hands and neck—a disease she recognized. 

Beside the man was a crimson cushion positioned against the ground. Dilruba could tell that that was the spot for the guest the nobleman was hosting. But at present, the cushion was empty, and all other spots on the floor were filled with the rest of the guests. Only the nobleman and his guest were afforded seating arrangements, while everyone else sat on the floor. 

Dilruba felt the sun pour onto her exposed back from the tall western styled windows around the hall, still, she was deliberate and slow in her curtsey. 

Her experience in her work had given her an efficiency in reading rooms and people. Hajjar Dagher's recent alliance and guest, was not in the room at present. She wanted to cater to the host and wait, but their were all the rest of the guests present and the host could not displease them by telling the entertainment to wait. So Dilruba decided to slow her routine. 

She signaled to the musicians inside the guest circle behind her. They began the music, but slowed the beats as she began her performance, beating on the drums with trained fingers. She twirled on her tip toes, brought out her hands and bent them at an angle with the beat, the same beat seemingly controlling the movement of her waist as the bells in her belt—an embellished and belled belt that she wore often for her performances—twinkled with her every movement. 

Dilruba spun, beginning to pick up her routine again. She tipped her head back, sliding onto the floor on her knees as she kept her head back. Then bringing herself forwards, she raised herself on her knees and belly danced as the drummers picked up the beat, going faster each second. 

Her movement on the floor was expert, precise. Her every tip and dip catered to the beats of the drums and flute music that joined them, as she heard the awed mutters and surprised exhales of the guests in the nobleman's hall—both male and female alike—rotate around her room. She stopped keeping track of what she was doing, losing herself to the music and beat. There was a difference in the stealth of these Agraban musicians, and the music that they made. In Hegra the entertainment scene was all about sharp music and small beats, sharp plucks of the lyre and thin flutes. Here it seemed that the flute music was almost guttural with how deep it flowed, and the drum beats were heavier in the air than the jewelry Dilruba wore. 

She heard whistles from the guests, but she paid no heed to them as she got lost in herself and music. It was then, when suddenly she heard a disturbance in the crowd that didn't really cater  to the effect she wanted to produce by her performance. 

She opened her eyes to focus on the cause of the disturbance, while she spun on her feet, twirling with speed and elegance in the middle of the floor. 

She almost lost her balance then, when her eyes caught onto the familiar figure of the man who had saved her life. He had no cloth covering his face now, his dark skin and sculpted face in full view as his eyes landed on her briefly before turning away as he approached the nobleman. Hajjar Dagher had stood up for his guest, a hand extended to greet him and a forced smile on the old man's splotched face. It was then that Dilruba realized that the ally for whom the gathering had been thrown had been severely late, and by the dominant manner of the man as he walked into the room, she could tell that he didn't care. 

Hajjar Dagher spoke a few words to Dilruba's savior, the old man's manner was meek and humble as though the man opposite had granted him a favor that he could never begin to repay, such was the debt Dagher was being folded under. 

Then, the nobleman gestured for his guest to take the crimson cushion, but instead, before Dilruba's eyes as she watched amidst her dance, the man boldly sat himself in the nobleman's own seat above ground. Hajjar Dagher's smile froze on his face and slowly, he made his way to the crimson floor cushion and sat himself down. 

Dilruba shut her eyes, continuing her dance. From the brief manner that her savior had looked at her spinning figure in, she was certain that he hadn't recognized her. She was also wearing a veil, but it was of sheer net. If he hadn't recognized her, he would soon and Dilruba found her stomach constricting with the realization of it. She tried to distract herself, knowing that he was watching her now, seated boldly in the nobleman's chair. For all she knew, he probably already recognized her, and was just more composed than she herself was. 

But what did it matter if she was recognized or not? This was what she did. She was a court dancer first and foremost. So what if this savior of hers saw her doing the one thing that she did for her living? Why did she care what he thought? Clearly he had no respect for his host, and had taken liberty of the man's generosity by arriving late to a gathering thrown in his own honor and by insulting the host by making him sit on the ground. Why should Dilruba care about what such a man thought about her?

Even still, she found that one man's single gaze began weighing on her more than any man's ever had in the crowd, from all the times she had ever performed.