We were both young when I first saw you.

It was a particularly sunny day; the clouds had parted to allow the sun to shine its glorious rays down on us, or me in particular.

Amani was still nowhere to be seen; the field, as far as I could see, bare of any life. My eyes grazed over the greenery before me, the leaves and stem swaying in the wind with a grace that often made me drop my occupation, house myself between cattails and spikes of wheat, and forever encase the sight in my memory.

My farm was such—a wonder to the mind and peace to the soul. It was my home.

The thumping of hooves in the distance caused me to turn away and to the ascent of Wazir, the beloved chocolate brown beauty I was proud to call mine. I rubbed my mud-caked fingers over my dirty overalls. As he came to a stop before me, he let out a neigh that made my heartbeat spike. I loved him to death.

I laughed as he nuzzled his muzzle into my neck—the most obvious way he showed his affection. I rubbed his forehead and stroked my fingers under his chin. Even though this was as good as uncertain, I always imagined the corners of his lips to be turned up into a smile whenever he saw me. Often, he wouldn't let me leave his stable unless I sat and talked. My baby was like no other.

Maybe this is what every animal owner ever said—my animal was loved and cherished to no end, it was special, this was what set it apart from others, and it was mine. I never believed there was anything superiorly extraordinary about Wazir—he was blind from one eye—but what I did know was I had found no better friend than him.

He'd lay his head in my lap when he sensed I wasn't okay, he'd grab hay lying around in his stable and drop it on my hair. Wazir knew what I needed and when I needed it.

I had found no better friend than him.

"I love Wazir. Not because of how much you love him, but because I know where to find you because of this brute."

Or maybe I had.

Amani's footsteps were angry. She was swinging a machete around—don't ask me how she got one—her lips set in a straight line. I watched the innocent shards of grass fly around her. I think I knew where I could get confetti for free.

I was still stroking Wazir's forehead when Amani came to a stop before me, a toothpick hanging from her lips. Her hands were poised on her hips, her two-sizes-too-short overalls still caked with yesterday's evidence of her pottery work.

"Jealous?" I questioned, a small smirk playing on my lips. "Trying to break us up?"

"One thing's for sure, Jannat," Amani spoke, kicking the dirt under her boot. "Wazir knows how to love you. Maybe in ways no man ever can."

"Not counting on any for that either," I smiled. "Wazir and I are enough for each other."

As if on cue, Wazir let out a hearty neigh and I kissed his nose. My baby.

"Wait until he actually does come along," Amani laughed. "He'll sweep you off your feet before either you or Wazir can do anything about it."

I turned to Wazir. "Is that true, boo? Some man will come along and you'll let him take me away?"

Wazir halted his headbutting and took a step back. His dark brown eyes were intent on me. He let out a sound that sounded a lot less like his cheerful neighs and more like a grumble of disappointment. In the blink of an eye, he had galloped away to the tiny barn we could see in the distance.

All before running right into the haystacks, Amani had spent two days molding together.

***

That morning, as Amani stalked to the stables to feed Wazir and her own baby, Shah, she had half a mind to keep an apple hidden away from him but gave in when his eyes turned teary. And as a tear dripped down the length of his mouth, Amani almost broke down into a full-fledged waterworks mess.

I know, because Amani came into our cottage looking almost as guilty as Wazir had been when he'd knocked down the haystacks.

She was still sniffing and snuffling as I poured her her morning cup of coffee. Amani could be tough as a nut on the outside and be the opposite on the inside, but she seldom let it show.

"I'd really like to go to the city right about now," Amani spoke as I lathered my bread in butter. I could hardly hear her over the delicious scent.

"Farm air getting to your head?"

"I miss Mum and Dad." A pang went through my heart, but I could care less.

"Go. I can take over for a few days."

"I don't think you can, especially with the way you're staring at that bread and butter. Don't want our supplies to run out by the time I'm back," Amani spoke, sipping from her cup.

"Give me some credit," I spoke through a mouthful. "A girl's gotta do what she's gotta do to keep her stomach full."

"Reminds me, you still haven't tried on the corsets your aunt sent in for you. And I don't think you ever can." Amani cracked up. Brown spurts of coffee spewed out of her nose, and I was in tears from my harsh coughing. This girl. She'd never let me live.

Later in the day, when Amani and I paced towards our coffeehouse, we passed by a mound of wet cement piled outside an inn that had been abandoned the past two years. I really had to resist the insurmountable urge to push her in because one, she really put in a lot of effort into her looks, and two, she'd probably never bestow me with her forgiveness the rest of my peasant life if I ever made an effort to embarrass her before all these gentlemen dressed in light brown tank tops, carrying bricks and packs of other construction handy that I had no business knowing.

I hid my smile as a light-brown haired creature turned to glance at Amani, which I called for because Amani was going out with a new fellow every couple of weeks. She couldn't resist staying away from the male species and neither could they. She would call it 'experimenting'.

I, on the other hand, had locked my heart in a box and thrown away the keys into a water body I'd forgotten the name of. Simply because I could no longer keep it to myself any longer. It had been a fine day when I decided I'd keep it in the shadows until it'd be time to bring it out into the light. Until you'd arrive.

And you were just a couple of hours away at that point.

Amani's nudge broke me out of my trance. She smiled slyly at me before she hopped over to Light Brown Hair, carefully avoiding puddles of grimy mud and piles of bricks. I coughed and blew air out of my nose.

The road next to the construction site was seldom populated because of the horrible atmosphere that wouldn't let anyone breathe. Except for old men in coats who preferred silence rather than the hustle and bustle of the main road, no one walked down this path.

I walked a little to the side, crossed my arms, and kept my gaze fixed on Amani. We were already late in opening the coffeehouse as it was, did she really have to rendezvous too?

My best friend always wore her pixie cut to the side, brushing her hair through and through until it'd be practically matted to her temple. I often shoved a mirror in her face and begged her to see what she looked like, but she was the queen of her own kingdom and I, a mere commoner.

Even though I'd change up my outfit on some days—go for jeans and polka-dotted tees and summer dresses, I never really saw Amani in anything but overalls, and I never really knew why. It was one of life's finer mysteries and I left it at that.

I watched as LBH lowered himself into a courteous bow—proper etiquette I see—and then smiled up at Amani, his eyes sparkling. He stepped close and spoke a few hushed words that had Amani staring down at her feet.

But my heart, my heart paused when he grabbed her hand and kissed it.

By the time Amani came straddling up to me, I had bit into my lips to keep from squealing, and by the looks of it, so had she.

"That one," I spoke in a whisper. "That one is not a player."

"He asked me out to the Chrysanthemum Halls," Amani mumbled as we began our walk to the town hall. She glanced behind her once and then swirled around, her cheeks flushed. "Tonight."

"Chrysanthemum Halls? But the prices there skyrocket! A single plate of appetizer could cost three loaves of—"

"I heard the Magistrate's son is working around town under guise that he be unbothered and allowed to do as he pleases."

I crossed my arms. "And what does this have to do with LBH?"

"El bee what?"

"Light brown hair," I rolled my eyes. "Surely the guy wasn't left nameless at birth?"

"Durrab," Amani grinned.

"Durrab? What a boring name." I snorted. But then it dawned on me. "Dur—Durrab? As in, the Durrab Isa?"

Amani bit down on her lip. "The Magistrate's son asked me out."

Amani wouldn't be getting her feet back on the ground anytime soon, and neither would I.

***

Perhaps Amani would cut down on her intake of coffee for she seemed to be receiving all her serotonin from Durrab Isa. The anticipation of a date with the ever so handsome Magistrate's son had her scrambling into the kitchen, picking up orders, and delivering them at their respective tables with an energy I had never seen before.

In fact, I wouldn't have been so angered if it wasn't for the fact that I had to work twice as fast to prepare meals and orders in the kitchen. Through the large paneled window, I could see a coffeehouse that was relentless in growth as the minutes ticked by. And as the count increased, the strain in my shoulders tightened.

The wooden door to the kitchen swung open and in strode perhaps the only two faces I was swept with relief seeing.

Mai Haider and Gulnaaz weren't just regular customers at the Larder—they were a part of it as much as I and Amani were.

Where Amani handled our ravenous customers and I ravished their hunger with my culinary skills, this mother-daughter duo was what had led me and Amani to carry our occupation out of the kitchen and into a village of people that had grown to look forward to our meals. They mirrored the support mere collection of bones provided our bodies.

"Busy day today?"

"Like we're changing villages," I rolled my eyes as I pushed a tray of banana bread into the oven brick. Grabbing a flap of cardboard, I waved it before the oven, igniting the fire that was already so bent on burning out. I needed more coal. "It's like they'll never eat goodies like these anywhere else ever again."

"Here, give this to me," Gulnaaz stepped forward, grabbing the board from me and bending down on her knees. She adjusted her golden pigtails behind her and smiled up at me. "I work. You talk. You need it anyway."

Gratefulness swelled in my heart.

"I don't blame them," Mai pointed to the bustle in our little coffeehouse. She glanced around the kitchen and before I could latch on to her necessity, she slowly walked over, grabbed a wobbly stool, and brought it up to the oven brick, the wood scraping on the bare ground. "The rest crack their cakes on the top. You never."

"Years of practice and a profound ardor for the craft," I grinned. "What I've learned and what my mother always stressed about is wrapping a wet cloth around the cake tin before baking it. That'll do wonders."

"Has the Magistrate come by yet?" Mai questioned, and I didn't know which of the two—bursting into laughter or shedding tears—would have been suitable reaction. So I chose to go with a sigh that just barely concealed my anguish, my sad story, my pity party.

"Is it so hard to believe he hasn't?"

Gul cupped her mouth. "His son is going around town, passing by as a mere unrecognizable commoner. But I've figured him out already."

"Have you really?" I smiled. "What does he look like?"

"Like every single dream, every girl ever has dreamt out there has been granted fulfillment. Like the heart is finally satisfied."

No dream of mine was fulfilled and no heart of mine satisfied. Durrab Isa wasn't you.

"Modesty in your words, Gul," Mai snapped, and I retreated into the pantry as Gulnaaz, an adolescent just a few years behind me, was blessed with an earful from her mother on the web of dreams she had so meticulously spun together. And with astonishing craft, I dare say.

However, my chest wouldn't resume its normality, nor would my heart go back to its prior state. You were near. I knew it. I felt it.

One may put it under the derogatory term of wishful thinking while you, had you known this sentiment of mine, would've classed it as a mere inkling, but something made me question if you'd felt it too. If you felt I was in the pantry of a cafeteria you were stood right outside of.

I questioned the credibility of this sentiment all the way as I stepped out through the backdoor, into the breezy summer air, my feet carrying me towards the mound of coal Amani had piled behind the building.

And then it happened.

Sometimes the intricacy of the pattern of life bedazzles me. How people, places, words, thoughts, feelings are all aligned across time and across space, how a sequence of life-changing events leads up to little moments that may pass by in seconds but be encased in the mind's fog forever. And how, that day, eons of time lead me to stumble over a rock and fall to the ground. How my clumsiness caught your attention and how our eyes met.

You, standing next to Durrab Isa with an arm around his shoulder, your lips stretched in a playful smile.

I guess some things are meant to be. Across time, across space. Across indefinite distances.

And so was our story.