And so, what will this soul become?
Fading away, will it become sky?

— Nakahara Chuuya

THE STARS WILL fall down someday. Something in the sky often blinks. What is it, she wonders. If the stars do fall down, will the sky turn dark someday? Maybe it will. Or maybe those are devils falling. But how much the earth can bear? Or are they souls rising? Do you call the sky heaven, or is heaven far beyond the sky? Rahaf keeps floating in her thoughts sitting on her window seat.

Down below through the glass she can see the palace guards changing their posts after one half of the night. Half of the night has already fled, but like the many nights before sleep will not sink into her eyes. She's wide awake, thinking.

A while later, she sees another shadow coming into her view with a torch. Marrar. He's on round to check the guards. How long before he approaches her about the matter over going to the bazaar with Tabrez and Furat? She leans back in the window seat and picks up the book lying open on her lap, resuming reading a biography she had left midway.

Somewhere along the lines, sleep finally finds her and she drifts off on the window seat.

She doesn't know how much time has passed when she's awaken by the sound of thunder. She looks out of the window again to the sky that has darkened only more with the clouds veiling the stars. Then lightning runs through it and the thunder roars once more. The window glass begins to mist as rain starts falling.

Rahaf turns towards the fireplace that has now burnt out. Her kitten lies asleep beside it. Picking up the book that has fallen off her hand on the window seat, she marks the page where she had stopping reading and leaves it there before making her way to the door.

Her guard stands on duty. He becomes attentive upon seeing her coming out of her chamber.

"Do you need something, my Amira?"

"Go and see if general Marrar is with the children, Masruq. The thunder frightens Hamama. If the general hasn't returned, bring the children to me," she orders.

"As you say, sayyidati."

He leaves. But before Rahaf could enter back her chamber, something in her peripheral vision catches her attention. Her eyes snap to her right in time to see someone pass by the corridor. She would've missed noticing who he was if it wasn't for the torches burning bright everywhere. In the dead of night, she doesn't know what reason he could have roaming the palace when its walls are asleep.

At first, she thinks of letting him be with whatever business he has at this hour. Then unable to ignore her soul urging her to follow him, Rahaf goes after him in the direction.

Her steps are quiet, not an echo to be heard. But when she takes the turn after him, the corridor ahead of her is suddenly empty. Rahaf frowns, knowing well she didn't imagine him but actually saw him going in the direction. Thinking where he could have gone to, she keeps walking forward in his search. Until she comes at a hallway intersection to her left and she stops. Looking down the corridor, she finds it empty too. She walks a few steps to the other intersection.

"The rain burns out the fire."

She gasps, her heart stopping momentarily at the voice. Rahaf turns around and finds him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed at the previous intersection.

"Ameer Furat?"

He tips his head at her, as if confirming his identity.

"Twenty one years ago, one night, a village was on fire," he tells her out of nowhere, and Rahaf stares at him in perplexity. "It rained the very next morning. But it was already too late— the fire had eaten away the village and everything in it. Only if it had rained that night, many people would've lived, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. But I don't know what you're talking about, sayyidi," she says.

He straightens, his arms falling to his sides, but he doesn't come any nearer.

"May I ask how old are you, Amira?"

She turned twenty two this fall. She doesn't understand why Furat is suddenly asking her this, but she answers him truthfully, "Twenty two."

"You were only one back then."

"Pardon me?"

"When the village was on fire, you were one year old," he explains, then proceeds to add, "I was seven. I've loved the rain since then. It burnt out the fire that remained and saved what it could. So when it started raining just now, I came out of my chamber to take a walk in it."

Still lost over his narration, she nods. "I see."

"You should not follow anyone alone, especially at night, even if it's in your own palace," he advises her as if he knows of secrets she's been in oblivion to. "You know it's dangerous."

"Should I be wary of you?"

"You may have assumed that I care for you, but you may see it as you like. When one is wary of someone, one might think of them too much. I don't think I would mind if that is the case, Amira."

Her eyebrows knit together. Though he has been serious in his speech, she notices his eyes have gone murky like the sky— a look of amusement and mischief swirling into their deeps. The orange glow from the torches burn only more vehemently in his dark irises. As if noticing her studying him, the corner of his mouth twitches upwards.

"Are you flirting with me, Ameer Furat?"

"Can I dare so?"

"Not unless you fancy getting lashed."

"Did Kanan ever get lashed for his misdeeds, Amira?"

They hear footsteps and Furat slips back into the hallway intersection before disappearing down the corridor. Probably a palace guard, Rahaf thinks. But her chance of responding to his question is taken away and she's left bothered by his words. Kanan has been getting away with betraying their relationship for so long. And though she might not love him, but there was a time when she was unaware of his true nature and liked him enough to wish to marry him. Now, knowing he's a man of unadmirable character, Rahaf wishes nothing more than to end this betrothal and be free of him.

She returns to her chamber and finds Masruq back with the children waiting for her, their caretaker alongside, bouncing the baby in her arms while Hamama cries clutching tightly the caretaker's dress. Rahaf hurries towards them.

"Hamama."

She kneels before the child and hugs her to herself. The three year old quickly puts her small arms around her neck and begins crying anew.

"The sky is angry." She hiccups. "It's screaming."

"Don't cry, habibti. I'm with you," Rahaf consoles. She pulls back and wipes the tears off her cheeks.

"I want baba."

"Your baba will be back shortly. How about I tell you a story until then?"

She gets up and takes her hand. Rahaf then gestures to the caretaker to give her the baby.

"I'll take care of him. You may leave."

The caretaker passes her the baby and she takes him in her free arm.

"Humran." She kisses his head as he rests it on her shoulder. "Are you sleepy, little tiger?"

Masruq opens the chamber doors for her and she gets inside. He closes them back and she's left alone with the children and her kitten which, now awake, comes running to her.

She goes to lay the baby on her bed. He rubs his eyes, turning to his side, ready to fall asleep. Rahaf lifts Hamama on the bed too before picking up her kitten and coming to sit between the children herself. Hamama instantly clings to her side. Rahaf smiles down at m her.

"Do you want to eat something, sweet dove?"

The little girl shakes her head. Rahaf puts her arm around her, the other carefully secured around Humran and patting him to lull him to sleep. He was only a newborn when a year ago Marrar brought him and Hamama to the palace, around the same time when Tahman died. She had lost her brother and the children had lost their mother. Aswad had insisted that they stay at the palace with Marrar. During those hard times, she would find an escape with them— their innocence and ignorance to the pains of the outside world providing her with moments of peace and comfort.

The thunder roars again. Hamama jumps, startled, and looks up at Rahaf with big, glossy eyes.

"The sky is angry," she repeats, her lip wobbling.

Rahaf pets her hair. "What if it's laughing?"

"It's raining. It's crying."

"Rain can be a blessing, habibti. Don't you like rain?"

Hamama shakes her head.

"It can be beautiful, my dove. Look," she nods towards her kitten sitting on the bed, "Mushk likes it," then nods towards Humran who has already slipped into a slumber, "your brother likes it too."

"Do you like it, Rahaf?"

"Why, I do."

"I don't," she insists.

Rahaf quietly chuckles. "Do you want me to tell you a story?"

This makes her grin. "Yes."

"Once upon a time, there lived a sparrow and a crow," she begins, lowering her voice so she doesn't wake up Humran. Her kitten crawls closer, as if she too wants to listen to her story. "One day, they decided to build nests for themselves. So they went to buy materials to for them. They searched the marketplace, and the sparrow bought herself rice to build her home with. While the crow bought salt."

"I like rice," Hamama interrupts.

"Me too," Rahaf agrees before continuing, "So the sparrow and the crow worked hard to build their homes. They became neighbors. Then night fell and they were both in their homes. They made for themselves dinner. The sparrow cooked rice for herself, but the rice tasted bland because she didn't have salt to put in it. So she went to ask the crow for some salt. But the crow refused to give her any."

"Why?"

"He was being mean. He didn't want to share."

"But..." Hamama stands on her knees, her eyes now dry of tears as her fear is long forgotten. "But no one wants to share meals," she justifies. "The crow was hungry. The sparrow shouldn't ask for his food. She has her own."

"But her food is bland. And the crow has a lot of salt, so he can share a little."

"The sparrow will give him from her rice too?"

"Yes."

She sits back down, satisfied with the answer.

"Anyways," Rahaf resumes, "the crow didn't share with her the salt, and the sparrow returned home upset. What happened that night was that it started to rain."

"Like now?"

"Yes. And the sparrow, since her house was made of rice, was safe and protected against it. But the crow had his house made of salt and it washed away."

"How?"

"Salt dissolves in water, habibti."

"So the crow was homeless?"

"Yes. And then he came to the sparrow to ask for shelter. And the sparrow, because she was kind, helped him. The crow then realized his mistake and apologized to her, and she forgave him." Rahaf runs her fingers through Hamama's hair. "Now, what do you learn from this story, sweet dove?"

She gets on her knees again, pointing a finger to the window. "That the rain is bad! It made the crow homeless."

Rahaf softly smiles at her and pulls her down on her lap.

"No, Hamama. You learn that we all have our good days and bad day, like the crow and the sparrow. And we should always help those in need when we can, because it doesn't take long for the days to change and we might end up to be the one in need. One always gets what one gives— this is how nature works. And God is fair and just. He's always watching us. So one shall be kind to another."

Hamama looks at her with her dove like eyes wide and curious. "Is God watching us now?"

"Yes."

"Ya Allah, please send away the rain," she prays, turning to the window again and lifting her small hands to her face. "I don't like it. It brings thunder."

"Wouldn't you like to pray for something else?" Rahaf suggests.

"Ya Allah, give me a cat too. My baba doesn't give me."

"You can play with Mushk whenever you want to."

"Ya Allah, make Rahaf happy."

Rahaf kisses her hands. "Ameen, thank you." She then cups her hands into her own. "Ya Allah, make Hamama blessed and happy too."

Hamama turns back to her. "Rahaf?"

She hums.

"You should live with me."

"Why, I do live with you, my dove."

"But our rooms are not together. You should live with me so you can tell me stories every night."

"But you live with your baba."

"But my baba doesn't know stories. And... and he has a lot of work," she explains as if Rahaf is unaware of something important. "My baba is the general. He is very busy."

"Ah, I understand." Rahaf strokes her cheek. "But you can come to me anytime. And you have Humran. You can play with him too."

"But he's a baby. He cannot talk," she reasons. "You should live in my room with Humran and Mushk and my baba. Then we will be together and I will not be alone."

Rahaf doesn't know how to respond. She hugs Hamama to her chest and closes her eyes, finding herself in a situation she's helpless in. The child is too innocent to know what she's demanding. The least Rahaf can do is to speak to Marrar about it. The children need love of a mother and maybe Marrar needs to think about it, both for them and for himself.

FURAT STANDS IN the rain as the cold droplets hit his face. It isn't fierce and he isn't soaked in it. But the weather is chilly and winter night bites into his skin.

"You'll catch a cold."

The palace guards have taken a shelter but remain on duty. The dawn will soon break. It doesn't seem like the rain will last long.

"Furat?" Rouzbeh calls him again. "Do you want to get sick?"

"I'll be fine."

"Or you're sick already."

Furat turns to him. He stands by a column away from him and shielded from the rain.

"As if you aren't," Furat remarks and Rouzbeh scoffs.

"Let the morning come. We've a talk overdue."

"Over what?"

"Over what you told the Amira about Kanan. You're digging a grave for your own friend."

Furat faces away from him. "Who told you?"

"I was with Ameer Aswad when Tabrez informed him."

"Who else knows?"

"Only general Marrar besides us."

He clicks his tongue.

"Why would you do that?" Rouzbeh demands. "Kanan is your friend."

"Didn't you say he wasn't much use to us?" he reminds him. "The Amira can be the key to our success. Why shall Kanan have her to himself?"

"So you'll steal your friend's betrothed?"

"I'm only taking advantage of the situation. Kanan should've been smarter than this."

"Shameless bastard."

"At least I haven't slept with every woman in Qurtuba," Furat taunts.

"Better than going after my friend's woman."

"She doesn't want him. And you would be the last person I'd go to if I had to separate a right from the wrong."

He hears Rouzbeh huffs out a laugh in disbelief. "Kanan is still useful to us."

"Don't worry. I only want the woman. She's my key to the throne."

"She's the daughter of Motassem."

Furat laughs back at him. As if he could ever forget who their enemies are.

"You speak as if I've declared my love for her."

"I'm only warning you. In an attempt to get close to that woman, don't get too close where you burn yourself."

"You've so little faith in me." He turns to Rouzbeh again. "She is not the most beautiful woman I've met in my lifetime. But even if she was, the only thing I would've craved would be her blood."

Rouzbeh steps away from the column and gives him a long look.

"The heart of a man often turns weak against his desires. I would suggest you don't go after that woman. For it would be shameful if you couldn't kill her and I have to kill my own brother's woman."

He walks away, and Furat keeps standing in the rain pondering over his words.

"I see why you change your women so often." He chuckles. "Rouzbeh, you pervert."

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The name, Mushk, for the cat is suggested by Olivia_Evenrose. Thank you.

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