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DILRUBA BADAWI FASTENED THE CLASP OF THE chain at the back of her neck, looking at herself intently in the only mirror that seemed to be present in the room—a small circular looking glass the size of her face attached to the wall opposite to the bed. A mirror slightly cracked at the edges—a mere crack that the Hegran poetess was grateful for, for if the thing had had more than one crack, she would never have looked at her reflection in it for fear of bad luck and curses.

The silver Greek carved ring—Burhan's mother's ring—now dangled as a pendant just beneath the dip where her collarbones met.

She held it—caressed it in her hold between her slender olive toned fingers, inspecting her makeshift creation with a glimmer of satisfaction not enough to entirely consume her. The ring had been too loose for her, and so she had found another way to wear it. And though she would very much like to wear a given ring as a ring, this one would be lost instantly if she were to have it on her finger. It would fall off and she wouldn't realize, and that thought alone was dreadful to bear at present.

Last night had been a beautiful night. Allah had made it such a beautiful night for her. It had been gentle and so passionate—she had experienced a thousand different emotions and a compulsion under the very same stars that she had once lived a mundane life under for years. For yes, her life up until now, Allah, how mundane had it been without these emotions and desires? How could she had lived for so long without the love she had felt last night?

Still, Allah did things with a purpose, and Dilruba knew that. Last night she had been privy to some of Burhan Abelhamid's plans. Her desperation that he would not tell her anything had been soothed somewhat by the God above, and He had caused Burhan to loosen his tongue such so that she had glimpsed what lay in store in his plans. The glimpse however—grateful as she was for it—was horrifying to consider.

Dilruba stepped a step back, fear and frustration overtaking her again. She huffed, her face scrunching up and as she brought trembling hands to hold her forehead, her brows furrowing in vicious anxiety as her eyes stung and glassed over. She wore the gorgeous two piece orange set—a shimmering blouse and billowing trousers—that Ghazi had brought in for her last night, but instead of feeling her best, she looked to be in terrible pain, from her reflection in the mirror.

What was she doing? Burhan was—he was not the kind of person she would ever have imagined herself with. He was crueler than she could have ever fathomed. He had all but taken over Agrabah and was now going to hand it over to some.. warlock, before her uncle even had a chance at trying to reclaim his seat of throne back. And just because he was nice to her-loved her and her body and her being like no one else had ever before in a single night—was she just supposed to turn the other cheek to his cruelty and evil intentions for a whole city and its blameless people?

Where did she stand in all of this? Her uncle—Allah, what would he do if he found out about her treachery? He would never sanction this union—or whatever it was that Dilruba and Burhan were. But then again, hadn't he already assumed she had betrayed them all? Was not she already carrying out her punishment before Burhan had rescued her? What was the point in worrying about where she stood in all of this?

Dilruba exhaled a breath, trying to calm herself down as she straightened herself back up. Fatima aapa had once taught her a trick once when she was a little girl. It was a blistering hot day in Hegra, and Dilruba had crouched behind a perfume stand in the market, hiding from the owner as she clutched a small perfume bottle in her shaking hands, inhaling the beautiful scent in hopes that it would calm her down because she had often she privileged women dig in their purses to produce a glass bottle of some concoction or the other, just to revive themselves from the heat as they inhaled what Dilruba believed was the liquid's scent. So that day, the little beggar Hegran girl had thought to try it as well, panting under the crushing weight of her anxiety and loneliness.

Fatima aapa had found her, busy as the woman had been on an errand to the market, a mission to coerce an old acquaintance of hers—a man of her own age who was master to a sweets stall—to spare something for the woman free of cost.

The trick—that Fatima aapa produced from up her sleeve at the sight of Dilruba—was to help her sort out her troubles and anxieties—a trick to classify them all under headings and measuring them such so that she recognized what the true troubles were and which were just slights of fate and weathers of life that she had no control over.

Remembering the trick, Dilruba now brought her wrist to her chest, and started taking out a finger from a pre-made fist for everything that troubled her at present. Eventually, she had all five fingers of her fist opened, one for each issue. Five. The number alone made her soothe her chest somewhat, for five was a comfortable number—a number of compact poem verses. Five was not too much, yes, but it wasn't too less too.

Burhan's treacherous plans for Agrabah, her uncle's defeat and eventual dethronement, the fate of Agrabah and its people, her abandoned life in Hegra, her future with Burhan. These worries were what each finger of the five symbolized.

Dilruba closed a finger back up for things she could not control, which only left two fingers open-her abandoned life in Hegra and her future with Burhan. These, out of all the worries that plagued her mind like sharp sand in a traveler's boot—chafing his feet raw with every disoriented step—were the only things she had control over, whilst the rest were all not her due.

It was cruel of her to think like that, but it was true. Agrabah's fate, her uncle's fate, Burhan's fate—why were these things her due? They were not. Worrying about them was useless and in vain.

Morality was a fickle thing. Yes, Dilruba had nothing against the blameless innocent people of Agrabah. But where would she be if she started worrying about cities when civil war knocked so frequently on doors that some considered it a natural guest? Preparing sweets and tea in advance for the guest's honor? Multiple cities fell to governance each year and Sultans were dethroned. Yes, Dilruba was not even born yet when Hegra's Sultan was dethroned, still, it was a natural turn and just because the Sultan of Agrabah was her neglectful uncle, should she grind herself raw for the worry of him, her cousin and their people?

No. It was not practical. War was a terrible feat, but it gave art in the end, did it not? It gave survivors and poetry and songs and stories. It gave a future. So who was Dilruba to step in the way of that? And perhaps, the governor of Hegra and Salman Chalhoub had been right all along, it was time for her uncle to step down and let go. And no Sultan leaves of his own accord, they are always made to leave—forced, pushed, coerced, persuaded, but always made to leave.

Still, regardless of everything, regardless of her uncle's time as Sultan looming to an end, regardless of Agrabah possibly succumbing to a mushaewadh as per Burhan's efforts, Dilruba's world was different—her place was not amongst all of this.

She could not be with Burhan, and that fact had come as blatantly as the hot sun that had rose up in the desert sky outside.

The realization had seared through her, and her knees had almost buckled in the heartbreak of it all, but she knew that she had to leave.

Dilruba Badawi could not stay here. She had a life in Hegra where she earned honest money under the patronage of the powerful governor if Hegra. She had her life in a city that was untouched by Burhan's evil plans—a city secure under a governor's rule and under no threat from any mushaewadh.

In this world of thieves, usurpers, tahararat min alkhatiyas, mushaewadhs and black magic, it was not wise to lose sight of one's original footing and be swept up in other people's sins and destruction.

If Dilruba sinned in life, she would want herself to be punished for it, but she would never endanger those that she loved because of it. Fatima aapa, Burhan.. she would not want either of them to pay for her sins, so why had she been so eager to lose herself in someone else's sins? Burhan's sins?

What would become of Fatima aapa if Dilruba sold herself such so to Burhan Abelhamid's sinful and evil life? What would she say to Allah when she went to her grave? That she gave up everything good for a man who gave up nothing of his own life for her in return?

Ya Allah, that last realization slashed at Dilruba's chest. Burhan would never give up his dark life for her, his evil plans of handing Agrabah to a warlock who the man had been usurping on behalf of this whole time. No greedy governor, no vengeful Sultan, no ambitious prince, it had been a warlock this entire time who Burhan had been doing the bidding of-a mushaewadh swathed in forbidden black magic.

So then, why had Dilruba's heart convinced her that she wanted to give up her good honest life for this.. darkness? Why had she lost her rational mind like that for a man who clearly did not care about what Allah thought? What was the point of making an honest living for herself since she was fifteen if she now compromised her afterlife like this and Allah refused to forgive her when she went to her grave and met His angels?

Burhan Abelhamid hadn't wanted to involve her in his dark plans and intentions, but he had no want to let go of them. So why should she have want to let go of her honest life? For a man like that?

Last night she had said to him that she won't enter Paradise if he was not there, and it had been everything that she had felt at that moment for love for him had consumed her such so. But would he do the same? If she was the one destined for the fires of Hell, would he join her over there and leave the divine comforts of Paradise?

No, he wouldn't. It was stupid to delude herself that he would. Arabian men—rich, poor, nobles, thieves and thugs alike—would never lower themselves for a woman. Women were accessories to them, and they could be discarded just as easily.

Dilruba did not want the life she foresaw for herself if she chose to stick with Burhan and let his love consume her. Her soul washed in the blood of all those he killed, wronged and usurped. Always on the run with the hatred of her uncle and cousin and every innocent who thought she condoned her lover's actions, at her back cursing her every move and every happiness that she went on to cultivate for herself. The loving teachings of Fatima aapa forgotten and the love and belief her mother might've once had for her stifled in the desert sand dunes.

All for a man who wouldn't do the same for her.

Suddenly then, Dilruba Badawi heard footsteps climbing the staircase upwards towards Burhan's room, and she exhaled a soft breath and straightened herself, her eyes in the mirror as she she ran her slender fingers through the long dark hair which was freshly washed from last night and smelled of clean lavender as it lay in loose natural waves, its length down to her hips.

From the reflection in the mirror, she saw Burhan Abelhamid's face appear as she climbed the final steps and pulled himself up, his dark eyes turning towards hers. There was no black cloth covering his hair, and she saw that it had been oiled and groomed—trimmed neatly. His stubble beard too had been groomed properly, and his dark skin shone bronze in the sunlight that poured at his back until he swiftly ventured further into the room and made his way straight to her.

She watched him nearing her, her mind brimming with her thoughts and tribulations as in his own eyes she tried to read at least some of what she wanted to read. Perhaps, just perhaps, he would tell her, 'Dilruba, I will do the same for you.'

But there was nothing of that sort in his eyes, only a heavy desire and lust, which solidified instantly when he brought out a thick arm and wrapped it over Dilruba's stomach, yanking her backwards into his chest as he buried his face into her neck from behind.

Dilruba shut her eyes at the feel of his warm arm around her bare stomach, reaching a hand out to hold the back of his head lightly as he opened his mouth and kissed the skin of her neck, breathing heavily on her skin.

"Burhan," She murmured then, her heart wavering in her chest.

There was so much still yet that she wanted to ask him. He had given her next to nothing about himself while she had told him her whole life story. How could she have settled for so much less in the haze of last night? She, who never told anyone more than her own name and the patronage she had of the governor's, had told a thug and usurper everything about herself when she only had broken fragments of knowledge about his past and a glimpse into his treacherous plans for the near future?

The tahararat min alkhatiya knew more about Burhan's past than she did. Allah, what would the former genie say to everything that has happened in between Burhan and her? Had he now fully believed that she intended treason? Was that why he had left her with Burhan and to her fate? What were the three wishes he had once granted for Burhan? Would he dissuade her from Abelhamid if he was here? Allah, where was the former genie?

Dilruba bit her bottom lip. The tahararat min alkhatiya owed his allegiance not to her but to Aladdin and Jasmine, and the Sultan of Agrabah. If the Sultan of Agrabah was at Qaryat al-Fāw gathering a joint army with the Sultan of Al-Fāw as Ghazi had reported to Burhan last night, then that is where the tahararat min alkhatiya was too, and the magic carpet.

Both carpet and the former genie, they were Dilruba's friends, were they not? She had never had good friends before, ones who did not seek to compete with her or lure her clients away from her with their own charms and promises of carnal entertainment. Carpet and the tahararat min alkhatiya were Dilruba's friends, but she had not bound them to anything. They did not owe any allegiance to her, so could she blame them for sticking with her uncle, cousin and Aladdin? Could she blame them for abandoning her to Burhan and his dark plans?

Truth be told, Dilruba had no wish to bind either of them cruelly to her. She did not want to have any control over the tahararat min alkhatiya by use of a given name—like Burhan seemed to have. Nor did she wish she would have been the one who freed the being from his lamp like Aladdin had. She did not want to have any such control over anyone, and though she realized that only control and allegiance won friendship over in Arabia, she was accepting of her abandonment and grieved by it in equal measure.

"Burhan," She murmured again, as instantly the usurper behind her gripped her arm and spun her around to his chest, gripping the back of her waist and pulling her flush against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What are we?" Dilruba whispered, her emerald eyes fixed in his as he scoured every inch of her face with his own dark eyes, bewilderment and intensity lacing his movements.

"What do you want us to be, farashat rayiea?"

His tone was thick and dense as he leaned forward to brush his lips against hers. He groaned low in his throat at the contact and tried to catch her lips again, but she softly pulled away while still holding him close.

"I—," She started, courage wavering in her heart as she tried to figure how to get the answers she desperately needed. For if she was direct, he would never give them.

"I want us to be free to be together," She managed. "Can we, Burhan?" 

He blinked slowly, leaning in to kiss her again as he successfully captured her lips with his. Dilruba let him kiss her, as he deepened the kiss and plunged his tongue into her mouth and fought for dominance with her own complying one. Her heart pounded in her chest and her stomach was alight with a fire that was making her dizzy, but she refused to lose control like she had last night, again, until she got some clarity for her disturbed heart. 

She broke away from the kiss, and when he ventured his lips down to her jaw, she snaked her fingers in his hair and slightly tugged at him to face her and meet his eyes with her desperate ones. 

"Burhan," She spoke his name again, pleading with him to give the answer that she wanted. 

"We are free, Dilruba," He spoke then, his brows furrowed as he tried to decipher her anxieties through the haze in his eyes. 

"We are free to be with each other. What I do besides—including things you heard last night and a shit load of other things—all of that is fucking independent of you, do you understand me? That shit will never come close to you, I won't let it, and neither will I let you go close to it."

He exhaled a sigh, before dipping his face to kiss her jaw again before he lifted his head and resumed his gaze in hers. 

"I am free to be with you because everything else I do takes my attention, yes, but it also takes so many other feelings—my goddamned darkness—that I won't ever show to you. With you, I can have and give other feelings that nobody else in this fucking world will ever be privy to—feelings that I didn't even fucking realize existed inside of me to give."

"Burhan," Dilruba murmured his name, shaking her head as her brows pinched together. 

He wasn't giving her the answer she wanted, instead he was making clear that she would always remain held apart from the other things in his life. He would never let go of them, and he would never let go of her too, but she didn't want to co-exist. She did not want to share him with his dark ambitions that dirtied his hands with blood of innocents. 

Dilruba Badawi of Hegra had many grievances against nobility and heartache in her past of being left behind and forgotten. She had once hated her uncle and cousin—she hadn't classified the feeling as hatred back then, but yes, before she had come to Agrabah, what she had felt towards them was something akin to hatred—but now, she understood them to some extent. They were just.. nobles with power and the responsibility of the wellbeing of an entire city. They were Sultan and Princess, how could she—being just a lowly court dancer—hold them in scrutiny when their shoulders were burdened so much more so than her own?

With a threat like Burhan Abelhamid—his men littering and guarding their palace and seat of throne like ants protecting their plunder, their royal line in jeopardy, and their citizens wellbeing severely threatened with the prospect of a warlock gaining power over them all—how dare Dilruba hold her uncle and cousin in distaste for their mere abandonment of her all those years ago? Surely her own grievances were insignificant as compared to their present trials? 

A mushaewadh gaining power over a city—ruling a city in Arabia like a Sultan or a governor—was almost unheard of. The feat had only happened once, a millennium ago. Perhaps things that happened a millennium or so ago were only mere tales transcribed into legends being carried upon the wind of the desert for years, or perhaps they actually happened, no one could say for sure because the world erases traces of happenings older than centuries, and millenniums mean nothing to the passage of time in the desert. 

But once, it was said that a mushaewadh had used black magic to locate a lamp and genie hidden somewhere in the mountains of Al-Ukhdūd, and had used his first wish for the sickness of his ailing mother to vanish, his second wish was for wealth, and his third wish had been for the creation of a prosperous city of which he was the Sultan. All three wishes had been granted, and Al-Ukhdūd—previously a barren land with only mountains—was made the prosperous city asked for and the warlock became the Sultan. 

The genie's task was done, and all three wishes were used up. But over years, the people of Al-Ukhdūd—God fearing and strong—could not comply with the fact that their Sultan openly practiced black magic and was a mushaewadh. So one day, he was poisoned in his own palace, and the city fought over itself to choose the next ruler, and perished into dust. 

"You—you have changed my life, Dilruba," Burhan Abelhamid's voice infiltrated her tortured thoughts then, his breathing hot on her face. "You have come into my life and have fucking split it into two different lives, and I plan to carry on with both of them. I plan to go out into the chaos I create and I plan to come back to you at the end of every fucking day. Because I won't be able to live without either. I will burn without you—I will be nothing if I don't have you by the start and end of every day." 

Dilruba Badawi's eyes stung with sharp tears, but she blinked them away. She had been correct. He would give nothing up for her, only make space for her where he thought she would fit, and then he would close the door on her face until the day ended and he desired her again. 

Allah, this couldn't be love, could it? Love was sacrifice, so many poets swore by that. But must she only be the one to make that sacrifice? To give her whole life up for him just to have him be with her conditionally and alternatively?

"And what about my life?" She managed then, schooling her tone with all the strength she could muster. "I am a court dancer and poetess, my patron is in Hegra and I earn my keep by dancing for influential noble courts all over Arabia—"

"I know that," Burhan interrupted her, his jaw tight as he shut his eyes and gripped her waist to him harder, lifting her slightly off her feet and pressing her against the nearest wall. 

"You don't think I know that?" He breathed, "I think about it a lot, and I could almost burn the eyes of every man who has seen you more times than I have. I take solace in the fact that I am the only one who has seen more of your body and mind, else I would've gone fucking insane, farashat rayiea. My men would've had to tie me to the post outside of the guild and slash at my bare back with knives just to bring me back to my fucking senses, and still I would've been goddamned lost." 

Dilruba shut her eyes at that image. 

"You heard me talk to Ghazi last night, why do you think I spoke all that in front of you?" He dropped his voice low and her eyes flickered open to gaze into his with curiosity.

"I want you to come with me to Qaryat al-Fāw," He let out, dipping his face into her chest as he kissed the exposed top of her breasts against her blouse before lifting his head to meet her gaze again. 

"I am going to take that city for my own whilst The Sultan of that place and your uncle are distracted, farashat rayiea, I'm sure you understood that last night."

Dilruba's brows furrowed, her heart hammering inside her chest. Allah, she hadn't even considered this part of his plan that much. Were Burhan's ambitions this high? To overthrow a Sultan under the bidding of a mushaewadh and then overthrowing another Sultan for his own gain? Why had he bound himself to a warlock such so if Abelhamid too only wanted power? Why work alongside another power hungry presence when the help was only one sided? Why would he agree to do anything at all for a mushaewadh if he himself was no better? Did the warlock hold something against Burhan? Was there something that made the warlock control Burhan like a marionette such so that he wanted to carry through with giving Agrabah away as he had agreed, but then rebelling and breaking away from the mushaewadh's hold by capturing a different city for himself? 

Dilruba swallowed thickly, her eyes stinging as though needles were being dug into her corneas. Burhan would never answer any of these questions if she voiced them. If she stayed with him, she would die knowing nothing more than she did at present. She would be nothing less than a piece of furniture for him to admire and use when he wanted some peace. He would never give up on his dark ambitions, and he would never include her in them too. And at present, Dilruba would've forgone her morals entirely if he had chosen to do the latter, but he hadn't and she wouldn't. 

"You can dance in my court then, farashat rayiea," Burhan grabbed the back of her neck with his other hand and kissed her with force before she turned her face away to breathe and he kissed her jaw, his other hand dropping from the small of her waist and garbing the back of her thigh as he lifted it up. 

"You can dance however much you want to, for me," He groaned. "You need not every worry about money again, because I swear to you, I will cover the ground you walk on with gold. I will shower you with it." 

"Dance in your court?" Dilruba let out then, hurt in her voice. "And you will pay me for it?" 

She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away. Burhan disengaged from her, without stepping too far away as he looked at her in mild confusion before his jaw hardened. 

"If you want me to, I will," He answered, his tone hard. "You will share in all my wealth Dilruba, I will shower you with gold for just breathing." 

Dilruba Badawi's heart was inconsolable in her chest as devastation took hold of her like a sword being twisted inside her. If she chose to stay with him, he will keep her so far apart from his other life that she will remain just a court dancer and his lover. That was all the space he was making for her. Everything she could've ever dreamed with him, marriage, happiness—none of that would ever happen because he won't ever bring her that close to himself, he would never bridge the gap between what he called his two lives, he would never close the door to either. 

Dilruba felt sick to her stomach. She felt used. How could she have fallen so desperately for him so? She wished then that she had died in the cells where her cousin had had her thrown, is Dilruba had died, she would have none of these hurtful realizations and would only have perished with the memory of Burhan's kiss and all his previous moments with her—untainted by the fact he would never commit fully to her and would never love her ass he wanted to be loved. 

Burhan Abelhamid's gaze sharpened on her, confusion flickering in his hard gaze as he tried to decipher the dismay and hurt on her face. He took a step closer to her, and his lips parted to say something before a figure appeared at the staircase of the room. It was Ghazi, his shoulder length hair tied off into a low ponytail at the base of his neck, his middle parting deep as he stepped into the room and lowered his head slightly, hands tied low in his front as he stood in the room submissively, his posture erect. 

"Rayis, we are all ready to leave for Agrabah," The man uttered. "The mushaewadh has sent word that he awaits your direction to enter Agrabah once we have it all in our control." 

Burhan nodded once, his eyes fixated on his man. "Good, we will leave at once." 

He dismissed Ghazi then, and as the man pivoted to head on over to the stairs, Burhan met Dilruba's gaze again. 

"I will be away for a few weeks, farashat rayiea, though it fucking kills me to leave you right now," He groaned, stepping instantly closer to her, gripping her waist and pulling her to his chest again. 

He inhaled her scent deeply, exhaling a breath onto her collar bone as his hot breath prickled goosebumps onto her skin and she wanted nothing else but to submit herself to his hold, to turn into water seeping into his skin—to become part of him. 

"Fuck, Dilruba, this is why I can't let you go," He kissed her neck as she dipped her head back, feeling powerless to push him away as her muscles all but melted into his hold. "You have made me your slave, and I must have you for the rest of my life. You are mine to hold, mine to touch, mine to see. You will come to Qaryat al-Fāw to me once I am done with handing Agrabah over. I will send Ghazi here to fetch you and bring you to me at Al-Fāw. Until then, you will wait for me here, do you understand me?"

She brought her face down then, her eyes peering into his with a weakness. Burhan pressed his lips to hers again, kissing her breathless as she felt him holding her up and her feet leaving the ground.

"Yunis and Ahud are going to be at the guild for your protection," He spoke in between the kiss. "Yunis is making your breakfast right now, he will have it sent up for you as I told him to. Eat, my reason for living. I need you to eat and regain your strength. My men and I will eat on our way." 

Dilruba could not help wrapping her arms around his neck for support and to hold him close, her fingers gripping his hair, though her heart kept tightening and strangling itself in her chest with every word he spoke. She pressed her forehead to his, shutting her eyes and wishing Allah had been kinder to her where love was concerned. She wished love would've been easier for her like it had been for her cousin and Aladdin—like it was for poets and nobles and so many other lovers of the world. 

"I will get Qaryat al-Fāw for myself, farashat rayiea, and you will have want for nothing, I promise you that. Al-Fāw is my route to vengeance, I won't rest until every fucking man in Arabia fears my name, I won't rest until I've made funerals of all those who I long decided need to be put in their graves. When you see me next, farashat rayiea, you will have the most powerful and feared man in Arabia on his knees for want of you."

Then, he kissed her again one final time, before he let go of her and she dropped to her feet. Burhan stepped away from her, his hard gaze on her as he took hold of the black cloth he had around his neck and began wrapping it loosely to cover the lower half of his face and his head, letting the longer end dangle over his shoulder. All the while, his dark sharp eyes remained fixed on her and his chest heaved with his hard breaths. 

"I will see you soon, farashat rayiea," He uttered then, his hands in tight fists at his side as thick veins protruded all over his arms with the force, as though saying a brief goodbye was the hardest task for him in the world at present. 

"Or I will tear apart anyone and anything that obscures my view of you." 

Dilruba tried to keep her breathing steady, her eyes glassy as she oscillated on the verge of tears. How could he want her so selfishly, without care of anything else in the world? Without care of even herself and what she wanted? 

Then Burhan Abelhamid pivoted, and before Dilruba could think a second thought, his figure had disappeared down the stairs without a single look thrown over his shoulder at her. 

Tears tumbled out of her eyes then, cascading down her face in unstoppable rivulets. But despite everything, she had never felt clarity hit her so fiercely as it had in this parting moment alone. In this moment, her mind had distinguished it's feelings from that of her heart's, and she could clearly see the dry and levelled rational path peaking out amongst the hot sand of her agony and pain. 

She spun on her heels and leapt for the discarded sack she had taken her new clothes out of last night. Grabbing the sack, she threw it on the bed and began tossing everything inside that belonged to her, aggressively wiping at her tears with the back of her wrist. The peacock colored jewelry set she had been wearing when she arrived in this room, her dirty and tattered peacock ensemble, all went into the sack. She had not had much on her person at all when she had been brought here, and as much as that had seemed an inconvenience to her before, she was glad of it now because it meant no heavy weight to carry. 

For Dilruba Badawi was going to be leaving. Not just Burhan Abelhamid's room, she was going to be leaving to Hegra, and from there perhaps she could secure an appointment by the governor somewhere where Burhan would not find her if he looked for her. If she left just as he left, it would take her just as much time to get back to Hegra as it would take him to arrive at Agrabah, and then when she left for elsewhere on the governor's sanction, Burhan would head for Qaryat al-Fāw, and by the time he sent for her, she would be safely gone and not be found. 

She dug into a cupboard and from amongst dark clothes that smelled entirely of Burhan's musk, she pulled out a black linen cloak. It would do to cover her for her journey. The thought of the theft stilled her, but she was sure Allah would forgive her, for what was the theft of a mere cloak in the face of everything that Burhan was doing? 

Tears were blinding her vision as she balled up the cloak and tied off the sack with its contents—her tattered and muddy performance clothes and jewelry, everything she had made with such meticulous care and effort for her cousin's wedding. Here it all was, all of her and Ahya's efforts now worthless in a sack, the performance Dilruba had done in them now as meaningless as an active wind to a dying bird writhing in the desert sand. 

Dilruba sobbed, missing Ahya like she hadn't ever before, her maid's absence—her only friend she had ever had in her life—like a knife wound in her gut. Furious at herself, the Hegran girl yanked out her battered peacock ensemble clothes out of the sack and tossed them away on the floor. She did not want to take them along and carry them like a burden on her back, back to Hegra. She thought briefly of discarding the jewelry as well, these gorgeous peacock coloured gemstones and golden intricate chains and clasps. No, they were important, she could sell them during her journey back to Hegra. 

Dilruba had no money on her now, and every piece of jewelry she had on her body counted. All her valuables, toilette, dresses, jewelry and the money she had was in a rented apartment flat in the Agraban market place square, and all of her things there were already being gathered by Burhan's men as she had been told. No doubt her stuff would be brought to Al-Fāw, and would wait for her there whilst Burhan sent someone to fetch her from here. Her belongings were as good as gone to her now, she would never get any of those things back unless she went to Al-Fāw or intercepted Burhan's men whilst they transported her things—neither option appealing to her. 

Allah, everything she had brought along from Hegra was gone for her now. Her entry documents that she had gotten stamped at the border of Agrabah, the wedding invitation with The Sultan of Agrabah's seal, her own sanctioned document with the governor of Hegra's seal.. all of those documents were not on her. How was she to prove she was not just a vagabond? How was she to travel alone without protection as well as favors that those documents otherwise might've offered her? 

Dilruba blanched in the fear of that prospect. She would be all alone, with no Ahya at her side. How was she to pay for the entire journey with just the jewelry she had? 

She closed her eyes tight, tears turning cold on her face as she breathed slowly to calm herself. Nightfall was the best time for her leave, and the cover of the night would offer her opportunity to snake away through some paywalls, God willing. Perhaps she could become a stowaway, perhaps someone kindly might help her. She just needed to have faith in Allah and trust in both Him and herself. 

With only two of Burhan's men in the guild, she was sure she could escape when the night got at it's darkest. And once she left this place and Burhan Abelhamid behind, there was no going back, only forwards. And the love that consumed her heart and weighed her feet down at present, would soon follow her forwards as well, for there was no loving a man like Burhan Abelhamid and Dilruba Badawi of Hegra had perhaps always known that but refused to believe it.