Morning After the Jasmine Trail
Noor couldn't concentrate. Not on her students, not on the lesson, not even on her tea. The note replayed in her mind like a whispered confession: "If one day you wish to understand, follow the jasmine trail."
She had stood outside her gate for ten full minutes. Jasmine, her mother's flower, lined the dusty path all the way to the long-abandoned guesthouse. Someone was behind it. Someone who knew her, or wanted to.
Was it romantic?
Or dangerous?
Her instincts warred with each other. And still—something deep in her soul told her this wasn't an act of harm. There had been care in those words. Longing.
Still, she couldn't follow. Not yet.
Not without knowing more.
Leonardo's Decision
Leonardo paced the crumbling floor of the guesthouse's upper hall. His heart hadn't stopped racing since he slipped the note under her gate. He had made himself vulnerable—a word that didn't exist in his world.
He hadn't expected her to follow. Not really.
But the way she had stood there, eyes narrowed, one hand clenched against her chest... it broke him. He didn't deserve her attention, but he craved it more than his next breath.
That night, he began something new.
A journal.
He didn't write threats, or orders, or coordinates like he had for years in Naples. Instead, he wrote about her: Noor. Her silence. Her strength. Her eyes that didn't flinch from truth.
"She is unlike anything I've known. Maybe because everything I've known is blood, not beauty."
And on the last page, he wrote something terrifying: "I want to change. For her. For me. For a God I do not yet know."
Noor's Night Visit
The wind was restless.
Noor sat at her window long after midnight, watching the moonlight stretch across the garden. Sleep would not come. Not while that note lay heavy beside her.
She dressed quietly, layering a black abaya over her nightgown and wrapping a thick shawl around her shoulders. She crept through the house, avoiding every creaking step.
And then, barefoot in slippers, she stepped into the night.
The jasmine trail was still there.
Her heart thundered.
The guesthouse stood in the distance like a forgotten mausoleum. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back.
But she walked.
Step by step.
Her breath clouded in the cold. The iron gate was ajar. She pushed it.
It groaned.
Inside, the silence was deafening.
"Noor?"
She spun.
The man stepped into view from the shadows. Tall. Sharp features. A scar on his jaw. Tattoos peeking from his sleeves. His face was stunned, as though seeing her for the first time and forgetting how to breathe.
"I didn't expect—"
"You left a note," she interrupted.
He nodded.
"You're Italian."
"Yes."
"You're not Muslim."
His silence confirmed it.
"Then why me?" she asked.
And the way her voice trembled—it wasn't fear. It was confusion. Curiosity.
He stepped closer but not too close.
"Because you looked at the world like it hadn't betrayed you," he said. "And I... I needed to see that again."
She took a step back.
He didn't follow.
"I don't know what this is," Noor said softly. "But Allah protects me. Understand?"
Leonardo lowered his gaze. "I understand. That's why I've never touched the gate. Never crossed the line."
"Then don't," she said, clutching the shawl tighter.
And she left.
But not before one look over her shoulder.
And in that look, Leonardo saw hope.
A Tenuous Thread
The days passed slowly.
Noor resumed her lessons, though distracted. Her father noticed.
"Is something troubling you, beta?"
"No, Abba. Just tired."
But inside, she wrestled with guilt. She had gone out at night to meet a stranger. Not just any stranger—a foreigner. A man clearly dangerous.
Yet, he hadn't touched her. Hadn't lied. Hadn't forced anything.
He had spoken to her as if she were made of stars.
And part of her heart—just a sliver—ached for what she saw in his eyes: Yearning.
Leonardo's First Prayer
Leonardo didn't know Arabic. He didn't know the rites.
But that night, he knelt on the bare floor and looked up.
"If You're real... if You're the reason she's not afraid... then teach me," he whispered.
Silence.
But something inside him shifted.
And for the first time in a decade, Leonardo didn't dream of blood.
He dreamed of Noor.
Smiling.
The Second Meeting
It was raining when Noor saw him again.
She was carrying books through the alley when her slipper slipped. She gasped, bracing for a fall.
A strong hand caught her elbow.
She looked up into familiar eyes. Grey like smoke, rimmed with worry.
"You shouldn't be out in this," he said.
"And you shouldn't be following me," she snapped.
"I wasn't. I—" He stopped. "I was hoping to see you again."
Noor pulled her arm back. But her heart stuttered.
"Go back," she said.
"To where?" he asked. "Naples is ash. My men are gone. My name is poison."
"Then build a new name," she said.
He stared at her. "Can I start with yours?"
Noor blinked.
"You don't even know my name," she murmured.
"Noor," he said. "It means light."
She froze.
He smiled. "It suits you."
And he walked away.
Leaving her under the rain, her heartbeat louder than the storm.