The late afternoon sun pierced through the heavy drapes, casting golden beams over the shelves filled with books and files. The warm air in the office was saturated with dry ink, dust, and a silence so thick that every breath seemed to echo.
Assad, the Sheikh, stood tall in the center of the infirmary, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Nahia with restrained intensity. It wasn't anger, nor indifference. It was a heavy calm, laced with a silent tension, as if he were holding back the words his heart longed to speak — a secret battle he refused to expose.
His expression remained impassive, scanning every detail with a cold, almost mechanical precision. But behind that rigid mask, a storm raged that he fought to suppress. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to convince himself of his own resolve — a small, human gesture that betrayed his inner struggle.
"Guards," he called, his voice sharp and firm, slicing through the silence.
The men entered swiftly, their steps quick, ready for orders.
"Escort her back to her room," he commanded in a neutral, almost harsh tone, betraying no emotion. Nothing more was said.
The precise echo of boots rang against the cold tiles.
Nahia, clinging to her pride, tried to rise on her own, instinctively rejecting the guard's help. But the moment her foot touched the floor, a sharp pain shot through her, forcing a short, harsh breath from her lips. She bit down, jaw tight, refusing to surrender — even to her own body.
One of the guards knelt silently, slipped a strong arm beneath her shoulders, and helped her up. Assad, already turning his back, left the room without a glance, as if seeking to hide the depth of his feelings — choosing silence over betraying the affection he carried in secret.
Every step down the narrow corridor was a trial, a torment.
Nahia did everything to keep her head high, clinging to a fierce dignity. But her shallow, uneven breaths revealed the tension gnawing at her, and the tight set of her jaw betrayed the internal struggle she waged.
The silence surrounding them was heavy — filled with everything unsaid, everything their eyes could never speak.
---
Once at her chamber door, one of the guards knocked firmly.
It opened at once, revealing Amaya, her face marked by worry and quiet fear.
"Nahia!" she exclaimed, ready to rush to her sister.
But the guards stopped her with a firm gesture, wordless.
They set Nahia down on the bed — gently but without warmth — and left in glacial silence, leaving the two sisters alone in a moment suspended in time.
Amaya immediately leaned toward Nahia, eyes scanning the injury with urgency.
"Tell me what really happened," she asked, her voice trembling with restrained concern.
"It's nothing," Nahia answered softly, eyes avoiding her sister's, unwilling to reveal more than necessary. "I just fell."
"Fell?" Amaya echoed, disbelief thick in her voice — with a hint of hidden accusation. "Did someone make you fall?"
"No, no… I slipped on a misplaced rug," Nahia explained, choosing her words carefully, like a shield. "I was carrying a box, that's all. Nothing serious."
Amaya didn't look away, trying to read past the veil of silence, to see beyond the carefully chosen phrases. She was searching for the secret Nahia worked so hard to keep hidden.
"You sprained it?" she asked softly, almost whispering.
"A misstep," Nahia replied. A trembling smile flickered across her lips — more to reassure her sister than to convince herself. "It'll be better by tomorrow."
Amaya gently pulled the covers over her sister's legs and adjusted the pillow under her sore foot.
She sat beside her, holding her hand — a tender, protective gesture.
"Rest well," she whispered, almost pleading.
"Thank you," Nahia murmured, already lost in her thoughts — pain and anxiety swirling, trying to mask the storm inside.
---
Night fell gently over the palace, wrapping the walls in thick, embracing darkness.
Wind slipped between the shutters, carrying distant murmurs — faint echoes of an outside world that suddenly felt so far away.
Nahia, still leaning against the cold wall of her room, stared blankly ahead.
Her foot rested on a cushion, a cold compress soothing but unable to erase the dull, constant pain.
But she was learning to ignore it. To dominate it.
Beside her, Amaya changed the compress with meticulous care, focused and silent.
Their silence wasn't empty — it was a fragile bond, a comforting presence, a wordless language that bound them together.
The wall lamp cast a soft golden glow, drawing moving shadows on the walls — a silent theater where only their thoughts played.
"Amaya…" Nahia began, her voice barely a breath, cracked by fatigue.
Her sister looked up, alert, hanging on that fragile whisper.
"If one day we could leave this place… If we had enough to start over somewhere else… What would you do?" Nahia asked, searching her sister's soul.
Amaya's hand paused, the compress in mid-air.
She lowered her eyes, hesitating, as if surprised by the question — by the boldness of that shared dream.
"I don't really know…" she finally said, her voice soft, almost broken.
"Are you sure?" Nahia pressed, hoping to draw out a hidden truth.
A slight nod. Timid. Fragile. No words.
But Nahia knew. She had glimpsed it — hidden under the blanket — a carefully guarded notebook: sketches, fabric designs, lovingly imagined dresses, dreams of freedom, of elegance, of elsewhere. A precious secret. Amaya's treasure.
She closed her eyes, trying to surrender to the sleep that remained so elusive.
But before she drifted off completely, a burning thought crossed her mind:
No matter where life leads us, I will never let that dream die.
Deep within her, she felt the strength already rising — the silent promise she had just made.
The road ahead would not be easy, filled with trials — but she was ready.
And in the heavy silence of the night, an invisible bond was forming —
Stronger than pain, stronger than fear, stronger than fate.
---