The evening breeze swayed between the palace columns, bringing with it the sweet and persistent scent of orange blossoms.
In the private quarters, far from intrigues and eyes, Laila waited. Draped in a copper-colored caftan, she stared at the flame of an oil lamp.
Her face was calm.
But her hands betrayed an underlying tension.
A heavy step finally echoed.
She did not turn. She knew that stride.
"Come in, my son," she said softly.
Assad entered. Silent. His gaze already avoided the truth.
He sat across from her. Rigid. As if wearing an invisible armor.
"They told me you summoned Al-Rami this morning."
He nodded, not bothering to deny it.
"And that you asked for his daughter Zeyneb's hand."
"Yes."
Silence.
Long. Cold.
"Why?"
Assad took a slow breath before answering.
"It's… the condition."
Laila frowned.
"What condition?"
"The one he gave, Ummi. Father. To agree to leave for Switzerland. To get treatment. He said he would only leave this country if he saw me engaged to Zeyneb."
Laila didn't respond immediately.
She tightened her lips slightly, absorbing the news.
"And you, Assad? You just accepted… just like that?"
"I had no choice."
"He asked for a sacrifice. And you offered it without thinking?"
"He's dying, Ummi. This may be the only chance we have to save him."
"And your happiness, Assad? Do you think it will bloom again after he's gone? Do you think Zeyneb can heal what you refuse to face in yourself?"
He said nothing.
"What your father wants is one thing. But what you want, Assad… have you thought about it?"
He looked away, jaw clenched.
"What I want no longer matters."
"And Nahia?"
Assad flinched.
"What about Nahia?"
"Don't be a fool. You looked at her like a man fighting his own heart."
"She's a servant. Nothing more."
"You're lying."
He stood abruptly, fleeing toward the open window.
"Even if I did feel something… it wouldn't change anything. My choice is made."
"No. You haven't chosen anything. You're obeying. Out of guilt. Out of fear."
"I am the son of Khalil ibn Othman. My duty comes before my desires."
"And if that duty crushes you? If you destroy everything around you thinking you're doing good?"
He remained silent.
Laila sighed deeply.
"What you bury today will eventually rise again. And you won't control what it becomes."
He finally looked at her.
Then bowed respectfully.
And left, without a word.
Hardly had he disappeared when Yasmina burst into the room, face tense.
"Ummi! Tell me it's not true!"
Laila turned toward her, resigned.
"He made the proposal."
"How can you stay calm?! You know what this means?"
"He thinks he's doing the right thing."
"But he loves her, Ummi. He loves Nahia! I know it, I see it! You can't let him destroy himself!"
"It's a promise made to a dying father, Yasmina. And Assad is convinced it's the only right thing to do."
"Right for whom? Not for him. Not for Zeyneb. And certainly not for Nahia!"
"No. But sometimes, a man must walk through his pain to understand what he refuses to admit."
"He will suffer."
"Yes."
"And Nahia?"
"She will suffer too."
Yasmina lowered her eyes. Her voice broke.
"You're really going to stay here… and watch your son drift away from who he is?"
"I am his mother. I can't choose for him. But I will be here. When everything collapses."
Yasmina finally sat down, heart in pieces.
And in her eyes… a glimmer.
Not just of sorrow.
But of determination.
---
The next day, the palace gardens were calm, bathed in soft light. A modest canopy had been set up, two chairs, a tray of steaming tea.
Assad arrived first.
His step was measured, his face expressionless. There was no excitement or nervousness in him. Only the calm of a man trained never to betray emotion.
Zeyneb arrived a few minutes later.
She sat without hesitation, upright, silent. The light veil over her hair revealed a frank, almost serene gaze. There was no play in her gestures. Nothing to seduce. Nothing to hide.
Assad spoke first, in a composed, almost low voice:
"I'm here because my father asked me to marry you. And because I respect his word."
He looked at her, straight in the eyes.
"I don't come with promises of love. I don't feel that today. But I come with the will to build, to be fair, and to never make you feel like a forced choice."
A silence.
Then, more softly:
"I don't claim to know if we'll be happy. But I can assure you this: you will never be a neglected woman, nor ignored. What I cannot offer from the heart for now, I will offer with respect, dignity, and fairness."
Zeyneb stared at him without blinking. Her face was calm, but her hands were clasped on her knees.
She answered, after a moment:
"You don't know me. And I only know you through words passed on to me. But I sense you are not an empty man. You are simply… a restrained man. Measured."
She smiled briefly, almost imperceptibly.
"I don't seek to be loved right away. I seek a man who doesn't lie to me. And you haven't."
She stood up, straight as an arrow.
"I'll give you my answer soon. But know this — what you just said is worth more than a thousand empty promises."
Then she walked away, and her perfume lingered in the air for a moment.
Assad remained seated, eyes on the untouched cup of tea.
He knew that in that very moment, it wasn't a marriage he was entering —
but a silent war against himself.