Assad could not sleep.
Lying down, arms crossed behind his head, he stared at the ceiling immersed in darkness. A silent void. As if the night could answer him.
Since Amira's revelations, something had been rumbling inside him. A dull tension. A truth he was not ready to face.
He had wanted to go and talk to her. To confront her. To understand.
But on the way, the promise had returned to him. That decision taken almost reluctantly: to distance himself from her.
So he got up.
He walked. To clear his mind, to silence himself, so as not to explode.
His footsteps led him to a place he hadn't been to in a while: the hidden lake.
A corner of suspended silence, forgotten by the world.
But that night, silence was not alone.
He stopped short behind the foliage.
In the water, a silhouette.
Delicate. Peaceful. Almost unreal under the fragile moonlight.
Black hair glided across the surface like a floating train.
And a melody… hummed. Familiar.
The same he had heard in the desert.
That day. At the oasis.
Nahia.
He held his breath.
He did not dare step forward. Not yet.
But his eyes could no longer leave her.
She looked up at the sky. And spoke. Her voice low, full of an ancient echo.
— Father... Mother... I don't know if you hear me... but I hope you do. Maybe you are far away. Maybe you are here. Right here... close to me.
Her voice trembled. But she spoke. As if every held-back word threatened to burst.
— Today, Uncle Ahmed came. He cried... like a child. He begged my forgiveness. For everything. I didn't blame him. I was just tired. Tired of remembering. Tired of carrying everything alone.
She took a deep breath, but the breath broke into a discreet sob.
— There was also that woman… Giulietta. She says she was your sister, Mother. She was looking for us—Amaya and me. She couldn't find us... But she left a letter. She said she wanted to know us.
I want to see her. I want to understand. Why she abandoned you... why she abandoned us? But I'm scared, too. Scared of what I might discover.
A shiver ran through Assad. Her words crushed him like a stone on his chest.
— Amaya... she's still full of light. She draws every day. Dresses, shoes... colors. And you know what? She dreams of becoming a designer. And I listen to her talk. I watch her. I admire her. Even when she annoys me with her silly songs and endless laughter. She's eighteen... but sometimes she seems like ten. She pretends to be strong. But I know she cries at night.
I don't blame her. I cry too.
The only difference is that I hide better.
His fingers brushed the surface of the water, as if inscribing his sorrows there.
— I... I'll be twenty-six next week. And it will have been fourteen years. Fourteen years I haven't seen you.
I've forgotten the scent of your perfume, Mother. Father's voice. Your laughter. Your faces become blurry. And I'm afraid... so afraid of forgetting you forever. Of no longer knowing how to tell Amaya who you were. What you loved. How much you loved us...
Assad closed his eyes, throat tight.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward, emerging from the shadow.
His voice was low, almost hoarse:
— I'm sure you will never forget them.
Nahia startled violently.
She spun around abruptly, heart pounding, eyes panicked. She sought her veil, an escape route, anything.
Her hands trembled, trying to hide her hair, her face... her sorrow.
— You don't need to hide from me, Assad said softly, gaze fixed on hers.
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she rose from the water, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin, her black hair streaming down her back like an inky river.
She went to sit on their stone. The one where Yasmina had sat with her.
Assad followed, settling a few steps away.
A dense silence, charged with emotion, settled between them.
Then, in a calm, almost dreamy voice, he whispered:
— This place is... magnificent. It's as if the earth forgot it. A little corner of paradise.
— Yes... Really beautiful, she murmured.
He nodded.
— You may laugh... or not... But I saw you once before. Before you arrived here. In the desert.
She turned her head toward him, intrigued.
— I was on my way to my former tent. The one I went to when I needed solitude.
And there, at the edge of a small oasis, there was... you.
A female silhouette. You were singing. Hair in the wind, a white dress.
I saw you. I heard you.
And I fled.
— You... fled? she asked, brow furrowed.
— Yes. I thought you were an apparition. A spirit. I told myself if I stayed, you would steal my soul.
A silence.
And suddenly, Nahia burst into laughter.
A real laugh. Loud, free, sincere. A laugh he'd never heard from her before.
She laughed until tears, hands on her belly. New tears, but this time of relief.
Assad, surprised, quietly laughed along.
That moment... that simple burst of life erased everything else.
When silence returned, it was no longer heavy.
It was gentle. Like a promise.
— It's absurd... she whispered, wiping her cheeks. I haven't laughed like that since... a very long time.
He looked at her, soothed.
— I think neither have I.
The wind made the foliage dance. The moon reflected on the water like a pearl.
The world seemed suspended, just for them.
They began to speak softly. As if any louder word could break the spell.
Assad listened to her with rare attention. Nahia found herself speaking. Really speaking.
She told him the legend of the oasis the villagers sometimes murmured about.
But soon, a discreet chill crossed her bare arms.
She folded her arms over her chest, trying to warm herself without showing it.
Without a word, Assad removed his top and offered it to her.
— Here. You're going to catch a cold.
— No... she whispered. I think I'll go back.
— Stay a little longer, Nahia... he said softly. Just a little.
She looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. He looked at her like a man who had found an oasis after years in the desert.
— Stay, he repeated. I need to forget what's expected of me, what I must be... Just for a moment. Here, with you, I feel everything can stop. I can... breathe.
She hesitated, then took the garment he offered.
It retained his warmth.
They sat again. Side by side.
Legs bent, gazes lost in the silver reflections of the lake.
The night advanced.
But neither of them wanted to break the magic.
They talked for a long time.
Of simple things. Of deep things. Of warm bread and the sky, childhood dreams and forgotten memories.
Sometimes silence returned.
Never awkward.
Sacred.
And then, gently, the darkness turned blue.
A subtle light emerged on the horizon. It laid gold on the leaves. Amber on the water.
Dawn.
They said nothing.
They watched. Simply.
And as the sun slowly rose, Assad understood...
That sometimes, souls recognize each other long before hearts dare admit it.