The week had passed like a blurry dream. Absorbed in her work and her thoughts, Nahia hadn't even noticed the weekend approaching. The days flowed by, marked by the silent ballet of wedding preparations and her deliberate detours to avoid Sheikh Assad's gaze. A heavy routine—but a necessary one.
That morning, as she was cleaning a pathway leading to the ceremonial halls, a guard approached her.
— "This is for you," he said simply, handing her a small carved wooden box tied with a sand-colored ribbon.
Nahia looked up, surprised.
— "Me?"
The guard nodded, then walked away without another word. She stood still for a moment, then, driven by curiosity, carefully untied the ribbon. Inside, she found a beautiful set of sandalwood combs, delicately engraved and inlaid with floral patterns, dotted with tiny green stones reminiscent of olive leaves after the rain. A small bottle of soft perfume rested beside them, with a discreet scent of jasmine and amber.
At the bottom of the box, a neatly folded note caught her eye.
> "There are souls you simply cannot ignore, even when they try to disappear.
May this day bring you a little sweetness—just like the kind you inspire.
Happy birthday.
— A."
Nahia felt her heart leap in her chest.
Her birthday… today.
She had completely forgotten. And this gift…
Her first thought went to Amaya—so sweet, so thoughtful. But no, her little sister couldn't have afforded such a present. Perhaps… Dame Amira? Yes, that made sense. Generous and attentive—it would be just like her. She chose not to dwell on it.
---
That evening, as she climbed back to her room, Amaya gently grabbed her hand.
— "You're not going to sleep just yet, okay? Come…"
— "Amaya, I'm tired…"
— "Come, you'll see…"
She guided her to the staff wing, into Dame Amira's warm, candlelit room. The curtains had been drawn, a few scented candles cast a soft glow across the room. A small cream cake sat on the table, decorated with simple but beautifully placed sugar flowers.
— "Happy birthday!" Amaya and Amira said in unison.
Nahia raised her hands to her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes. She blew out the candle with a trembling gesture, heart tight with emotion. Amira then handed her a small fabric-wrapped parcel.
— "For you, my dear."
Nahia opened the gift gently: a pair of delicate silver earrings shaped like leaves.
— "Another gift? But… the first one was more than enough, Amira…"
— "What first one?" Amira asked, puzzled.
— "The box you sent me this morning… with the combs."
Amira frowned.
— "That wasn't me."
Nahia turned toward her sister.
— "Amaya…?"
She instantly raised her hands, playful:
— "Not me either!"
A light silence filled the room. Nahia felt her heartbeat quicken.
The note.
The letter signed with a simple "A."
She looked away, pushing back the hope rising, burning just beneath her skin.
She didn't want to think about it. Not tonight.
But somewhere inside her, a soft warmth began to settle—quiet, in a corner she thought had gone cold.
---
Night had fallen over the palace, spreading its veil of silence across the deserted gardens. In his chambers, Sheikh Assad stood by the window, arms crossed behind his back. He hadn't turned on the lights; the moonlight bathed the room in a silvery-blue glow.
He couldn't read. Not tonight.
His thoughts kept circling back to one memory: her voice by the lake, weeks ago.
> "My birthday is next week…"
He remembered it with almost painful clarity. And today was that day.
He didn't know why it had stuck with him. Why he had ordered that carefully crafted box. He'd even taken the time to choose the perfume—subtle, discreet, almost shy. Like her.
And most of all, he had hesitated to sign the card.
But in the end, he'd given in to a foolish impulse: a simple "A."
A silent confession. Useless, perhaps.
He turned away from the window and walked over to his desk, running a hand across its surface without sitting down. He had wanted to see her today. Just for a moment. To catch a glimpse of surprise in her eyes. A fleeting smile. To know if she had understood.
But she was still avoiding him. Every day. Every hallway. Every glance.
And he hadn't tried to stop her.
Because he was getting married.
Because he had no right.
He inhaled slowly, his chest heavier than he wanted to admit.
He had believed time would fix things. That distance would soothe it all. But it hadn't. Her absence was becoming more obvious than her presence ever was.
He thought of her, maybe sitting with her sister. Maybe she'd guessed the gift came from him.
Or maybe not.
Maybe she didn't want it.
Maybe she had forgotten everything.
He clenched his jaw, brushing those thoughts aside like an annoying insect.
Tomorrow, he would resume his duties. He would focus on preparations, on political alliances, on the wedding fast approaching.
And he would ignore her.
Just as she did so well.
But tonight… he couldn't stop thinking about her.
And wondering what it might have felt like—to wish her happy birthday… out loud.
---
Sheikh Assad turned away from the window and, heavy-footed, walked to his father's room. Through the slightly open door, he heard the weak and uneven breathing of the old man, worn down by the illness that had plagued him for months.
He entered quietly, knelt by the bed, and took his father's pale hand in his own.
— "Father," he murmured, "you must go to Switzerland. The doctors were clear—it's your only chance. You have to leave now, the wedding date is already set. Please go before it's too late."
The old man slowly turned his head toward him, eyes tired but full of resolve.
— "Assad," he answered in a weak but firm voice, "I know my limits… I know my body isn't what it used to be, but I won't leave now."
Assad felt a sharp pain pierce his chest.
— "But Father," he insisted, "Switzerland… the specialized care… you could live for years still."
His father shook his head, a faint smile on his lips.
— "My son," he said gently, "this wedding… it's something I must witness. I'll be there. I won't let my son step into this new life without being there to bless it."
Sheikh Assad lowered his eyes, unable to speak.
— "I promise you," the old man added, "that as soon as the ceremony is over, I'll take the first flight to Switzerland. But for now, I'm staying. With you."
A silence full of pain and love settled between them.
Assad squeezed his father's hand, knowing there was nothing more he could do but honor his wish.
He stood, heart heavy, and left the room—ready to face the days ahead, caught between duty… and hope.