The next day, before the sun had even pierced the horizon, Nahia was already ready. Her bag was light, almost negligible. But her heart, it felt like it weighed a ton. Amira, true to herself, had organized everything in silence, with that discretion that masked a fierce tenderness. She knew Nahia didn't have the strength to think about logistics—not today.
— You can't walk for two days in this state, she had said the day before, her voice dry but her gesture tender, handing her a water flask and a clean scarf.
A neighbor, used to traveling back and forth to the village, had agreed to lend her one of his horses. It wasn't a thoroughbred, nor a parade stallion, but a sturdy animal with a steady pace, perfectly suited for long distances and dusty trails.
He was waiting in front of the house, saddled, a rope tied to a wooden beam.
— He knows the way better than you do, Amira had added without ceremony, before turning on her heels, refusing Nahia any attempt at reply.
Nahia placed a hesitant hand on the horse's neck. The horse snorted softly, almost as if it understood. As if it sensed in her the apprehension, the doubt, the vertigo of a departure with no return. It was brown, a little dusty, but calm. Solid. Reassuring.
When she left Mazar, the sun was still just a golden promise on the horizon. The horse's steady steps made the sand crunch beneath its hooves, each sound emphasized by the infinite silence of the desert. The hot wind lifted swirls of golden dust, like thoughts one cannot chase away.
Nahia didn't look back. She couldn't. She stared at the horizon with painful determination, dry eyes, throat tight.
Her thoughts, though, swirled. Assad. His ice-blue eyes. His deep voice. And those rare moments when he looked at her like she mattered. Truly mattered.
She felt ridiculous. In love with a man she would likely never see again. And who, in any case, was never really hers.
This will all be over soon, she tried to convince herself. I'll leave. Turn the page. Maybe in Italy, all of this will fade. Maybe one day, I'll stop thinking of him every time I close my eyes.
She breathed in deeply, but the hot air burned her nostrils. It had been days since she'd last seen him. He was probably away. It was better that way. Less cruel.
And then there was Yasmina.
She hadn't had the courage to tell her she was leaving. She knew she couldn't.
She'll resent me… maybe. But a letter is gentler. Less violent.
The horse walked on, tirelessly. And the vast, burning desert seemed to absorb Nahia's sorrow, melting it into its eternal silence.
She rode away like that. Her heart too full to speak. Her eyes too dry to cry.
Toward the past.
Toward Uncle Ahmed.
Toward the end of a chapter.
---
When she finally saw the first houses of the village, the horse slowed down on its own, as if it shared her fatigue.
The narrow alleyways, lined with ochre earth and whitewashed walls, seemed frozen in time. Passersby stopped in their tracks at the sight of the veiled rider in muted beige. Here, everyone knew everyone. And strangers, even hidden under cloth, were quickly spotted.
Eyes fell on her, curious, sometimes suspicious. Whispers flew:
— Who is she?
— A stranger?
— Where does she come from?
But Nahia didn't listen. Her eyes saw only one thing: the small white house at the end of the path. The one she had imagined so many times. Uncle Ahmed's house.
She dismounted, her legs sore, almost trembling. She knocked gently on the door.
Footsteps. Then the door opened.
Rokaya.
Her floral scarf was slipping slightly on her forehead, her apron dusted with flour. She squinted, then opened her eyes wide.
Nahia lowered her veil.
A gasp.
A silence.
Then:
— You?! Rokaya spat, her face immediately contorting. — What are you doing here, you filthy witch? You think that after what you did, you still have a place in this house? Get out! You're not welcome here!
Her voice rose, sharp, trembling with rage.
— You want to cast another spell, is that it? You want to finish the job? You want to ruin what little peace we have left?
But a deep voice cut her off.
— That's enough, Rokaya.
Ahmed.
He had stepped forward from the hallway's shadows. Arms crossed, face stern.
— That's enough now. You speak as if she's the problem. But remember, Rokaya… she never did anything to you. You're the one who despised them. Bullied them. Humiliated them. Two girls who only had me. And I… I stayed silent. Out of cowardice. Out of weakness. Call it what you want. But today, I won't close my eyes anymore.
He approached slowly.
— She returns here without anger, without hatred, and you greet her with venom? You're the one who should be ashamed.
Rokaya stayed silent, defeated, petrified. Ahmed had never spoken to her like this before.
He turned to Nahia. His gaze softened.
A sadness, deep and tender, passed through his eyes.
But Nahia lowered her head.
— It's nothing, Uncle. I expected it. I didn't come to reopen wounds. I'm just… tired. I made all this journey to see you again.
Ahmed let out a long sigh.
— You'll stay. This is your home. I say so.
He gently took her arm and led her inside. Rokaya stepped aside, silent, her eyes burning.
Inside, the air was cooler, filled with the scent of warm bread and spices. But the tension remained, suspended, like a cloud one cannot ignore.
Ahmed guided her to the small sitting room, modest but clean. Sunlight filtered through embroidered curtains, faded by time.
He gestured for her to sit.
A silence settled. Heavy. Thick. The kind that carries years and regrets.
He looked at her for a long time, as if making sure it was really her.
Then he murmured:
— I never thought I'd see you again. Not after everything that happened.
His voice trembled. His words were painful.
— Where's your sister? he asked, his tone gentler.
Nahia lowered her eyes.
— She… she couldn't come.
Silence again. Ahmed slowly nodded, resigned.
— I understand. She hates us. And she has every right.
His gaze dimmed. Perhaps he would have preferred screams. A slap. Anything. But silence… weighed even more.
— I came to say goodbye. That's all, Nahia said softly. I won't stay long.
— So it's decided? You're leaving? he asked more seriously.
— Yes. Giulietta arranged everything. The documents. The tickets. We're leaving in a few days.
Ahmed sighed.
— I knew she'd take you away. She asked me for the documents… but I thought I had more time.
He looked down.
— Just a little. To see you again. To… apologize. But you made the right choice. There, you'll be free. At peace.
Nahia gave him a gentle, sad smile.
— That's what we hope.
Ahmed stood up. He stopped at the hallway, scratching his neck, a bit embarrassed.
— There are only two rooms here… The one you used to occupy is empty. Wait for me, I'll prepare a bed. It won't be much, but you can rest a bit.
— Thank you, Uncle, she said as she stood. But… I won't stay the night.
Ahmed turned, surprised.
— There's somewhere I want to go, she murmured. I'll spend the night there.
He frowned, worried. He knew this village. Its people. Their memory. Their cruelty.
But he said nothing.
Nahia read it in his eyes but chose not to respond. She left the house without another word, went down the steps, and returned to the horse.
She placed a hand on its neck, gently.
— I'm sorry, my brave one… Just a bit more. Then you can rest. I promise.
Then she mounted again, veil pulled over her face, and took the sandy path.
The light slowly fell over the dunes, stretching the shadows like memories one wishes to forget.
She advanced without a word, led more by instinct than by will.
There, nestled in the desert's heart, the old sanctuary waited.
The forgotten oasis, the weary palms, and the tent.
The old tent.
Still standing, despite the months, despite the absence.
It was there she had cried.
There she had hoped.
And there she returned, heart tight, hands empty.
She cast one last glance toward the horizon where the sun was slowly fading, giving way to the creeping darkness.
The old tent, hidden somewhere within the dunes, was waiting for her.
But for now, the desert stretched before her—immense and silent—wrapping each of her horse's steps in heavy unease.
A shiver ran down her spine.
The silence seemed filled with something unseen, unspeakable, ready to emerge at the slightest misstep.
Nahia tightened her veil, took a deep breath, and gripped the reins.
The night would be long.
And nothing would ever be the same again.