One month and four days.
Assad had counted them. Every morning, as he opened his eyes, he added one more number to this silent tally. It had become a mute prayer, a habit he hated but couldn't break. One month and four days since Nahia had left. Exactly three weeks since his marriage to Zeyneb.
And something inside him had broken.
His daily life had lost its substance, reduced to a succession of mechanical gestures: morning hearings, council meetings, formal dinners he walked through like a shadow, without truly being there. His gaze seemed to drift far away, lost in a parallel world where Nahia still existed by his side. He spoke little. Smiled barely. Zeyneb, despite her efforts, kept crashing against an invisible wall. He wasn't harsh, nor cold. Just… absent.
In the palace corridors, whispers rose. Some mentioned an illness, others already whispered that he regretted the marriage. But those who truly knew Assad knew better. They saw beyond appearances. And among them was Yasmina.
His younger sister had become the only thread still tying him to reality. For the past few days, they had created a ritual: every late afternoon, as the sun began to decline, they met near the small lake behind the palace gardens. A peaceful, almost secret place that Nahia had particularly cherished. She often came there with Yasmina. Sometimes alone. To breathe. To escape.
That day, Assad arrived first. Sitting on a flat stone, he stared at the golden reflections on the water, his eyes empty. When Yasmina joined him, she didn't speak right away. She sat quietly at his side, knees drawn to her chest.
Silence settled between them, soft, familiar. Then she whispered:
— Do you remember when I used to disappear every evening?
Assad slowly nodded.
— Well… Nahia and I used to come here.
Her voice trembled slightly, as if recalling that memory burned her from the inside.
— We pretended we came to meditate, that we talked to escape the world… But in truth, we did all sorts of nonsense. She would dip her feet in the water, claiming it healed the soul. I pretended to believe her. And you know what? I think she was right. Because with her… everything seemed simpler.
She smiled at the memory, but her eyes glistened with tender sadness.
— She often asked me questions about you. Without ever naming you. She wanted to know if you were really as distant as people said, if you knew how to laugh. I told her yes, but that one had to earn it. She laughed that day. She said she would like to see it.
Assad lowered his head, his heart tightening.
Yasmina continued, her voice lower:
— She never spoke to me about leaving. Not once. If I had known… if she had just confided even the slightest doubt to me… I would have done everything to stop her from going. Even if she would have hated me for it.
Assad whispered, almost breathless:
— Me too. I wish I could have stopped her. I wish I had… woken up five minutes earlier that morning.
He looked away, but Yasmina caught a silent tear sliding down.
She placed a hand on his arm.
— Then go find her, Assad. What are you waiting for?
He breathed in slowly, his eyes still lost in the void.
— Because I am married, Yasmina. I cannot just leave like that. I have responsibilities. Duties.
A silence. Then he added, lower:
— And above all… if I see her now, I will not be able to not love her. Not want to keep her with me. To touch her. To tell her everything I've kept locked inside.
He paused, then murmured:
— Not while Zeyneb is waiting for me. Not while the whole country watches me, now that Father is gone.
Yasmina looked at him gravely.
— But your heart, Assad… Who does it belong to? To you? To Zeyneb? Or to Nahia?
He closed his eyes.
— To Nahia, for months now, he breathed.
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
— I will divorce, he finally said. In a year. As planned. I will respect this marriage until the end. But as soon as it is over… I will leave. I will search for her. Everywhere. In Italy, or anywhere else if necessary. I will find her. And I will tell her everything I never had the courage to say.
Yasmina shook her head, her throat tight.
— I just hope it won't be too late. That she hasn't found someone else. Someone who will see her, love her, tell her every day how unique she is.
She stood, her hands sliding gently over her dress.
— I know you've always believed you could master your life. As if every piece had to move according to your will. But let me tell you something, Assad: you can't control everything. Not love. Not time. Not people. Those things are free. Wild. And love, when made to wait too long… often grows weary. Then fades. Quietly, in silence. And one day, when you reach out your hand, you will find only emptiness.
Assad remained alone, motionless, by the water.
The wind slid across the lake's surface, light, almost shy.
And he, fists clenched on his knees, prayed silently that Nahia would never erase him from her memory. Each beat of his heart echoed like a prayer, a mute plea that she still thought of him, even from afar. He repeated to himself, over and over, that their bond would survive the test of time, that nothing and no one could ever erase the mark she had left within him.
But what he did not yet know…
Was that life never warns before turning the page. It writes its own chapters, far from promises, far from plans. And sometimes, it carries away the loves we once believed eternal.