The sunset in that Eastern city, living in the height of its glory, was unlike any sunset Edward had seen in his short life. The sky hung between a faint blue and a reddish hue tinged with desert dust, and the air was heavy with the scent of amber, incense, and the sweat of men who had filled the grand square in front of the gate. In the distance, the high walls rose, made of red bricks, interlaced with intricate geometric patterns, as if pages from a giant stone Qur'an (the holy book of Islam) had been carved into them. The nearby minaret (tower of a mosque) resounded with the muezzin's (person who calls Muslims to prayer) voice, stretching across the horizon, mingling with the clamor of the market, the voices of merchants, animals, and carts moving in and out.
Edward stood at the entrance, staring with his pale blue eyes at a scene that seemed like a living painting, as if he had been suddenly placed on a vast stage buzzing with music, colors, and faces. His European clothes, even when he tried to wrap them in an Eastern cloak he bought along the way, still looked out of place among the white linen shirts and silk turbans. His shiny blond hair and fair skin made him stand out mercilessly.
Beside him stood Martin, his older and more cunning traveling companion. His dark eyes scanned the crowd expertly, observing the guards, traders, and men of influence. Martin was not surprised like most foreigners; he knew that cities like this were bought and sold, and that the glittering decorations hid rules stricter than iron.
Martin placed his hand on Edward's shoulder and said in broken Arabic: "Do not stare, my friend… this city does not like curious eyes."
But Edward was in ecstasy. His eyes wandered between the veiled women hurrying past, between flowing robes that jingled with anklets or sparkled with henna jewelry, among barefoot boys selling dates and figs, and men with thick beards haggling over prices or leading camel caravans loaded with spices. He smiled like a lovesick teenager and whispered in his native tongue: "What a paradise… here I will find my story."
Before he could finish, a tall, thin man approached them, carrying a sack of medicinal herbs on his shoulder. His face was lit with a rare clarity, and his wide honey-colored eyes were surrounded by a calm unlike any other. This was Alaa, the apothecary (person who prepares and sells medicines and herbs), whose appearance was no coincidence; it was as if fate had sent him at that exact moment.
Alaa spoke in formal Arabic, in a low but steady voice: "You are strangers to this city… aren't you?"
Martin and Edward exchanged glances, then Martin answered: "We came from the West, seeking knowledge… and perhaps trade."
Alaa smiled faintly and looked longer at Edward, who was still staring around in awe. In Alaa's eyes, he saw a lost child, playing in a land not his own, thinking doors were open without reckoning. He said: "If you seek shelter, my shop has space. My hands need help, and you need a roof and food. But…" He paused, then added with unexpected sternness: "This city does not forgive those who ignore its laws."
Edward jumped forward with excitement, as if he had been waiting for this moment for long: "Yes! That's exactly what we need. I want to learn. I want to live here, truly."
Alaa gave a mysterious smile and gestured: "Then follow me."
---
They entered the heart of the grand market together. The scene was magnificent: long rows of open shops, one with a coppersmith hammering bronze vessels that rang with a resonant tone, another displaying bottles of fragrant oils glittering under the sun. Merchants called out in overlapping voices: "Tamarind!… Turmeric as golden as gold!… Fabric from Yemen!"
The scent of cumin mingled with saffron, and the aroma of roasting meat mixed with smoke rising from pots of lentils. Children ran between feet carrying small bags of copper coins. Wandering singers recited old poems, stopping passersby for a moment before moving on.
Edward spun his head as if trying to devour it all with his eyes. He whispered: "It's beautiful madness!"
But Alaa, walking beside him, did not share his enthusiasm. His eyes watched people's reactions. Strangers were quickly exposed, and the city knew who entered. He said firmly: "Be careful, Edward… in these alleys, one wrong word can ignite fire. Do not stare at women, do not raise your voice with men, and do not think your smile will be forgiven."
Edward laughed: "What happens if I smile at a woman?"
Alaa responded swiftly, his voice more serious than expected: "Here, honor is not a game."
Edward's heart fluttered slightly, but he could only smile in silent defiance, as if promising himself to test the limits of this world.
---
In the Apothecary Shop
Minutes later, they arrived at Alaa's shop. It was built from old stone, its wooden door wide open, shelves overflowing with glass jars filled with powders and herbs of endless colors: deep crimson, grassy green, shiny yellow, and dark brown. The smell was another world: a mix of cardamom, cloves, and dried roses.
Alaa gestured inside: "From today, this is your home as long as you obey the laws."
Edward stepped in cautiously, touching the jars as if they were treasures. But Alaa lightly tapped his hand: "Do not touch anything before you learn. Every herb here is either medicine or poison. What you consider trivial could be a human life."
Martin sat on a stone bench quietly, while Alaa began explaining to Edward: "Look, these jars hold saffron… do not mix with anything else. Those are senna leaves… do not offer them to someone asking for spices, only to those seeking treatment. The scale here is sacred. If you misstep, you betray my trust and your livelihood."
Edward tried to imitate Alaa's movements: holding the scale carefully, smelling the herbs, dividing them with trembling fingers. But he quickly made a mistake, mixing a little cinnamon with ginger.
Alaa shouted: "Careful!… That almost ruined an entire deal!" Edward panicked and apologized, but his eyes sparkled like a child learning to ride a horse for the first time.
---
Meanwhile, a faint shadow moved at the back of the shop. From behind a low wooden shelf, two wide night-colored eyes appeared, surrounded by a black veil covering the whole face. Only a delicate hand appeared, arranging some jars.
This was Zinouba. She said no word, made no extra movement. Her composure was silent, like a passing specter.
Edward glimpsed her with the corner of his eye. He paused, as if something mysterious had lodged in his heart. But before he could stare longer, Alaa noticed his gaze and raised an eyebrow in warning. He said slowly: "Focus on your work, and do not lift your eyes where you are not allowed."
Edward's face turned red, and he returned to the scale. But the image of those wide eyes did not leave his mind.
---
First Night in the City
Night fell over the market, and oil lamps lit the alleys. The city transformed: the sound of the oud (a stringed Middle Eastern instrument) rose from small taverns, slave girls (women in the harem or serving in public spaces—here it's a general reference to women singing) sang on the sidewalks, and men sat in circles discussing politics and poetry.
Alaa closed his shop firmly, then sat with Edward and Martin inside. Pouring them cold water into ceramic cups, he said: "The city is like a beautiful woman, but strict. Those who treat it carelessly are devoured, and those who respect it are given what they cannot dream of."
Edward listened, a mixture of excitement and fear within him. He looked at Alaa and whispered: "I want to learn… I want to become part of this city."
Alaa gave a half-smile and said: "You will learn, but at a cost. The cost is patience… secrecy… obedience."
At that moment, the evening call to prayer rose from the nearby minaret, mingling with the silence that filled the shop, as if officially announcing that a new life had begun for Edward, a life unlike anything he had known before.
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_ I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
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Author Soha Seraj.