CHAPTER SEVEN
"My aunt loves someone else," Tuba blurted out. "But he's not tall and handsome like you. I don't like him at all!"
Who was I supposed to love? Oh, Tuba, what have you done?
Suddenly, Ryan's pleasant mood vanished. His smile evaporated, replaced by a restless, dark look. "Are you sure, Tuba dear? Who does she love?"
"Yes, I'm sure! My aunt loves Uncle Masih. She even tells me to speak nicely to him, or else he'll get upset!"
One cannot expect more from a child, but why must an adult take a toddler's words as absolute truth?
"I see... Tuba dear, go to your mother. We'll play later, okay, sweetheart?"
Tuba quickly jumped from Ryan's lap and ran toward the kitchen. I, who until that moment had been blissfully unaware of the coming disaster, suddenly became the prey of Ryan's sharp, piercing gaze.
"Yas... Yas... fine. You asked for this!"
Asked for what?
"I don't understand. Why have you suddenly turned so hostile? Did something happen?"
Ryan let out a mocking laugh and ran his fingers through his hair as if trying to vent his rage on his own locks. "No, nothing has happened yet, Miss Yas. I'm simply uncertain about what the future holds."
Ryan stood up and kicked the chair with such force that it flew across the lawn and flipped over. I sat there, stunned. What just happened? I shrugged, returned the chair to its place, and walked indifferently to the kitchen to help my mother.
Sophia was still lost in thought, and Tahmina had gone to sleep due to a headache. Lunch was prepared and the table set. Whenever the Big Khan was at the palace, he made it a habit to dine with his sons. Everyone sat around the table while Sophia and I quietly poured juice into glass goblets.
"There will be a party tomorrow night," the Khan announced. "It will be different from the others—especially for you, Ryan. I hope you can choose one of the noble daughters to be your wife."
"Father, we've talked about this before!" Ryan replied sharply.
Our work was done, and we weren't permitted to linger. I returned to the kitchen where our small family, including Masih, was gathered for lunch. I sat next to Masih and began to eat.
"Hey, Squirrel, where's your greeting?" Masih teased.
"Masih, I'm not in the mood. Just eat and be quiet!"
"Ooh, someone's in a temper!"
I ended the conversation with a sharp glare and left the table before the others. Agitated, I retreated to the basement and sat by the small window, lost in a daze. Why am I so upset? Just because Ryan is angry? Or because I didn't hear the end of that conversation at the table?
The sound of footsteps broke my solitude. The window was two meters above the ground, requiring one to sit on a wooden ledge. I looked down and saw my father's kind smile. He sat on a cushion near the wooden steps.
"Why is my daughter upset? Did someone hurt you?"
At his words, a lump formed in my throat. "Father, when are we leaving this place? I'm tired! This place is like a graveyard. I don't want to stay here any longer!"
"My dear, where would we go? Our debt to the Khan is paid; we are no longer obligated."
"What debt?" I snapped. "Father, he kept us in this palace by force. If he's so famous for his generosity, why didn't he just forgive the money instead of keeping us here as prisoners?"
My father kept his gentle smile. "My daughter, you have the wrong image of the Big Khan. No one forced us. You don't know the great favor he did for us. Back then, the civil wars for the throne were brutal. When I speak of debt, it isn't about money—it's about repaying his kindness. He has a kind heart."
"You mean... you're here by choice?"
"Yes. There was no force. And we have never been treated like mere servants. Cast out this imaginary hatred from your heart. Remember, there is no shame in any work done for an honest living."
"Fine, Father, but the war is over. Why not go to Nuristan? We could live in the house next to my aunt's."
"I don't know, Yas. Everything is provided for here. And Ryan has returned—didn't you miss him? What is the problem now?"
The memory of Ryan's recent temper made me frown. "But he gets angry with me for no reason! He threw a chair across the lawn today. He's not normal, Father!"
My father laughed softly. "You must have teased him. He's very kind to you; we all know that."
"Father, I used to tease him, but I haven't done anything these last two days! He just becomes hostile over nothing."
"Yas, you must understand. After his mother died, Ryan was more attached to you than to his own brothers. He has suffered a great deal. Though the Khan loves all his sons, Ryan is his favorite. You can be his friend, away from the palace rules. Perhaps he loves you like a sister, or a friend... or perhaps something in between. Be grateful, Yas. Arrogance and ingratitude are what bring a person down. He owes you nothing, yet he looks after you. No Khan treats his subjects this way."
He stood up hurriedly as if remembering something. I remained in thought. All these years, I had grown up with a self-made hatred, blaming someone for my "misery" who had no part in it. I had built a mental prison out of the word "debt." I felt ashamed; I shouldn't have judged the Khan without asking my parents.
Night fell—my favorite time. Dinner was over, and the dishes were clean. Sophia and Masih went home. I took a cup of tea to the lawn for my nightly walk. Tahmina and Tuba were asleep, and my parents were sharing tea in the basement. What a loving couple they were.
As I walked, I saw a shadow on the second-floor balcony. Ryan's room. It was Ryan, and he was smoking. He seemed lost in thought.
Should I go to him? My father's words echoed in my ears: "Don't be ungrateful."
I finished my tea and moved stealthily to the second floor. I stood before his door, took a breath, and entered without knocking. I quietly reached the balcony. Ryan was leaning over the railing, taking a deep drag of a cigarette. I walked so softly he didn't notice—or perhaps his spirit simply wasn't there.
With a quick motion, I snatched the cigarette from his hand and tossed it over the edge. I watched the glowing ember fall until it vanished. Then I turned to face him.
To my surprise, Ryan's face remained blank. He looked at me with confusion.
"What kind of doctor are you?" I challenged, trying to act natural. "Don't you know smoking is lethal?"
"Yas..."
"Yes, Sir?"
"Leave."
He walked away from the balcony and threw himself onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow. Was I supposed to just listen and leave? No. If I did that, I wouldn't be Yas. I sat on the edge of the bed and poked his arm.
"Ryan? Are you mad at me? I just made peace yesterday; you could have at least waited a week before fighting again!"
I laughed and started teasing him—pulling his hair, scratching his arm with my nails. He refused to speak. As a last resort, I joked:
"Is the Groom-to-be upset? Should I call for the Bride? Haha..."
Ryan suddenly lunged, and my laughter died in my throat. He was over me, and I was looking up into his bloodshot eyes. I swallowed hard, paralyzed by the shock.
"You're calling for the bride?" he hissed. "Don't tell me Miss Yas enjoyed my father's talk and is waiting for a bride to arrive?"
I tried to get up, but he had me pinned. "Is it such a bad thing? Why are you being so defensive? Let me go!"
"Are you afraid?"
Suddenly, I reached out and touched his forehead. "You're burning up! Are you sick?"
Ryan let go and leaned back against the headboard, looking distraught. "I'm fine. Go."
"No, you're not! Your eyes are red. Wait, let me call my mother."
I started to get up, but he grabbed my hand so suddenly that I lost my balance and fell almost into his arms.
"Don't go!"
I sat back, looking at him, confused. Is he fighting with himself? One moment he tells me to leave, the next he begs me to stay.
Ryan reached out, touching my hair, his voice trembling. "Don't go, Yas..."...
End of Chapter 7