Tariq cringed, unable to respond.
“Can you not tell me what happened, my friend?”
Tariq gazed into the settling dusk on the horizon. A trace of the sun’s warmth lingered along the edge, fading into blues that bled their way to black.
“I suspected he might care for her. After all, he let her live when so many others . . .” Tariq’s silver eyes chilled in thought. “But I did not expect this.”
Omar scratched at his beard. “I see.”
“What? What do you see?” Tariq turned toward the Badawi sheikh.
“You believe the young caliph . . .” Omar lifted a gnarled hand to Tariq’s shoulder. “Is in love with your Shahrzad.”
Tariq fixed his gaze on the coarse linen of Omar’s sleeve.
“And what led you to believe this?” Omar continued in the same kind tone.
“The—it’s the way he looks at her,” Tariq whispered. “It’s the only time I even begin to understand him.”
Omar squeezed his shoulder. “Perhaps . . . it is for the best. I’ve heard the young caliph has lived a life of profound loss. If Shahrzad can—”
“I will not leave Shazi in the arms of a murdering madman!”
Omar blinked hard. The heavy creases of his eyelids rose and fell with a purposeful weight. “Tariq, why are you doing this? Why are you fighting this battle?”
“Because I love her,” Tariq said without hesitation.
“But . . . why do you love her?”
“What kind of a ridiculous question—”
“It is not a ridiculous question. It is a very simple one. The difficulty lies in the answer. Why do you love her?”
“Because—” Tariq rubbed at the back of his neck. “All of my most cherished memories are of her. I’ve suffered alongside her. And . . . we’ve laughed at nothing together.”
Omar’s hand fell from Tariq’s shoulder. “A shared history does not entitle you to a future, my friend.”
“How could I expect you to understand?” Tariq said. “No one ever tried to take Aisha from you. No one—”
“I do not have to lose my wife to understand the meaning of loss, Tariq. A child with a broken toy understands such things.”
Anger coiled through Tariq’s chest. “Are you likening my suffering to that of a child?”
Omar shook his head with a bemused smile. “Loss is loss. And the lesson is always the same.”
“I am not in the mood for a lesson.”
“Nor am I.” Omar laughed. “So I will share a story instead.”
“Please don’t—”
“On a clear night, many years ago, I watched a thousand stars fall from the sky. I was only a small boy, but I possessed a very curious heart, so I decided to chase them into the desert, far beyond the horizon. You see, I wanted to know where stars went when they fell. I ran and ran until I could run no more. And still I could not see where the stars went.”
“Your story is a lesson, Omar,” Tariq said in a flat tone. “I am not that big a fool.”
Omar grinned. “Did I ever tell you that, to this day, I still fight the urge to chase falling stars?”
“I can well understand it, as I’m currently fighting the urge to flee.”
Omar threw his head back and laughed. “Not until our lesson concludes, my young friend! You cannot rob an old man of this well-deserved right.”
“No. I cannot.” Despite the heaviness around his heart, Tariq could not help but smile. “Conclude your lesson, my esteemed effendi.”
“Some things exist in our lives for but a brief moment. And we must let them go on to light another sky.”
Tariq stared into the darkness beyond the enclave of tents. “You want me to leave things as they are. But I can’t. I won’t.”
“And I will always respect your choice, Tariq-jan. Though we may disagree, I shall try to offer whatever support I can. Come with me. Your uncle is waiting for you.”
“Uncle Reza is here?” Tariq looked over Omar’s shoulder.
“He arrived two days ago with your friend Rahim and has been anxiously awaiting your return ever since.” Omar led Tariq to the entrance of the largest tent in the desert enclave. He pushed aside the flap, and the two men stepped inside.
“Our prodigal hero has returned!” Omar announced as he strode to the back corner and took a seat beside Reza with a jocular flourish.
Tariq removed his shoes and discarded his cloak before pacing farther into the semidarkness. The patchwork of carpet at his feet was soft and worn. It mirrored the dark collage of woven fabric shaping the walls of the tent around him. A thin haze of smoke suffused the air about his head. It smelled of tobacco and molasses.
“Come, have some tea,” Omar said with a smile. “I’ve been having the most wonderful time with your uncle these past few days, for he is quite fond of love stories as well.”
Tariq sat on the woolen cushions around a knotted wood table with a silver pot of tea, several etched glasses, and a towering ghalyan. The ghalyan was made of deep green glass, with a long pipe wrapped in copper silk, snaking around the table to Reza bin-Latief’s outstretched palm. The coal atop it burned bright orange as he puffed on the carved mouthpiece, and the water within its glass basin bubbled at a slow roil. The sweet smoke rose into the air, curling into tendrils of blue grey, mingling into the haze above.
“Uncle.” Tariq extended his hand toward Reza, and Reza took it.