Chapter 19 · Chapter 19

The grey light came thin and sharp through the cedar shutters before the streetlamps went dark outside. It caught the line of the marble skirting, the folded wool at the foot of the low bed, and the black silk of my abaya resting across the armchair where I had left it.

Neither of us spoke of what had settled behind the bolted lock. Saad rose first, his movements measured, unhurried, carrying the silence of a man who had already weighed the morning and its cost. He stepped into the adjoining dressing alcove and returned in a fresh, stiff-collared white thobe, the linen pristine and buttoned to the throat.

He lifted his misbaha from the side table, the amber beads passing one by one between his fingers with a dry, disciplined click.

I sat up and drew my abaya over my shoulders, sliding my arms into the dark sleeves. I gathered my hair beneath the black shaila, wrapping the soft cloth firmly and tucking the edge beneath my collar until no strand showed. Only my face remained bare to the morning cool. I stood, my bare feet flat against the wool rug, smoothing the fall of the hem.