Chapter 35 · Untitled Chapter

The silence in the majlis was absolute, broken only by the faint murmur of cooling embers within the brass mabkhara and the steady, unhurried tread of Bandar’s steps as he turned away from the assembled men.

He did not glance back at my uncle, nor did he acknowledge the subtle shifting of the elders as they took their measure of what had just transpired. The hall had witnessed the transfer of weight; the denunciation was anchored to his name now, immovable and undisputed.

He approached the corridor archway where I remained enveloped in the quiet folds of my abaya, my shaila pinned securely in place. The formal distance between us in this public threshold was precise, governed by the unspoken laws of the house. He did not reach for my hand, nor did his gaze linger in a manner that would invite commentary from the eyes watching our silhouettes from across the expansive carpet.

Instead, he reached into the inner breast pocket of his crisp white thobe.