Chapter 20 · Chapter 20

Before my hand could touch the brass handle of the inner door, my uncle’s voice cut through the stillness of the majlis, strained and thin with suppressed fury.

"The registry remains open, Marzouq," Ammi said, his hand coming down hard upon the cedar table where a folded parchment lay. "A family council does not fold simply because you announce an end. The petition for an inquiry into the contents of her bag has been drawn. It bears my seal. It requires formal submission to the elders unless she surrenders the slip."

The two arbiters remained seated, their gahwa cups untouched on the low brass saucers between them. Neither man moved to take the document, yet neither rose to leave. In the center of the hall, the silence hung heavy with the weight of ancient custom, balanced on whether a written claim would outlive the spoken word.

Marzouq did not turn his entire body. He merely stopped, his profile sharp against the carved plaster archway. His white thobe remained immaculate, the gold threading along the hem of his dark bisht catching the light of the perimeter sconces.