Chapter 28 · Chapter 28

The morning was not allowed to soften before the knock sounded at the outer parlor.

I remained seated upon the low divan, my dark abaya arranged over my ankles and the edge of my tarha pinned securely beneath my chin. A house steward stepped into the arched threshold, keeping his gaze respectfully lowered to the border of the wool carpet. He did not introduce a guest of honor, but a man carrying leather folios under his arm—a formal envoy sent directly from my uncle’s chambers.

"Let him enter," I said evenly.

Sulaiman Al-Husseini, a legal counselor who had served my uncle’s commercial circle for two decades, stepped across the marble sill. He had removed his shoes in the vestibule, his white thobe stiff with starch, his eyes sharp and practiced in the art of extracting concessions without appearing to demand them. Behind him, an attendant stood silently by the door, carrying nothing save the silver registry box.

"Peace be upon you, Mariam," he murmured, inclining his head just enough to honor custom without conceding authority.

"And upon you the peace, Ya ustadh," I replied, motioning toward the low table where Gahwa had been set.