Gulsiya

Blood, sweat and tears.

The thick debris and smoke in the air is making it harder to breath. Tears brim my eyes. They sting.

"Oh Lord, make this end, please. Make this end," I pray to myself. All the dead bodies...I can be one of them at any moment.

"Hey," a half panting voice calls out. My heart tightens. In a swift motion, I point my dagger high at the person's throat.

"Gül, it's me!"

I squint my eyes and lower my weapon. It's him all right. I put my dagger back to its sheath. "You're not supposed to be here. They need you."

"I know- I...I have to tell you this. In case I die-"

My jaw clenches. "You won't die. I'll bring you back from the dead."

"Speak no rubbish. You won't waste a breath on me if I die, get it? Now as I was saying-" He takes out a dagger, studded in tiny jewels. "Can we pretend this is a pretty... bracelet?"

I raise one eyebrow. What is he getting at? Best to play along to finish this quick.

"The prettiest I've ever seen."

He smiles sheepishly at this, then clears his throat, as he kneels down. "Gülsiya, if you ever find it in your heart to pardon me- hells, let me just get this straight, I'm sorry for all the mess I've done."

My face remains stoic. "So...you ask for forgiveness with a dagger?"

"Hey, it's not like I can summon a bracelet from the sea," he looks sideways, seeming hesitant to say something more.

"Out with it."

"...when all of this ends, can we...could we get back-"

A gun fire cuts his speech short.

...

Hijri: 1135

In Gregorian Calendar: 26th June, 1723

"Hey! Give baba's purse back, rat!"

"As if I'd listen!" The thief sticks his tongue out.

He runs into nooks and crannies, showing off his acrobatics here and there, while I stubbornly follow, to the amusement of the bystanders. My mouth runs a string of curses which would definitely earn a slap from my mother, but she isn't around anyway!

Then suddenly, feeling very lucky, the little thief jumps on top of a shop's tent and leaps to land on a building's cliff. But his legs are an inch too short, he misses his footing with a scream. I would do the same if the purse hadn't flown right at my face.

"Got you!" a tall figure in a shemagh shouts, catching the flying bird. I give out a shaky sigh of relief. He chides, "You sniveling fool!"

The boy squirms to free himself, but the strong hands adorned with silver rings hold him tight. He then gives up and stammers, "I-I did nothing wrong I was-"

"When did jumping off rooftops become right?"

I walk towards them with a grin and raise a hand. "Oh, leave the poor boy, his mother will make up for it, In Sha Allah." Right then, a plump, tall and fair woman comes running with a scary scowl, but ultimately hugs the little thief. That's my mother.

She's almost teary-eyed. "Why do you do such things, Eitizaz? No lunch for you today, only a beating from your baba will fill you belly!"

"I-I don't have an appetite ammi-"

Then mother points at me. "Go get things from the bazaar, I can't make lunch from the air! I should have sent the maid instead." I nod, and then she smiles sweetly at the stranger, thanking him many times.

"Thank you so much, you saved my boy's life. How can I repay you? Do you want money, anything-"

"Ah, no madam. Just remember me in your prayers, I need lots of it."

My mothers says a few more kind words and prayers until finally leaving him. The whole time I stood there, awkwardly.

"You know that circus boy?" The cloaked man asks me this time.

"Oh, he is a local boy who volunteered to clean our blocked toilet. Then stole my purse."

His eyebrows furrow. I cannot see the face at all, to be true, but only his eyes. Brown, perhaps?

He didn't quite like the reply. I quickly stammer a proper response. "Er, actually he's my brother. That was my mother." I reach out for my bag. "And who are you? I do owe you something-"

He touches my hand. "I don't need anything, girl." I stare at him then, waiting for him to introduce himself.

"Oh- where are my manners! I am...a traveler of little importance. A pleasure to meet you...lass." His speech sounds like... he wants to sound like a local but he's too sophisticated. At least I think so, I've met some nobles. And he also sounds hungry. Curious. Is he some noble's runaway bastard son or something?

"Likewise. The name's Razia. Though, I haven't learnt your name nor your features," I ask with curiosity.

"I...have a bad scar on my face, and it terrifies ladies. You can call me Ali. May I see your face? In case- I see you again."

I blink. I wasn't expecting that. Well, what's wrong with making friends? I lift my scarf slightly, wink and lower it again. His eyes narrow, perhaps by smiling.

"So Sir Ali, you sound like you haven't eaten anything." I reach out for a stick of date candies from my satchel.

"Oh- I cannot accept-" when the smell reaches him, he does accept, greedily.

I laugh, then excuse myself, I myself wouldn't want air for lunch!

He bows, only slightly. "May the stars align for us to meet again." I smile and nod.

No 'traveler of little importance' would ever say that.

The bazaar is only a few minutes away. I won't be getting lost, hopefully. My family came to Beirut only a year ago, and I rarely went to the market. I am a Mughal by birth, and the conversation I had with the stranger was in Arabic. My father had...some complications back in the country.

I did make some friends, but miss my previous home bitterly. And I can't stand the sun, so I always try my best to cover myself up. Worse is the fact that it is summer season. But life in a port isn't completely bad, though. It is a new world to me. Like the one they call in the West.

A high-pitched voice cuts out my thoughts. "Razia! Hey, couldn't recognize you!" Oh no, it's her again. The ridiculous wench I am guilty of enjoying (and wasting) my time with.