“You will be,” he murmured, brushing his lips over my forehead.
He gently traced circles on my back and began to hum, the same melody he always sang when my sorrow threatened to swallow me whole.
I closed my eyes, melting into him as the familiar tune washed over me.
He knew the weight I carried.The ache of endless prayers left unanswered, of whispered condolences from midwives, of the pitiful glances from village women who had given birth to child after child while my arms remained empty.
For fifteen long years, we’d hoped, prayed, wept, and every attempt ended in silence.No heartbeat, no flutter of life, only the pain of absence.And now, time had turned against me.My body, once ripe with promise, had grown traitorous with age.
The cruel truth was that the fault was mine.I couldn’t prove it, but I felt it—deep beneath my skin, deep within the hollow of my womb.
Perhaps that was why, in my darkest hour, I remembered the stories.The whispers of a legend spoken in hushed tones around cooking fires and behind cupped hands.
The tale of Zaheera
The Firewalker.
A Jinn of ethereal beauty and terrible power.A spirit who granted impossible desires...for a price.
Many had tired.Too many.They followed the ritual passed down in fragments:
Enter the forest where the trees are oldest.Where no bird sings and no wind stirs.
Then speak her name.Once.Only once.
And wish—not with words, but from the aching centre of your soul.
Zaheera did not answer every cry.She did not bow to sorrow, nor bargain with those who treated her like a legend to be summoned on demand.She only came to people she deemedworthy.
Through years of failures—endless attempts to summon her only to be met with silence, belief faded into myth.Hope curdled into superstition.Until none dared to call upon her anymore, for fear of being met with only the cruel laughter of the wind.
My own desperation gnawed at me.The want of something I knew I could not reach weighed heavily against my already fragile mind.
Would she come for me?
And so, I made a choice.
The rest of the day had flown by in a haze, the endless possibilities unspooling into anxious ticks.Tapping my finger rhythmically against any surface I touched.Biting my nails until they bled.
Once night descended upon the village and Edran had fallen asleep, I slipped out of our bed, the woven mat rustling lightly beneath my bare feet.I draped thick wool over my head like a hood, pulling one end over my face to guard against the chill.
I stole one last glance at Edran.His chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, one arm stretched across the space where I should have been.
Guilt twisted in my stomach like a sharp dagger, but I could not stop now.I placed a hand over my heart and whispered, “Forgive me.”
I stepped out into the inky darkness, the air crisp with the scent of night-blooming jasmine.The moon hung high above our village, a silver eye watching as I made my way toward the forest’s edge.
The deeper I went, the more the shadows stretched, stirring like unseen figures lurking just beyond reach of my lantern’s flickering glow.
At last, I reached a small clearing where the trees bowed back, making way for the full moon’s light.The ghostly light bathing the clearing in eerie luminescence.
I placed the lantern onto the ground and lifted my gaze to the Heavens.The stars pulsed above me, watching.Waiting.
I closed my eyes.
“Zaheera.”
Her name passed my lips like a prayer.
