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She did not seem appeased. “Then who is Jahan? Or Fareeda? Dunya?” Once she began to list off the names his sisters had supplied her easily with—names he regrettably recognized—she could not seem to stop herself. “And how many more might make the list had I given your sisters more time? How many of them had you promised a wedding and a life at the palace? In this very room?”
It was clear that she was beyond worked up. She was not angry exactly, no that would be too simple an explanation. Instead, she looked a mixture of all things that might qualify as upset. Of course there was a smidgeon of anger, indicated by her flushed cheeks and her crossed arms, but there was also sadness and hurt lined in her now shiny, watery eyes. And there was uncertainty laced along the tension in her shoulders. And maybe even a bit of defiance in the lift of her chin and the straight line of her long neck, as though she were ready to fight against his sisters and their nasty words, or these other women who flitted like apparitions through her mind, or even him should he decide that things between them could no longer be right.
It was a thing Ahmed had always found so very attractive in her: complexity and strength. She would not allow herself to be swept away under some rug without a fight. She had come too far now and she would see this through to whatever end it had to meet, happily ever after or otherwise.
Taking a slow breath, Ahmed prepared himself. He could not and would not lie about this, though his next words would not be strictly speaking easy—not for either of them.
“Fareeda was my mother’s first choice,” he began with the easiest one to explain away, because he had not cared much for Freeda even when he had given her the chance that his mother had so diligently begged for. “She was beautiful, of course, and very well connected. My mother has always been quite fond of her family and would be willing to overlook any flaws in their child if it meant I might settle down with a girl from such a family.”
Keisha had frozen as soon as the words left his mouth, though it did not look like she had completely moved towards the rage he was waiting for. Instead, she looked cautious and suspicious, but she was giving him a chance to explain himself.
He promised himself silently that he would not waste it and he would not give his sisters any more fuel by lying about these women. “We entertained each other for several months, but it was mostly from a distance because I could scarcely make myself stay alone in a room with her for more than a few minutes. She was a dull, dreadful thing with ambitions for the throne more than any affection for me.” He paused, studying his new wife. She had relaxed slightly at his admission, but she was wisely waiting for the rest, because there were still two more names on that list that needed to be explained. “Towards the end, I was so repulsed by her that I told my mother that she could either stop forcing Fareeda upon me, or she could remain without grandchildren from me for the rest of her days. The next day it was over and I have not spoken to Fareeda since.”
Keisha’s arms had fallen and there was a little wrinkle in her brow where her eyebrows had pulled together in confusion or worry, but she no longer looked ready for a fight. It was progress. “Why would your mother insist on someone who clearly never made you happy?”
Ahmed shrugged his shoulders. “Because she believes that happiness is something that comes through sacrifice.” He smiled wryly, taking a step towards Keisha as he thought of all he had risked for her. “Perhaps there is truth to that, but it is not for her to choose what sacrifices I am to make.”
Before she allowed Ahmed to wrap his arms around her again, she asked, “What about the others?”
Ahmed sighed. This would not go as well as the story of Fareeda had. “Let us sit?” He indicated the lounge near the window and Keisha nodded once before turning on her heel and moving to sit upon the soft, thick cushions. Ahmed took a seat next to her and mentally prepared himself for the next story.
“Dunya was… my choice,” he began and instantly, he felt Keisha tense beside him. He offered a slightly sad, wry smile. “I am a man and have been so for many years. When my mother began to push for my marriage, I felt that I was ready to explore the world and what it had to offer. Part of that was in looking for a woman to share it with.”
He knew how those words must sound to Keisha, the woman he professed to love above all others, but he had known Keisha for only a year. While his love was good and true, it was difficult to say it was the only type of love that he had experienced in his years on this earth. Or lust for that matter.
Pushing forward, he tried to make her understand. “It was merely a fun experiment with Dunya. I enjoyed her company and she was lovely. She was well connected enough that my mother did not protest our courtship.”
“I see,” Keisha murmured quietly, not looking up into his face.
He frowned and reached out, taking her hand in his. He clasped it tightly, though she did not squeeze it in response. “I am not without my own history, my love,” he told her softly. “But it is merely history. In the end, though my mother would have approved, I could not make myself keep Dunya at my side indefinitely. I could not wish our lives to be entwined forever. Ultimately, we parted on good terms and if I am correct, she has married well and is very happy. We have not spoken in person in many years, but I receive updates on her from my mother—determined to show me what I have lost—and occasionally she has sent a letter to me on her own accord. I wish her well, but do not regret my decision.”
For long moments, they were both silent. Ahmed wanted to give Keisha time enough to process this information and come to terms with it before starting on the name that would be the most difficult for them both to hear. He hoped she might understand, but he was silently preparing himself for the very worst. There was a good chance that things would be over between them in mere moments and he squeezed her hand tighter in an effort to hold on to her just a little longer.
He was surprised when she squeezed back. She still did not look up at him, but her voice was soft when she said, “There is still one more name that your sisters have mentioned. May I ask how she has fit into the puzzle of your life?”
Swallowing harshly, he began the tale that had broken a young heart so many years ago.
Jahan was lovely. She had a smile that could light up a room and eyes that were startlingly bright despite their dark color. She was only ten when Ahmed first met her and could have been a little boy as much as a girl, climbing trees until her skirts were torn and her hair was wild. It was what had drawn him to her in the very beginning.
“Will you not climb with me, little prince? Or have all those who rule your life deemed you too fragile to play games with such high risks?” She teased and taunted him, sticking out her tongue at him until he was red in the face and determined to prove her wrong.
“I am a prince!” Ahmed, only twelve himself, retorted. “I do as I please when I so please it!”
She grinned broadly at him. “Then please it now!”
And without another word, Ahmed began to climb. He fell three times from that tree over the course of the next three months, but he climbed it over a thousand times. His mother fussed and asked him who was responsible for such a thing, but he never told on Jahan. He kept her his own little secret and before he even realized what had happened, his heart was breaking out of his chest to join with hers.
At twelve and fourteen they had moved on from climbing trees to climbing walls. More specifically, the walls that surrounded the palace, meant for their protection. Ahmed gave her a boost first as he was taller and then she would help him scramble up the smooth walls until they were both straddling the wall. And when he managed to get down on the other side, he caught her in his arms and they would play about in the market or wherever they pleased, until they knew the castle guards would get in trouble at his being missing.
At fourteen and sixteen, Jahan noticed a change in Ahmed that he scarcely noticed himself. He was interested all of a sudden in the parties that brought many beautiful women to the palace and he enjoyed it when his sister’s friends giggled at him as he passed by, blushing when he spoke to them or kissed the backs of their hands.
It made Jahan furious. For a long time, they hardly even engaged with each other. It was not until Jahan got sick at the age of fifteen and was bed ridden for several long days that Ahmed remembered his childhood friend and returned to her. He sat with her and read her stories, telling her of old mysteries and new discoveries and far off lands full of exotic wonder.
Soon, she was better, and at fifteen and seventeen, Ahmed finally saw something different in Jahan. She had grown beautiful. She had grown into a young woman who was rapidly changing before his very eyes.
He dared to kiss her one night on the eve of her sixteenth birthday and could still remember the blush across her full cheeks and the trembling of her bottom lip. He should have known better than to think he might keep her, but he dared to anyway.
They kept their activities together secret then, just as they had as small children, though their games had become anything but childish.
