It was almost evening, and the marketplace hummed with life. Both of them scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face. Suddenly, Hidayat spotted Jahangir in a light blue shirt and faded blue jeans. He waved from a distance, his soft, silky hair catching the light as he walked toward them.
As soon as he reached, Hidayat greeted him with a teasing smile.
"Mashallah, your memory is fine, right?" she said.
Jahangir raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Hidayat folded her arms. "Not a single call, not a single message, not even a text in a whole week! You've already forgotten your friends. Why are you so busy?"
Jahangir turned to Mehdiya. "Make her understand—we've been busy. Tell her."
Mehdiya nodded. "Yes, yes, you're so busy you don't even have time for us. You know, we're going out after a month."
"Well," Jahangir replied with a smile, "whenever we make a plan, it's never a flop."
Mehdiya stepped forward, but Hidayat gave her a sharp look. Mehdiya just laughed, then her eyes caught a poor girl nearby. She smiled at the girl and soon got lost in her thoughts.
"Hidayat—" Jahangir began.
"Yes, let's go, sir," Hidayat interrupted. "Now tell me—am I not a doctor? Is there anything harder than my work? Then what are these tantrums of yours?"
Jahangir sighed. "Alright, fine. Sorry on my behalf, whether it's my fault or not."
"What do you mean? Don't you think it is your fault?" Hidayat pressed.
"Okay, okay—sorry for that too. Let's go."
They walked toward a small shop, snacking on the way. At the entrance, they stopped, noticing a beautifully decorated photo frame in the window. All three looked at each other and nodded.
"We should make a frame with our names and our group's name on it," they decided together.
Inside, Jahangir told the shopkeeper, "We want a frame. On top, write V3, and below, write the names—Jahangir, Mehdiya, and Hidayat."
The shopkeeper frowned. "Who's the third boy?"
Jahangir and Mehdiya exchanged a surprised glance. Hidayat slowly turned to the shopkeeper with a sharp look, while the other two held back their laughter.
"This is our third boy," Jahangir said, pointing at Hidayat.
The shopkeeper's face turned red. "Oh, forgive me! I thought you were a boy."
"It's okay," Hidayat replied with a faint smile.
Jahangir grinned. "Do you remember what happened once—?"After a while, as the light in the room began to fade, she could see the surroundings more clearly. Slowly, she realized she was lying in a small, dimly lit chamber. Beside her, a young girl sat crying softly, her face streaked with tears.
"Please, princess… forgive me," the girl sobbed. "I made a mistake. I thought a thief had entered our house. I didn't know it was you. Please forgive me."
Noor watched her for a moment, her head throbbing with pain. An idea came to her mind. She sat up slowly, folding her legs, and placed a hand on her forehead.
"Listen, girl," she said weakly, "I don't remember anything… not even my name—because of your beating. I only remember my name, nothing else."
The girl's sobs grew louder.
"Quiet!" Noor ordered. "Tell me who I am, where I live, what I am like—everything. Even the way I speak. Tell me so I don't get caught."
The girl wiped her tears and whispered, "Princess… promise me you won't tell anyone about this."
"Fine," Noor said. "I promise. Now tell me."
She stood up, brushing the dust off her clothes, while the girl sat on the bed behind her, still holding her head in her hands.
"Alright, let's start," the girl said, taking a deep breath. "Your name is Noor bint Shams. You are the daughter of Wazir Shams Sheikh. And… in one month, you are to be married to Sultan Buraq ibn Zain. After the wedding, he will become the Sultan, and you… will be the
Noor froze. Her aching head suddenly felt heavier.
"What… what… what did you say?" she stammered.
"Yes, Princess," the girl repeated, "your marriage is in one month."
"With whom?"
"The one who rules here—the Sultan."
Noor sat down slowly, her mouth open in shock. "Now what will happen to me…?" she whispered to herself.
After a pause, she turned back to the girl. "Alright, tell me about my parents."
"Your father's name is Wazir Shams Sheikh," the girl began. "Your mother's name is Halima Khadoon. They both love you very much. You are their only child."
The girl scratched her head, as if deciding whether to say more. Finally, she looked up.
"And yes… do you have any…?"
"Any what?" Hidayat asked.
The girl hesitated, her lips parting to speak.