Karem was silent, watching me for a while. Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"And what about Neseret? Will you tell her you're leaving?"
I stayed quiet, searching for the right words. "No," I finally answered. "Neseret is caring for her son. She's been through enough. If I told her I was leaving now… the worry would destroy the peace she has finally found. I don't want to cut her joy short. It's better if she doesn't find out right away."
Karem nodded, though his face still showed questions he left unspoken. "I understand. But believe me, it won't be easy for her when she learns you left without a word."
"It would hurt her more to know I might return only after many days—or not at all," I said quietly. "That's why I'll leave like this."
---
The next day, before sunrise, we met at the city's eastern gate. The guards let us pass without question— the Pharaoh's command carried weight.
The air was cool, the Nile gleamed under the first rays of light. The road followed the riverbank, so we set out south, toward the land of Meza.
The first miles were quiet. The land was fertile, fields already being prepared for the floods, men working with simple wooden plows drawn by oxen. Women gathered reeds and carried water jars. Children pointed at us—two armed men were not a common sight.
As we walked further, the land changed. The fields gave way to wider stretches of sand. The heat of the sun pressed down, but the wind from the river kept us cool.
"You know," Karem said, "I've never traveled this far without a larger company. It feels strange—just you and me. Like we're exposed."
I gave him a faint smile. "Strength isn't in numbers, but in what a man carries within. The two of us can do more than ten warriors with swords."
Karem shifted his spear on his shoulder and gave me a sideways look. "You talk as if you've lived it before."
"Maybe I have," I answered, but said no more.
---
The road took us through small settlements. Some were no more than a handful of huts made of mud and palm branches, others larger with simple grain stores and shelters for livestock.
People eyed us with suspicion, but the Pharaoh's seal on my bracelet calmed them. Wherever we passed, someone eventually offered us bread or water.
Once, we stopped by a group of fishermen sitting on the bank, repairing their nets. An older man handed us dried fish. "The road is long," he said in the rough language I was by now almost fully understanding. "Take this."
I thanked him with a bow of my head. Karem gave him a small bronze buckle from his belt—a modest gift, but the fisherman smiled as though he had been given treasure.
---
By the third day the land changed again. Fields and villages vanished, leaving only the river and sand. The path was narrow, sometimes disappearing altogether.
"The silence feels strange," Karem said. "I miss the noise of the city. Even the shouts of training men."
"Silence is a test," I replied. "Here you hear what you never would in noise—your own thoughts."
Karem smirked. "Sometimes that's not an advantage."
I smiled, though inside I knew his words were true. The silence forced thought—and I thought of Neseret. Of how, when she woke and didn't find me there, she might have felt emptiness. But I believed my choice had been the right one.
Karem walked quietly for a while, kicking at a stone on the path. Finally, he spoke:
"Amenemhet… there's something I don't understand. Why aren't you with Neseret? She's young, beautiful, she admires you. Everyone can see she trusts you more than anyone. Why do you leave her alone?"
I stopped for a moment, looked at the river, then back at him. I knew this question would come. Karem was direct and honest, and now he expected an answer.
"Neseret is a strong woman," I began slowly. "She's wise, brave, and yes… beautiful. But it isn't about her. It isn't that I don't want her. It's because once…" I took a deep breath, "once I loved another woman. With all my heart."
Karem looked at me but stayed silent. So I continued:
"She wasn't ordinary. She was the woman I grew up beside, the one I taught, the one I protected. At first, what I felt was pure, almost like a father's love. Later, I was her teacher, her guide, her support. And when she became a woman… my love changed. I loved her as a man loves a woman. But I could never say it. It was impossible."
For a moment I fell quiet. Memories rushed through me—her smile, her laughter, her eyes. Even if inside me now there was no fire, no pain, I knew Karem wouldn't understand emptiness. I had to give him a reason he could accept.
"And so," I added at last, "when a man has once loved that deeply, he cannot be the same again. My heart is sealed. Neseret deserves a man who can give her everything. And I cannot give it."
Karem walked in silence for a while, then nodded. "So it's because of that woman…" he said softly. "I understand. It's hard to leave the past behind."
"It's not about difficulty," I corrected him gently. "It's about the fact that some things cannot be changed. Sometimes a man carries love with him, even knowing it can never be fulfilled."
Karem let out a sigh. "Then you are a different kind of man than I thought. But… I respect it."
His voice was sincere. He seemed to accept my answer, even if he didn't understand all of it. And that was enough. He didn't need to know more.
Karem stayed quiet for a while, but I could see he was still curious. At last he gave a small smile and glanced at me sideways.
"And… what kind of woman was she?" he asked carefully, as if testing whether I'd snap at him. "She wasn't ordinary, that much I could hear in your voice. But… tell me more. What held you to her?"
I laughed softly, more bitter than amused. "She wasn't ordinary, you're right. She was brave and stubborn. When she wanted something, she went for it, even if the whole world stood against her. She had words that could convince anyone, and eyes that made you do more than you thought yourself capable of."
Karem nodded, smiling. "So her tongue was like a sharp blade and her gaze like fire? Well, that would explain why she still weighs on your heart."
I shook my head. "It wasn't just that. She could be kind, when she chose to. She could laugh like a child, and sometimes she could be so gentle that a man forgot the whole world. Those were the moments when I… when I felt like I was home."
I paused, but Karem listened with such focus that I went on:
"What held me most… was that she never saw me only as a servant. Even when everyone else did. To her, I was… something more."
Karem thought about that, and his smile faded into something more serious. "I understand. A woman like that—no man forgets her. She stays under your skin forever."
"Exactly," I said with a nod. "And that's why I can't have another. Not because Neseret isn't worthy, or because some other woman couldn't be good. But because my heart already belonged once. And it won't belong again."
Karem looked ahead, at the road, and said quietly: "Now I understand. And I respect it. Though… if you hadn't told me, I never would have believed a man like you could speak about a woman this way."
I gave a faint smile. "Every man has one woman he never lets go. Even if no one else ever notices."
Karem kicked a stone from the path, then glanced at me with a grin.
"So this woman of yours… tell me, did she at least have a temper? If she shouted like a general, then I pity you. Imagine, carrying that voice in your head until the end of your days!"
I huffed a laugh despite myself. "She had a temper, yes. When she was angry, the walls shook. But when she laughed, even the gods would've stopped to listen."
Karem slapped my shoulder. "Then you're doomed, my friend. That laugh will follow you in your dreams, and you'll never escape it. Not even if you run to the edge of the desert."
For a moment, the weight on my chest eased. I shook my head and muttered, "Maybe you're right."
He grinned wider. "Of course I'm right. But at least you had such a woman once in your life. Many men live and die with nothing to remember but hard work and dry bread."
I glanced at him, surprised at the sudden depth in his words. But he only shrugged and added with a smirk:
"Still, if you ever change your mind, don't leave Neseret waiting too long. She looks at you as if you were carved from gold. And believe me, I know that look."
I didn't answer. My smile faded, but I let his words hang in the air.
We walked on, side by side, the silence lighter now, touched by his joke. The road stretched ahead, and for the first time that day, I felt that maybe it wasn't so heavy to carry memories when you had someone to share the burden with.