Merv, 9th Century — The Era of Caliph Al-Ma'mun, 815 CE
On the vast grasslands of Merv, Aisha bint Al-Fadl rode her horse across the field. already far behind her companion, Amirah, who laughed breathlessly atop her own mount.
"Aisha, slow down—hah… I can't breathe!" Amirah shouted between gasps.
Aisha smiled with pride.
"Hah… that girl," she muttered, exhaling slowly. "You'll have to ride faster, Amirah. Don't let me win the race!"
Amirah smacked her horse's flank and laughed.
"I won't steal that joy from you today, Princess Aisha!"
Aisha's hair fluttered beneath her thin veil, stirred by the breeze across the Merv plains.
Today, the city would soon become a memory for Aisha.
That was why she raced her horse with Amirah—perhaps for the last time.
Beyond them, the mountains of Khurasan stood silent and grand, like fragments of a childhood she was not ready to leave behind. The rhythm of hooves echoed across the earth in front of her home.
---
Several hours later, Aisha stood in the courtyard of her family's house, gazing at the familiar walls and the sky of Merv, veiled in clouds.
Wooden chests were lined up neatly, ready to be loaded. Her mother, Salma—a graceful woman wrapped in an emerald-green shawl—oversaw everything calmly, her attention never straying far from her daughter.
"Mother," she began softly, "how can one face a new challenge without fear? I am always anxious I will fail."
Salma smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind Aisha's ear.
"My child," she said calmly, "fear is not the enemy. It is a guide. When you are afraid, listen to it, learn from it, and let it strengthen your resolve. Courage is not the absence of fear—it is acting rightly despite it."
Aisha blinked, taking in her mother's words.
"Thank you, Mother," she whispered, her voice filled with quiet awe.
"Tell me, Are you ready to leave to Baghdad?" Salma asked, looking at her.
Aisha gave a faint smile.
"I don't think I will ever truly be ready, Mother."
She hesitated, hoping her next words might finally get an answer.
"I still don't understand why Father wants us to move to Baghdad, while he himself will return to Khurasan."
Salma fell silent, her gaze fixed on Aisha—long enough for the girl's heart to race with anticipation. Surely, wisdom was coming…
"Hmm…" Salma finally said, her eyes still calm, "why don't you ask your father directly, my child? I truly don't know either."
Aisha's face fell instantly. Her shoulders slumped, and her faint smile vanished.
"Hah… Mother!" she groaned, half in disbelief, half in frustration.
Zahra, who had been standing just a few steps away, exchanged glances—and then burst into quiet giggles.
"Really, Miss Aisha?" Zahra whispered, covering her mouth to hide her laughter.
Aisha shot them a look, but even that couldn't stop a tiny smirk from tugging at her lips.
Mariam stepped forward and handed her a letter.
"Miss, there is a letter from Baghdad."
"From whom?" Aisha asked as she took it.
"Lady Layla bint Al-Hasan."
Aisha skimmed the letter and smiled wryly. Layla's words were always laced with mischief:
'Don't cause trouble before you arrive. Like stopping by the market before reaching Baghdad. Or you'll end up buying all the jewelry there and bankrupting Uncle Al-Fadl, hehehe.'
"Layla never changes," Aisha muttered, pursing her lips.
"But she's right. I do love jewelry—and good food."
Before departing, Aisha walked toward Amirah, who stood with tears brimming in her eyes.
"Amirah… I will miss you so much," Aisha said, struggling to keep her emotions steady.
Amirah smiled faintly.
"I will too. Don't forget—we still owe each other one last horse race."
"Of course," Aisha replied with a smile. "And you'll have to train harder if you want to overtake me."
Amirah placed her hand on Aisha's shoulder.
"May your journey be safe. Take good care of yourself."
She withdrew her hand, tears finally spilling.
Aisha smiled teasingly.
"Don't cry. You're not a child anymore. Calm yourself… In shā' Allāh, we'll meet again. Don't cry too much."
Amirah smiled through her tears.
"In shā' Allāh. Go, Aisha. Baghdad awaits you."
Thus, the long journey began.
From Merv to Baghdad, they traveled thousands of miles across deserts and open plains.
Inside the litter carrying the family of Al-Fadl, Aisha sat in quiet contemplation. Her thoughts lingered on her father, who would return to Khurasan with the Caliph, while she and her mother would remain behind.
After several days—perhaps three; the exact number hardly mattered—The Al-Fadl family finally arrived in Baghdad. From afar, the city gates and the towers of Bayt al-Hikmah rose like beacons of knowledge. When the procession reached their grand residence, the camels and horses came to a halt. A luxurious garden filled with pomegranate trees and an octagonal pool welcomed their arrival.
At the main gate, servants waited—some carrying gold-lined vessels filled with rose water to welcome the family.
From the city road, a group of horsemen approached. A man in a white turban and flowing robe dismounted with ease. His face resembled Al-Fadl's, yet bore the weight of experience and firmness.
Al-Hasan ibn Sahl—a figure known to history.
Beside him stood an elegant woman named Rabiah, her loose robe tinted soft pink.
Al-Fadl stepped forward, smiling at his brother.
"Assalāmu 'alaikum, Hasan."
"Wa 'alaikumussalām. Ahlan wa sahlan, my brother."
Rabiah approached Salma.
"The journey must have been exhausting. May this place bring comfort to your family."
Salma smiled warmly.
"Your prayer is kind. May Allah reward you for it."
Standing beside Al-Hasan was a young man—tall and composed, wearing a dark robe embroidered with fine gold thread. His gaze was sharp.
Muhammad ibn Al-Fadl.
He stepped forward and kissed his father's hand respectfully.
"Assalāmu 'alaikum, Father."
Al-Fadl patted his shoulder.
"Wa 'alaikumussalām. You arrived just in time."
"I couldn't allow my family to enter Baghdad without proper arrangements," Muhammad replied with a faint smile.
Aisha observed the exchange silently. Her brother looked more mature than she remembered.
Their eyes met briefly before Muhammad smirked.
"You… you've grown uglier, Aisha."
Aisha gasped and folded her arms.
"Akhi, what do you mean? Are you trying to start a fight after all this time?"
Muhammad raised an eyebrow.
"I'm only joking, little sister."
Aisha's face softened.
"At least try to look happy to see me after so long."
He snorted and extended his hand.
"Welcome to Baghdad."
Aisha felt a swell of emotion.
"Thank you, Akhi. I hope this city is better than I imagine."
"That depends on how you choose to see it," he replied meaningfully.
From behind them came a familiar, cheerful voice.
"Aisha!"
She turned just as Layla rushed toward her.
"Astaghfirullah, Layla! You startled me," Aisha protested jokingly.
Layla laughed.
"Oh, don't exaggerate. You have no idea how bored I've been waiting for you."
Al-Fadl exhaled slowly.
"After a few months, I will return to Khurasan."
"At least enjoy your life while you are in Baghdad," Al-Hasan replied.
---
The Next Morning — Aisha's First Day in Baghdad
Dawn light filtered through Aisha's window, illuminating domed rooftops and towering minarets. The city slowly awakened: the call to the dawn prayer echoed from afar, the scent of freshly baked bread drifted from the markets, and servants hurried through the house preparing for the day.
After performing the dawn prayer, Aisha stepped into the corridor, breathing in the morning air of Baghdad—rich with spices from the kitchen and the damp scent of earth from the courtyard.
She sat on a carved wooden chair just as a young servant approached. Nadira—a new kitchen helper in the Al-Fadl household—poured tea from a steaming pot.
The moment the cup reached Aisha's hand—
"A-ah!"
She reflexively dropped it. The sharp sound of shattered ceramic echoed across the veranda.
"Astaghfirullah!" Aisha cried, clutching her hand as pain surged through it.
Nadira froze, her face drained of color. She bowed deeply, trembling.
"Lady. I..." Her voice shook. "I—"
Aisha stood, breathing faster as she pressed her reddened palm.
"This tea is far too hot," she said sharply. "Do you not know how to serve a drink properly?"
"I'm sorry, lady. I... I didn't realize it was still this hot…"
Other servants stopped, the peaceful morning turning tense.
Aisha straightened. Her anger was not directed solely at the girl—it was mixed with panic.
"Go. Fetch something to clean this up," she said coldly.
"And be careful next time."
"Yes, my lady…" Nadira bowed repeatedly before hurrying away.
Mariam approached cautiously.
"My lady, allow me to compress your hand."
Aisha paused, then nodded.
"Very well."
At that moment, a cheerful voice rang out behind her.
"Assalāmu 'alaikum, the newest princess of Baghdad!"
Aisha turned. Layla stood there, grinning broadly, followed by a servant carrying a tray of dates and goat's milk.
"Wa 'alaikumussalām," Aisha replied flatly. "You're early, Layla."
Layla glanced at the broken cup.
"Wow. You're rather rough, Aisha."
Aisha shot her a sharp look.
"Hm. Don't jump to conclusions. It was a reflex."
Layla smiled wryly.
"Still. Quite cruel."
Aisha fell silent, then finally sighed and smiled.
"Be quiet, you chubby girl. Or one day I'll write a book about you—as the most annoying person alive."
When Nadira returned to collect the shards, her fingers trembled.
She kept her head lowered, holding back tears she dared not let fall.
That morning, she learned one thing:
Pain can be stored away very neatly.
Layla sat by the window and picked up a date.
"I am deeply honored, my princess."
Aisha laughed softly.
"So you came this early just to disturb me?"
"Of course," Layla replied dramatically. "I knew you'd be standing here, staring at Baghdad as if the city belonged to you."
"I am not like that," Aisha denied.
Layla shrugged.
"Very well. Then allow me to offer something far more interesting than the spice market—Bayt al-Hikmah."
Aisha's eyes lit up.
"Bayt al-Hikmah?"
"Yes! Scholars, rare manuscripts, endless scrolls of knowledge—"
"And a chance to prove that I'm smarter than you?" Aisha teased.
Layla gasped theatrically.
"Astaghfirullah! How arrogant! Very well—we shall see who triumphs."
Aisha laughed.
"Wait. I must ask Father for permission first."
"Of course!" Layla replied eagerly.
After a light breakfast—this time with tea poured safely—Aisha met Al-Fadl in his study, a room filled with maps and documents. She requested permission to go out, naturally with an escort.
Al-Fadl agreed, but with three conditions: proper protection, Bayt al-Hikmah as the first destination, and returning before sunset.