“Omid –”
Deen shook his head again, this time more vigorously. “If Hazan finds out we’ve let her stand, unprotected, in front of a hundred thousand people, he’ll murder us on principle –”
“It’s fewer than a hundred thousand –”
“Please, I’m not as fragile as you seem to think,” Alizeh objected. “I’ve always been able to protect myself –”
“No one thinks you’re fragile, miss,” said Omid, his voice grave. Heavens, she’d never seen him so serious. “Just because we want to protect you doesn’t mean you’re weak – it means you’re important –”
Alizeh moved toward him and he fell silent at once, his words dying on an exhale. She took his hands as she met his fevered gaze.
The hall, too, went eerily quiet.
Omid had aged in her absence, she could see it in his face. She felt he was too old for a twelve-year-old, too tall, too punctured. Still, steady meals had filled out the hollows in body. His brown eyes were no longer overlarge and sunken; no longer skittish; no longer stricken with hunger. In fact he seemed broader, fuller, more concrete. It was terrifying to imagine that this vibrant young boy had once driven a crude dagger into his own throat – had once attempted to kill himself in the middle of a town square.Alizeh recalled this shocking fact with a painful spasm, her urgency fading as she heard the faint tremble of his breath, saw the tension straining his shoulders.
“You,” she said softly, staring up at him, “will always be dear to me. For your kindness, for your loyalty – for your courage in the face of everyday cruelties. I wish you’d never suffered; I wish you a lifetime of ease. I wish for you to see your own strength – to see every difficult choice you made in order to forge your pain into an armor of resilience and compassion, when you could’ve used it instead to spiral into darkness. Should you ever want a place in my life, you will have it. But right now, in this moment, you must let me go. I will return to you, Omid. I swear it.”
The boy looked at her for a long time, his eyes swimming with restrained feeling, then turned his gaze to the floor. “All right, miss,” he whispered. “If you go, I’m going with you.”
“No,” she said, breaking away from him. “It’s too dangerous – you said so yourself –”
“I’m coming, too,” said Huda, squaring her shoulders.
“And I,” said Deen, looking grim as he stepped forward.
“But” – Alizeh looked around at them – “you’ve just spent the last several minutes warning me away from the crowd –”
It was Huda who said, “Yet you are unafraid.”
“Of course I am afraid!” Alizeh said, laughing even as her eyes teared. “But don’t you see? If I let fear keep me from doing what is right,I will always be wrong.”
“Spoken like a true queen,” said Huda.
It was Deen who said, quietly, “Let us hope for the day when we might all remove our masks, and live in the light without fear.”
Alizeh stiffened, turning to face him. Deen had recited aloud something she’d once said to him. She hardly knew what to say.
“Those words are emblazoned upon my cold, shriveled heart,” he said, smiling faintly. “I’d quite like to live in a world where you are queen.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m so grateful for your friendship.”
“And I, yours.” His smile deepened. “I must say – I always suspected you were no ordinary snoda. But I never expected this.”
“Ha!” said Huda. “Neither did I.”
Omid shook his head, discreetly wiping his eyes. “Nah,” he said, switching briefly to broken Ardanz. “You was always a queen to me, miss.”
Alizeh looked at her friends, a tight joy unfurling inside her. She was reminded then of something her parents used to say to each other – when they dropped things; when they lost an argument; when they bumped into each other in the kitchen; when they made silly mistakes. They’d laugh, lock eyes –
“Shuk pazir ke manam, manam,” said Alizeh.
Thank you for receiving me as I am.
Omid’s eyes widened, then he laughed out loud. “I haven’t heard that since before my parents died.”
“Ooh, I know this one!” said Huda. “Shuk nosti ke tanam, tanam.”
Thank you for trusting me with who you are.
