‘I’m sorry.’ She frowned. ‘How did your parents die, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Strangely, I like talking about them, even if it hurts.’ That was so different from the approach her father and brothers had. ‘They both got an infection and passed from the illness, just a day apart. Dania was still less than a year old.’ He closed his eyes, eyebrows pinched.
Feeling bold, Sonya reached across and took his hand in hers. He squeezed.
‘I was meant to finish school,’ he said, opening his eyes. ‘Then, maybe go somewhere for an apprenticeship and learn all about tailor-magic before coming back to work with my mother, but that didn’t happen. Luckily, I did still get a job at a tailor, though I’m not learning as much as I wish, and the shop…well. Without my mother here…’
He let go of her hand and wiped both his hands across his face, sighing.
‘I’m sorry.’ She didn’t know what else to say.
‘Thank you,’ he replied, voice soft. ‘You said your mother died as well?’
She nodded. ‘During childbirth. I never knew her. I was born a bit early, and I was sickly as a child, which made my father very afraid. My family is very protective, to the point of being too much.’
‘Which was why you ran away?’ he asked. There was a strange emotion on his face as she spoke about her family.
She nodded. ‘I do love them, but I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life the way it was. I—I wanted to be free.’
‘And are you?’ he asked. ‘Free?’
She smiled. ‘I am.’ He looked relieved. ‘How did your parents meet?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘My father used to work in the cotton factory,’ he said with a small smile. ‘He made the deliveries to the tailor my mother usedto work with as an apprentice. Mama always said he was persistent, bringing her letters and flowers and other gifts until she finally agreed to walk with him, and then walks turned to shared cups of tea, which turned to dinners. Before they knew it, they were married.’ A fond expression came across his face. ‘She was always so happy talking about that time.’
‘It sounds like such a joy to be loved,’ Sonya said. She had never seen her parents together, but she knew they had loved each other. She knew it was too painful for her father to speak of her mother, so Sonya had stopped asking years ago.
‘Love is its own magic,’ Azam said, smiling at her, and she thought he was right. They stood and began walking home.
‘When did you learn you were a witch?’ Sonya asked. ‘And how did you learn to wield your magic? Was it very exciting, or was it frightening?’ She wanted to know everything.
‘Aren’t you curious,’ he teased.
She nodded. ‘Very. I don’t have magic, but everyone else in my family does. I’ve always been a bit envious.’ She stopped. She hadn’t admitted that to anyone before.
‘I learned pretty early on,’ he said. ‘When I was around six years old. I would often sit with my mother in her shop. I spent all my free time there with her, watching her, helping her however I could, and then one day, there was a tear in one of the dresses, and I fixed it using magic.’
‘Wow.’
‘Then, I learned all I could from her. My father didn’t have magic, but he was thrilled I took after my mother.’
‘She must have been brilliant if she’s the one who taught you,’ Sonya said, looking down at her dress again. She twirled, still obsessed.
Azam blushed, though he appeared pleased by the praise.
When they returned to the cottage, Sonya looked at the closed door to the left. ‘Can you show me?’ she asked.
Azam hesitated, and she worried that she had asked for too much, too soon. Then, he swallowed. ‘Alright.’
8
Sonya set the wildflowers down on the front table in the hallway, and Azam put the loaf of bread alongside it. Then, he pulled a key out of the table’s drawer and slid it into the door. He turned the key, the lock clicking, and the door creaked as he opened it, the hinges squeaking.
He entered, and she followed after him into the dark and quiet room. The curtains were drawn. Azam quickly found a box of matches and lit the candles and, as he did, the shop came into view. There was a thick layer of dust over everything, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been in here in…a few years, probably.’
She moved further into the shop. It was about the same size as the other half of the cottage, and it even had a fireplace. Excludingthe dust, there was an eerie quality to the place, as if it had been left only for the night. Everything appeared to be exactly as his mother must have left it.
