Agrabah was alive with sound, light, and scent. Evening descended like a silk veil, and the air pulsed with rich, lively Eastern music. Merchants shouted their prices with such confidence that buyers laughed and paid. Lanterns glowed warmly, as if each held a hidden djinn. The air smelled of sweets, spices, warm stone, and bodies brushing past in the crowd.

Tonight, the city celebrated—the sultan's niece was getting married. Not to just any man, but to someone whose past was as dark and hungry as Reyan's. They said he had once stolen to eat, slept on rooftops... and now he sat beneath a golden canopy. Some men get lucky. Reyan, in other lives, had dreamed of such a fate while lying on dunes and staring at the stars.

The streets buzzed with joy. Guards watched the palace, merchants bargained, lovers strolled hand in hand—and no one noticed two men moving along the edge of it all like ghosts. Yet glances still drifted their way, curious and admiring. They were mistaken for foreign nobles. Their silence, their robes, their steady walk. Reyan felt the weightless power of it—the way the world seemed to fold beneath his feet.

Samir had gone ahead to find shelter for the night. They planned to meet at the old cave where they'd slept before. Reyan, however, lingered. His gaze wandered—and then stopped.

Dancers. Spinning in silks and bells, their bodies flowing like honey, like smoke. Wealthy men tossed coins, clapped, grinned. But one girl stood apart. She didn't shine brighter—she glowed deeper. Her movements were soft and burning, her figure graceful, her nose proud, her eyes closed in serene pleasure. And Reyan's heart did something strange. Something his aunt Jasmine once spoke of. "When you meet the one, you'll feel it like heat in your blood." There it was. Heat. And her.

For a moment he thought their eyes met—but then she turned in dance, raising a rattle high above her head.

"Samir," Reyan murmured, eyes fixed. "Wait. Let's stay." They stepped closer. Reyan kept his hood low, watching. She was real. She was magic. And when the dance ended, she walked toward an older woman in similar dress. He knew, in that instant—if he didn't act, she would leave. Disappear like a dream.

"See her?" Reyan whispered, nodding toward the girl who stole his breath. "Steal her. Like she's the rarest jewel you've ever seen. Please." Samir gave no answer, just nodded and slipped into the crowd. Reyan moved forward, straight toward the dancers.

He dismounted his camel with the grace of a prince, walked toward them with velvet steps. "You were enchanting," he said, his voice like warm dates and dark wine. "You should charge for such artistry." He reached for the elder woman's hand, brushing his fingers across her knuckles like they were made of ivory. Then he kissed them—gently, respectfully, as if she were a sultana herself. She blushed. One of the girls gasped, covering her mouth. He had their full attention.

As his left hand caressed a strand of the woman's hair, it subtly unhooked an ornate pin. His right reached into a pouch on his sash and retrieved a bag of coins. "This is for you," he said softly, pressing the pouch into her hand. "You have true talent... and heart. I doubt we'll meet again, but I wanted to leave something good behind."

He kissed the strand of hair still caught between his fingers, and in that moment—the girl was gone. Samir had already moved. Reyan turned, mounted again, and rode toward the meeting point near the alleyway. There—he spotted him.

But Samir stood alone. Without her. "Where is she?" Reyan asked. Samir tossed a sack onto the ground. A faint sound came from inside. Reyan jumped down, crouched, and untied the cloth.

Her eyes met his. "My love," he whispered, taking her hand. "I missed you." Then, without pause, he lifted her and placed her gently on the camel. "You're coming with us."