To everyone reading this who has made it so far with me, this is for you.

Thank you for 1M on Khalifa.

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It's he who circles the sun of her eyes.

— Nizar Qabbani

Harun Al Kurdiya

He had hated her since the first time she visited his palace to Baghdad. They were both children back then, and he developed his dislike for her in their very first encounter. Just like how a child can dislike someone-- innocent but genuine and passionate.

She never went to play with other kids but always found a way to bother him. He wanted her to keep away-- to return to her home. And every time she did, he thanked God. Then every time she came to visit again, he knew life at his own home would be difficult for him. At the age of six, Harun ibn Adam had his first beating from a girl he believed to be a witch. And he was never going to forget that.

She had scary eyes, so scary that he might have believed her to be a jinn. He was repelled at the first sight of them. In fact, she was a strange girl. Her hair a blend of brown and red, her skin fairer than anyone he had seen before, and her eyes so unlike a human-- one entirely blue, and the other a combination of blue and brown. Or maybe with a tint of green, he didn't know. He didn't want to look closely into her ghost like eyes to know. But from afar, it looked light brown.

"Baba?"

His father looks down at him, his attention shifting from petting his horse to him. Standing in the stable with his father, Harun watches the magnificent horses before him and how his father can tame these beasts. He wants to do the same.

"Yes?"

"When can I have my own horse, baba?"

His father smiles. "Do you want one?"

He nods. "I'm eight now. You told me I can have my own horse."

"Come."

His father motions him over as he saddles the horse. Then he lifts him up and sits him on the horse. Harun quickly grips the saddle, and his father takes his hands to release his hold on the saddle and gives the reins in his hands.

He leads the horse out of the stall. It frightens him a little initially, he has never been on a horse alone before now but always with his father or a guard to assist him in riding it. But it's also very exhilarating. With the horse tightly held by its harness by his father, he doesn't have to worry. Harun sits up proudly. Until someone decides to nip his joy.

"I want to ride the horse too!" A shrill voice rings in the air. A voice that makes his ears hurt before her small form comes running towards them-- the sight hurts his eyes too. She grins up at his father.

He doesn't know how his father can be charmed by this little witch. But before he knows it, she's riding the horse with him, all the while the grin wide and sparkling on her face while his mood turns foul and he rides all the way with a frown.

When evening falls, he waits at the dinner table with his mother and siblings for their father. His younger brother is already munching on a banana, and his sister sits patiently, playing with a handkerchief in her hand. His mother runs a hand over his head and he looks at him.

"What upsets you, my son?"

"I'm upset with baba. He made the witch girl ride a horse with me today but I wanted to ride alone," he narrates. "Why doesn't he send them back home?"

"Harun." He notices his mother's voice becoming reprimanding instantly. "This is not how you speak about anyone. And this is their home too. They can come here and stay here whenever they wish and for how long ever they wish."

His heart fills with dread. "Will she come here every year?"

"If her father wishes to."

"But this is our palace!" he argues.

"Your palace is in Qahira, azizi. This palace belongs as much to her father as yours. Or even more."

He gives his mother a horrified look.

"Do not be mean to Rayyan, Harun. Roya told me you got into a fight with her again?"

"He did," his sister interjects. "She cried."

He glares at her, and Halah ducks her neck, before he responds to his mother, "She steals my things. If I don't give then to her, she fights me. She's mean to me, not I to her."

"Then share your things with her."

"No," he refuses right away. "I don't like her, umi."

His mother pats his cheek. "I will tell your baba to get you a horse when you grow some more. If you act petulantly and hit Rayyan, I don't think you've been taught properly to be given your own horse or train swords like grown ups."

"Umi!" he protests. "I'm no more a child!"

"Your father was a very good boy since he was little, you know?" His mother smiles wistfully. "I, too, always took his things. But he always shared. He was always kind to others. You, Harun, has to learn to be kind to others too. A selfish person cannot think beyond themselves, and thus cannot go far in life. Only when you learn to value the joy of others as your own will you truly be happy. Only then you'll become brave like your baba."

"I don't understand how," he grumbles.

"When you care for them, they care for you. Those who care for you become your strength, habibi. And when you learn to sacrifice a little of your joy and comfort to contribute to someone else's joy and comfort, then you become brave because such loses don't scare you anymore-- because a loss for someone's goodness is never a loss. As a prince, you should know this. There will be people depending on you. If you choose to follow into the footsteps of your father, you'll have to live up to the standard set by him."

He only stares at his mother, trying to process her words, and she leans in to fix his shirt for him.

"Now, don't be upset with your baba. And don't ever hit Rayyan again. Your Lord has given you plenty, don't be a miser. You share from the bounties of God and protect people, you don't hurt them. Do you understand me, my brave son?"

Harun only nods in reply.

The next day, Rayyan, who he tries to ignore and hides from but she somehow always finds him, comes to steal from him again. And he decides to share, remembering his mother's words, but she decides to take too much from him, and such a sacrifice of his possessions he cannot make for her joy. So they get into a tussle again, and he tries so hard not to hit her but the little witch is fierce like a boy and fights him like one. Thus he ends up pulling her hair and she screams so loud, he's afraid she might have ruptured his eardrum, and pulls back his hair so hard that it makes his eyes burn.

Harun blinks back the tears as they deliver punches to each other and she runs away, crying loudly, before stopping to take off both of her slippers and throwing them at him. She misses both the shots, and he sniffs as more tears well in his eyes from the sting of her hits but he doesn't let them fall. No way in heaven or on earth Harun Al Kurdiya will sacrifice anything for a witch like Rayyan bint Sulaiman.

Years pass. The last time he sees Rayyan is when she's eleven and he's thirteen year old. Even at the age of eleven, she acts more like a child than a lady. One cannot think of her to be a princess if one is to see her, laughing and running around the fountain barefooted as if walking on the edge of the world, stumbling upon the hem of her dress a few times but not caring what might happen if she falls face first to the ground. She might lose a few teeth and add more to her strange appearance. Harun laughs at the image in his head.

"Is this a real sword?" she refers to the sword hanging by his belt. He turns away from his horse to look at her.

"Yes."

Her eyes light up. "Can I see it?"

"Why? Your father doesn't have any real swords for you to see that you've to see mine?"

Those eyes now turn ablaze. "You're rude and mannerless."

He scowls. "And you're annoying. Go make flower necklaces or do whatever you girls do. Don't bother me."

"I'm not a child," she argues.

"Yet you act like one."

"And you speak like one, but only more petty than anyone I know," she fires back.

"Better than jumping around the fountain and risk breaking my teeth," he retorts. "At least I'm not stupid like you."

She gapes at him, trying to come up with a response but failing. Harun turns his back to her.

"Go away. I won't give you my sword. You're a thief who always runs away with my things."

Something hits him on the back. Realizing she has thrown her slipper at him, he swirls back in her direction, enraged and ready to give her a piece of his mind. But the next slipper comes and hits him on the chest.

"I don't like you!" she exclaims, anger pulling the muscles on her face taut. He mirrors her expression.

"Then go back to your home instead of leisuring in mine. Because I don't like you either," he snaps.

"Baba says Baghdad is my home. You cannot send me away. But if you ever come to my palace, I'll have my guards beat you up," she threatens.

"I've no desire of visiting your tiny palace."

"You're the one who's tiny!"

"I'm not!"

She runs away, leaving him fuming behind. Harun clenches his jaw, staring daggers at her retreating form.

"Stupid witch," he hisses under his breath.

The next year, she doesn't visit. And he doesn't miss her. When he turns fourteen, his father sends him to train in the army. At sixteen, he goes on his first military expedition with Asad bin Taha as his general. The next few years he spends away from his home, sometimes at the borders of his kingdom and other times exploring new territories, until he's sent by his father to Al Yemen to learn the matters of rulership and state affairs under the supervision of Yusuf bin Khalid. Later on, he moves to Qahira, taking residence in the palace of his father and forefathers and tested by his father in his abilities as a ruler until he's satisfied with him.

At the age of twenty two, now a grown man, Harun Al Kurdiya is assigned as the governor of Qinnasrin-- a district of Bilad al-Sham (Greater Syria). His uncle, Sulaiman bin Khalid, who is given authority over entire Syria by his father, holds a feast in his honor to welcome him in his region, and Harun visits him to Dimashq, where his uncle is currently residing.

"Adam, Harun, welcome to my palace," Sulaiman bin Khalid greets.

"Marhaba," Amira Maawa, his aunt, smiles warmly. "We hope you've a delightful stay here."

"Thank you for hosting us," his father replies.

"Thank you for the honor, 'ammu (uncle)," Harun adds.

"It's a pleasure."

A servant shows them to their chambers to rest. After freshening up, Harun decides to take a tour of the palace. There's still time for the feast and it's his first time visiting his uncle to his palace. It's certainly different from his father's palace in Qahira or his uncle Yusuf's palace in Yemen, but it's no less magnificent than those. Although Harun cannot help comparing it to the palace of Baghdad, the home he grew up in, and to which nothing can come close in comparison.

The sun is yet to set but a faint drizzle is falling outside. As he walks through the corridor with windows stretched high and all along the wall to his right, he tries to look past their misted glass to the jasmine shrubs swaying in the breeze and the sky slowly welcoming gray clouds. He feels this sudden desire to step out into the rain and breathe in the fragrance of the flowers. And he would have had he not crossed path with someone.

"Where's my mother?"

"She's busy making arrangements for tonight's feast."

"Have our guests arrived?"

"Yes."

"I would like to meet my uncle. Is he with baba?"

"He's resting, Amira. You may meet him later."

A woman appears around the corner with a guard following her. Her cloak is peppered with raindrops, and he gathers she's probably returning to the palace from a trip outside. Their eyes connect, and if it wasn't for those eyes, Harun would never have recognized her.

He releases a slow breath. She has changed. A lot. It has been nine years since last they saw each other. Of course she has grown up too. And become so different. Become someone he clearly can no more consider scary or repulsive. He tries to rein his thoughts from going any further, but his heart confesses. Beautiful. Harun blinks.

Unlike him, no recognition flashes in her eyes. Instead, she looks at him curiously, but then swiftly glances away and walks past him.

He would've let her go. Maybe he should've been prideful and not be the first one to greet her as he had always avoided her in the past. But he cannot find himself to do so anymore.

"Rayyan?" Harun calls her.

She stops, turning back to him. This time, she looks at him inquisitively and he notices her studying him more closely, brows furrowed. But he solves the puzzle for her when he says, "Your uncle's son."

Those mismatched eyes widen and at once are taken over with familiarity. She turns completely towards him.

"Ameer Harun?"

Harun smiles. "For a moment I thought you've forgotten me."

She returns his smile. "How does one forget someone like you? Half of the hair on my head are gone because you ripped them off."

"I can say the same to you."

Her gaze briefly flicks to his head. "Your hair look fine to me."

He smirks, slightly teasingly. "Thank you."

The smile stretches further on her lips, almost excited and devious. She moves nearer.

"Welcome to my palace, Ameer Harun."

He detects a hint of something in her voice that tells him she's already straggling him in his head. Harun tips his head, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I hope you'll be a good host, Amira."

"I've spent my entire childhood waiting for you to be my guest. I'll surely be a good host to you."

"Why does that sound like a warning of revenge?"

She bites her lip. "We're no more children, are we?"

"I'm sorry about your hair though," he jokes and she waves it off.

"I hope you're no more a rude brat."

"And I hope you're no more a thief."

"You were always petty," she mocks.

"And you quite silly," he mocks back.

"Greedy wolf."

"Ugly duckling."

"Ill-mannerd, impolite rascal."

"Half-witted, crazy witch."

Rayyan crosses her arms. "You're still the same."

"I'm good enough," he remarks smugly. "Although I wish you could've made any progress after all these years."

She stares at him, and he meets the intensity of it with his own. Rayyan clicks her tongue.

"Good luck enjoying your stay here, Al Kurdiya."

With this, she marches away, leaving him to himself in the corridor. Harun watches her until she disappears out of his sight. Unknowingly, a small smile adorns his face.

The feast his uncle has prepared for him is grand and exemplary, leaving no dish missing. Harun sits at the table with his father, Sulaiman bin Khalid and his wife sitting before them.

When the doors open again, he looks up to see Rayyan walk in and for a moment he forgets he's sitting in a gathering. Dressed in a royal blue gown and sapphire jewels, she's far from the ugly duckling he had called her-- not that he ever meant it. But her image of a little girl she once was with no grace of a princess is totally replaced by her elegance and beauty now. Harun swallows, suddenly finding his throat dry, amazed at where suddenly his thoughts are headed.

Their eyes meeting briefly before she tips her head in greeting to everyone.

"I'm sorry for the delay."

Her father smiles at her. "We were waiting for you, qalbi. Come."

His uncle moves to make space for her and she sits down with him.

"Lower your gaze, son," his father quietly whispers to him.

Not realizing he had been staring at her so long, Harun quickly lowers his eyes.

As the time flows, throughout the feast he finds himself stealing glimpses of her. Every time he speaks and she looks at him. Every time she speaks and he looks at her. Every chance he gets. Suddenly he feels foolish of himself. What is it that he's doing?

A few time, Rayyan even catches him staring. He doesn't know if she's feigning oblivion or if she too thinks of him to be a perverted fool. His conscious warns him, but his heart doesn't listen. And at the next glance he finds his father's hand on his knee. Harun turns to him and the look in those eyes is enough warning he needs. For the rest of the dinner, he doesn't raise his head.

It's fajr time the next day and he's still on his prayer mat in his chamber when he hears a knock on the door. A single candle illuminates the room for him. Through the slit in the curtains, he can see the sky to be still dark. He folds the prayer mat and goes to answer the door.

"Rayyan?" He lifts both eyebrows, surprised, not knowing if he's dreaming or she's really at his door at such an hour. "What are you doing here?"

"Would you come with me? I'll give you a tour of the palace," she offers.

He continues to stare at her in bewilderment, wondering if she's messing with him or she has gone insane. But she looks serious.

"No. I already had a tour yesterday," he refuses.

"The gardens?"

"No, thank you."

"The stables? We've great horses."

"No--"

"Just come with me, Harun," she demands, sounding irritated at his refusal.

He leans down and searches her eyes to see what devilry she's up to. In the glow of the torches and this close to her, her blue eye is a celestial canvas like the sky while the other reminds him of mud after rain. He most definitely doesn't find them appalling anymore, but quite fascinating and appealing where he can gaze into them all day. Realizing once more where his thoughts are straying, he scolds himself mentally and straightens back.

"No," he refuses again. "If baba finds me with you alone, he'll tie me to a horse and let it drag me back home to teach me a lesson."

"In case you're in doubt, I'm the woman here, not you," she informs him sarcastically. "And my guards are with me."

"And I'm a modest man. Whatever it is you're up to, I'll entertain it later."

"Where was your modesty last night at dinner when you were so blatantly and shamelessly staring at me?"

"You looked like a witch to me," he blurts, trying to hide his embarrassment.

A sly smirk makes its way on her lips. "Why, did I cast a spell on you? Did I bewitch you?"

Harun huffs out a laugh as if she has stated an impossible possibility, though his ears suddenly feel warm. "You're thinking too high of yourself."

"Just admit that you lack in modesty. And that too quite abundantly."

"I've that quite plenty. But you're the one to talk when you're here at my door."

"What a rascal you are. I only want to show you something." Rayyan points a finger at his chest. "Keep your eyes and your pride both down, Al Kurdiya. Because even with your eyes on me and your pride in the sky, my sword might find its way to your neck."

"Oh, I'm so scared I hope no one sees me trembling," he ridicules and she rolls her eyes, as if bored with him, deciding to leave. "Wait," he stops her, changing his mind. "I'll come with you. But if you try to play tricks with me--"

"Don't be a kitten." She steps back towards him. "Take your sword with you."

"Why, you're planning to assassinate me?"

"What a pleasure that would be."

Harun gets into his chamber to grab his sword before following her outside. She leads him through the corridors to somewhere he doesn't know about with two of the guards following them. Rayyan looks at him over her shoulder.

"They'll beat you up if you try to be funny."

He resists the urge to scoff. "You're the one who invited me out."

"I can feel you staring at my back."

"You're walking ahead of me. Where am I supposed to look?"

"Don't stare at my back. Look at your feet if you must."

What a strange woman, he thinks. Lacking sense and sanity. He doesn't know why he agreed to join her for whatever madness she has planned. But he quietly walks behind her with his hands tied behind his back.

They stop before a pair of doors. She pushes them open and a large empty hall greets them. She steps inside and he follows.

She walks to a corner where something lies covered under a white cloth. Rayyan falls to her knees before it and removes the cloth, revealing a chest. She motions him over.

"Come here. Look what I've got to show you."

He walks up to her and she opens the chest. His eyes fall on the countless wooden toys that once belonged to him but which she had forcefully taken from him, including his wooden swords.

"I actually always wanted to be friends with you, but you never wished the same. So I gave up that desire as well," she confesses to him. "Although you always had great toys and I couldn't resist taking them from you."

"Is that why you wanted to be friends with me?"

"Mostly, yes," she admits with a sheepish smile and gestures towards the chest. "But see, I valued these and took care of them, didn't I?"

He smiles back in amusement. "I see you really treasured them."

Rayyan stands back up. "Would you like to duel with me?"

He arches an eyebrow. "Duel with you?"

She nods. "Yes. Duel with me, here, now. I promise I will not disappoint."

He considers her request and a hundred questions come to his mind. But to his own surprise, Harun finds himself agreeing to her without asking her any of those questions.

"Fine. Let us."

He pulls out his sword and so does she.

"You came prepared," he comments, swinging his sword in his hand.

"This is my baba's sword," she tells him, taking her stance. "Remember when once you wouldn't let me see your sword? Baba gave me his own because I was upset about it."

"Is this a payment for that day?"

"We shall see."

Their swords connect. They push against each other, breaking apart before the metals clash again. It repeats a few times before Rayyan unsheaths a dagger and holds it up in her left hand.

"I hope you don't mind," she refers to the double weapons in her hands.

"Show me what you've got."

She attacks him again and he ducks, coming behind her. But she's light on her feet, moving briskly like a dancer. When his sword comes at her, she blocks it with her dagger before swinging her own at him. Harun spins out of her range in time.

She leaps at him. Charging again and again. Leaving him to his defense and not giving him a chance to counterattack. She had always been a fierce fighter, even when they were children and would fight each other with their fists. Even now, when she fights him like a man.

He strikes hard, trying to strike the sword out of her hand. But her grip on it is strong. Though she stumbles back from the impact, panting. He tries to catch his own breath.

"Who trains you?" he asks, circling around her. Her eyes briskly tail his movements.

"Baba."

She lunges again and he raises his sword to block hers. She tries to bring her dagger to his throat but he's quick to judge her move. Harun twirls his sword against hers and brings her sword down. He leans away before the dagger could come at his throat. As the dagger slices the air, missing him, he tries to catch her forearm. But Rayyan surprises him when she flips the dagger backwards and he cuts his palm in an attempt to disarm her.

He hisses and steps back. Their eyes lock and she nods towards him.

"I hope it doesn't sting too bad," she says.

"Don't worry, it barely grazed me. The cut is small."

"I was referring to the wound to your ego."

Harun cannot help chuckling. "It cannot hurt my ego when I'm merely playing with you."

"I thought you were no longer a child. But if it pleases you to think so, then I'll pretend you got hurt while playing."

Their swords come at each other for the nth time. But this time, Harun doesn't entertain the swordplay for longer. He strike her sword but it doesn't leave her grip. He strikes harder at the next chance, using his strength against her, and it goes flying out of her hand.

He doesn't bring his sword to her neck, but asks her, "Do you surrender?"

In a blink, she's so near him that her pupils could drown him. Certainly he didn't underestimate her. She's skilled, he accepts. But he's a fighter not easy to be defeated either.

Within a fraction of the second, the dagger she aimed to bring to his throat ends at her own with her hand tightly fisted into his as he keeps her in place. Though the cut on his palm stings, he doesn't budge, waiting for her to admit defeat.

Rayyan heatedly glares at him. He chuckles once more at her.

"Someone said a while ago that their sword might find its way to my neck. It didn't, and now my pride is soaring." He bites the inside of his cheeks to contain his grin. "These knives in your eyes cannot kill me, Amira."

She closes her eyes at his remark. Then heaving a sigh, her shoulders drop in defeat. Harun let go of her hand and moves back. She opens those eccentric eyes again and they fall to his hand.

"Show me your hand," she asks him.

"I'm fine."

She holds her own hand to him, the one he was holding, having blood on it-- his blood.

"Your small cut is seemingly bleeding."

He turns up his palm to see it and true enough, his wound is bleeding. Though it doesn't look too bad. But before he could process anything, Rayyan takes his hands in hers and starts wrapping a handkerchief around it.

Harun purses his lips, unable to protest, silently observing her tie her handkerchief around his palm. Something stirs in his chest, something feels different-- it feels good to him. He doesn't know why he's suddenly feeling this way. But that he shouldn't-- it flusters him. Suddenly he feels awkward and looks away.

"Get it cleaned," she advises, giving a knot to the handkerchief.

He can only nod.

"I wanted to defeat you so bad," she claims, her expression sullen before she smiles against it. "Maybe next time."

"Who said there's a next time?"

"Why, are you scared you might actually lose to me?"

"I always win."

"Remember me." She points to herself. "You'll lose to Rayyan bint Sulaiman, my Ameer."

She turns around and walks away. Harun keeps standing in the empty hall, absentmindedly stroking the handkerchief over his palm. By now the sun has rises and sunlight is pouring in through the windows, but the torches still burn warm-- warm like his heart in its cage. Afire, but at peace.

"My Ameer?" he repeats her words. "I don't think I can forget you even if I wanted to, sweet witch."

Harun bites down a smile.

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This is the longest chapter I've ever written so I hope it makes up for all the days I made you guys wait for an update, and I hope you like it.

PS: guess who's a doctor now? Yes, me. Thank you to everyone who left their prayers for me during my finals. I passed my exam and will be starting my training now (:

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