Prince from Paradise | ✔

XVI. Stars of Faith

Adar

Days passed their last meeting, nights whisked into a new dawn as the sunrise rippled across the rich hues of crimson and orange spraying through the ocean of dark, navy blue, a portrait of the sky that once covered the sins of villagers awakening into a new start, a new day to repent for their mistakes. Unfortunately, Adar would have to be foolish to believe these villagers even cared. 

His pen scribbled black ink across his paper, eloquent words crafting to cathedrals of events, towering moments of the revolution and the village drama, highlighting every aspect of society that he could vaguely remember. He was writing to Miraj, assuring him that when the time was right, he would join him in their escape plan, their safe exit. 

Time ticked, and the world around him blurred as his sanctuary would soon be under scrutiny. It was only a matter of time before news of his letters reached generals and politicians, and when it did, Adar would have to be one step ahead. He would run. 

But how can I leave Rabiya?

Pain erupted from his nasal passage to his cranium, a pounding against his skull that clattered along with his thoughts, clamoring for a solution. He was unsure about the future tidings or the potential chaos, however, Adar placed his trust in Allah. His Lord tested patience and faith in many ways, and this was just one. If Adar stayed calculative, heedful, and righteous in his deeds, he knew a plan would form. 

Dropping the pen, Adar massaged his knuckles as a cramp began to wind around his joints, cold and coarse. He sighed, leaning against his chair. His bruises were starting to heal, and there was a peaceful quiet in his house these days. 

Something was off. His family was never that quiet.

Adar contemplated deeply, trying to think ahead, putting himself in their shoes, and walking with their morals, yet the exercise seemed a lot harder. Although he knew of his family's sins, it was hard to hate them when they were the ones who shared his blood, the ones who brought him and raised him. His mind wavered while his heart lingered for a moment of change. 

I'm a fool, he thought, chuckling to himself. They've beaten me, threatened me, and abused me over the years, and I still chase after their approval. 

As Adar felt suffocated by his darker thoughts, a soft whimpering was heard outside his room, startling him. He shifted in his chair, glancing behind him at slightly ajar barrier between him and the intruder. Quiet, muffled sobs rocked against the frame, a sign of the trembling body against it, heart wrenched in sorrows. 

It was barely Fajr (dawn) prayer, and someone was awoken by their fears and nightly torments. Instinctively, Adar arose from his seat, a sense of familiarity overtaking his senses as the cries resembled ones that he heard at Abdul Jalil's estate, the sound of a broken child begging for her father. 

He rushed to the door.

Upon opening it, he was met with the shaking body of Zaina, her knees pulled to her chest as her arms wrapped around them. She buried her head into the security of her arms, tears soaking her dirtied dress, a simple frock colored in reddish pink flowers, daisies, roses, and hibiscuses, an epitome of childhood fantasy and innocence. 

His chest felt heavy staring at the small girl, barely above the age of six, whimpering for all that she lost and all that she continued to lose.

At one point, the world was in the palm of her hands, and the woman who gave it to her stole it back with a violent force. Her own mother stripped Zaina of her right to family and property. Without a thought towards her children, her mother welcomed misery with opened arms, praised suffering if it brought her the wealth and power she need.