Dear Reader,

Sorry it has taken me SO long to update this story. I actually have a good reason this time; I was doing research on Saudi culture. There is a lot of information, though, and it would be nearly impossible to make this story perfectly accurate. With that said, I would still like to make the story as realistic as possible and would still appreciate any feedback on culture that anyone can offer. Especially from Dazzeling Diamond, because of your experience. But I would appreciate any feedback I can get.

I hope to get some work done on this story over Christmas break, and hopefully you all won't have to wait so long for the next chapter.

By the way, this chapter is a bit longer than usual, but please enjoy.

-LunarLitLover

Preview for next time: Nazihah must tell the Sultan what happened to Yasmine

Recap: Yasmine escaped the palace but was severely beaten by a palace guard. Ali al Din brought her back to his home to care for her.

Chapter 5 – Yasmine

Unfamiliar and Unusual

I felt a cool trickle of water touch my parched lips. As to where I was or what was going on, I had no idea. All I knew was that I was unprepared for the ma'a, and that I inhaled it instead of swallowing it. Beginning to cough and sputter, I tried to prop myself up in order to breathe better, but I found I could not move. Once I cleared the liquid from my throat, pain shot through my body. I fell limp and breathed in deeply a few times, trying to stop the pain and make sense of the situation at the same time.

It was only then that I opened my eyes.

At first, my vision was blurred; I could not make out images or even shapes. All I could see was color. Slowly, the figure of a person became visible.

It was a young man.

I gasped, but continued to stare straight at him, too shaken to behave appropriately. I was thoroughly confused and continued to gawp in shock and amazement at the unfamiliar man leaning over me, looking concerned.

I took in the entirety of this strange man. He was young, maybe only a few years older than I. He had dark hair that he'd attempted to crop short; it had, however, gotten out of control and, although it was still relatively short, was in disarray and growing in all directions. He was lean but very strong; his muscles protruded through his worn thwab. This cotton cloth was intended to be a robe-like garment, yet it was so torn and old that it fit his slender body tightly and had no sleeves. He also didn't wear a ghutra head cloth or a takiah skullcap. The strange man's nose was tiny and delicate while his cheek bones were well-defined. They jutted sharply from his face, indicating a determined character.

But the feature that stood out to me the most was his eyes. They were a grayish hazel, like I imagined the sea would be. There was a crashing white in them, as violent waves were said to be, yet the many colors seemed to all fit and exist harmoniously together. His eyes, like the ocean, were full of fierce movement yet they were calm and peaceful at the same time.

I took one look into them and was no longer afraid of the man. Mother always said that the eyes were windows to the soul. I saw only compassion and empathy in his eyes; there was no hint of a dishonest gesture, as I had feared.

I then took a look around the room. Well, to be honest, it wasn't a room exactly. The walls were barley there; the adobe had nearly crumbled off of an entire wall, leaving it completely exposed to the city air. This lack-of-wall was covered by a shabby cloth that severed as a curtain. However, the sky above us was entirely open; there was no roof or curtain blocking the view of the billions of bright stars in the sky. But other than the beauty of nature's sky, there wasn't any decoration in the make-shift home. The only items in the room were scraps of fabric and random things thrown in a corner, as well as a blue rug along the wearing floor.

Finally, I looked down at myself. My whole left arm was bound in thick cloth and had been gingerly laid on top of my stomach. My left leg was also elevated a bit, and my face felt tender and swollen. Pain radiated throughout my body, although my lower chest hurt the most when I inhaled to breathe.

I had no clue what had happened.

Figuring that things would be easier to make out in a sitting position, I tried to push myself upright with my good arm. I failed and slumped back into the cushions. However, on my attempt, the goat skin and other blankets had slipped off my body. To my horror, I realized that not only was I missing my head-covering hiqab, but I was missing all my clothes. I was completely naked in front of this stranger.

I tried to clutch the blankets to by chest as soon as I'd realized what had happened. But the damage was already done. He had seen my virgin body. I was simply horrified.

"Don't worry," he said suddenly, to my surprise. "I've already seen it all."

Despite his attempt to soothe me, my eyes widened even more. What a horrible thing to say!

"I mean, I saw you get beat up by that guard. I brought you back here and had to bandage you to allow you to heal. Unfortunately, this required the removal of your clothing."

This time I shut my eyes in denial. Oh, Allah! Please say this hasn't happened!

"Please don't be upset, Aanisah, miss; it was necessary for your healing. And, anyway, I didn't look. I promise."

This response seemed so child-like and innocent, that I couldn't help but smile. He smiled back and I forgave him instantly. "So can you tell me what happened, please?" I asked. "I only remember to the point where the guard hit me and I went flying into the wall."

"Well, yes, that's what happened and then you passed out. I saw the whole thing and picked you up. I carried you here and helped my neighbor care for your wounds."

"Um, good sir, what exactly is wrong with me?"

"Well, Aanisah…"

"My name is…" I paused unsure how to answer this question. He obviously hadn't figured out that I was the princess, and I did not want to tip him off by giving him my real name. I decided that lying was the safest. "It's Fatima. I'm named after my mother." I decided that Mom's name would suffice; she was, after all, part of me.

"Well, Aanisah Fatima, you broke you upper right arm and your collarbone. You right shoulder blade has also been fractured. At least half a dozen of your ribs have also suffered the same fate as well as your lower left leg. The blood loss through your nose and rib wounds was also severe."

My eyes grew large yet again during the description of my wounds.

"Yes, it is a lot, but both my neighbors and I expect you to make a full recovery."

"So I was close to death?"

"No, not exactly…you were…"

I gave him a significant look.

"Alright, you were; you should thank Allah for this great blessing of life today, for it was teetering on line between this world and the next."

"Um, please excuse me, but who are you?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm Ali al Din."

"And what do you do?"

"What do you mean? Do you mean, am I a doctor?"

"Well, are you?"

"No, my neighbors helped teach me medicine, as did my mother before she died."

"I'm sorry about your mother. My mother died a few years ago, too. Yet I still have the same question: what do you do?"

"I'm just an ordinary street rat."

I was taken a bit by surprise by this answer. A street rat? A low life criminal? This was not what I'd expected. Yet there was nothing in Ali's manner that suggested him being a criminal. He had nursed me back to health, hadn't he? I have yet to hear of a criminal who would do that. It was now that all my assumptions about life outside the palace vanished; I knew nothing of what the world was truly like. And it was up to me to experience it before I could judge it.

Ali had been honest with me, so I decided to be honest with him. Well, as honest as I could be without revealing my true identity.

"Well, guess what?" I said in response. "I'm just an ordinary spoiled rich girl."

This time, he smiled.