Fiction

Her house window never opened, and the sparks of the fire never showed a single finger. However, this stinginess never led him to complain about his bad luck or to stop his daily passage through there. He could only cringe when he reached her door, standing still like a statue, listening intently to her sweet, distant voice or greedily smelling the air she had just breathed. Moments later, the statue sprang to life, transforming into a veritable lion, charging down the land and devouring it immediately. He left the door of the house, believing in fate and realizing that it was written on his forehead that he would be content with this close proximity to Rayhana. He didn’t even know the color of her eyes. He had only encountered her face, glittering beneath a black veil. He was lucky enough to see her when she peered through the door to call out to her daughter, Asia, the only one of her surviving offspring.