When Samira of Honta break up her engagement with Prince Farhad of Akatara, she was practically disowned by her family and her whole village.

"Shame! Shame on you! Shame on your ancestor!" yelled the village chief as he ran across the village and barge into a certain adobe house.

The woman who was branded shameful, stood proudly with her head held up high. Samira wasn't a tall person, but she had a pair of the most expressive eyes. They said it was her eyes that had captivated Prince Farhad at first sight. A pair of common large browns that could exalt a person to the high heavens, or torn someone's whole being asunder.

And right now she was gazing at the chief with the latter.

The old man couldn't help but flinch. Yet he didn't dare to back down. The good name of their village, the good future that should be so close at hand, depended on this.

"You, Samira! Explain yourself!" he shouted with fingers pointed at the young woman, as if the gesture would weakened her to submission like it used to when she was still a little girl.

"You barged into my family's house uninvited," said Samira calmly. "It is you who should be ashamed and explain yourself, Chief."

"Have you lost your mind? Why did you cancel your engagement with the prince?!"

"I did not remember having agreed to an engagement," she said again, now with an edge in her voice. "It was all of you who agreed. I did not."

"Samira, child, please don't decide so rashly. Surely you can compromise a little," said Samira's mother.

Her mother has been crying ever since her only daughter came back early in the morning. Her eyes were swollen with tears and her voice hoarse after pleading so much, but the expression in Samira's face was still stony. It pained Samira to see her mother in this state, but her own feeling was in shambles. It took all of her self-control not to break down and cry in front of everyone too.

Her mother, her uncles, the village chief and elders, all of them were crying and reprimanding her for being so unfillial and ungrateful. And still Samira stood unmoved. It was not for her that they got worried. It was for the carved teak boxes filling up the house, each of them filled with riches a small farming village like Honta never dreamed of. Strings of pearls from Morro, gold coins minted with the face of Bavagan of Akatara, and jewelries with gems of all sizes crafted by the master craftsmen from Archam.

These are the things that moved their hearts.

Not her future.

"This is a matter between Farhad and I," Samira said a little tiredly after hours trying to defend herself. She had said the same thing numerous time but it fell on deaf ears. "None of you nor his family should make the decision for us, especially not without our consent. Mother, please understand, don't cry anymore..."

"But what about these gifts the royal family had sent us, Samira? What if—what if they took offense to your refusal?"

"Yes, Samira. What if it sours the relation between our kingdom and theirs? What if they declare war for this insult!" her uncle said forcefully.

"They won't." Samira grimaced. "Such trivial matter—"

"This is not a trivial matter, child!"

"—isn't worth the attention of the powers that be. Oh, believe me. This is trivial. What's more, Farhad's mother could rest easy—"

"Samira... It was Lady Olara's men who brought these gifts."

Lady Olara was Prince Farhad's mother who had never been on good terms with Samira. She was a very old fashioned lady who think that respectable women shouldn't work for a living. At the mention that it was Lady Olara herself who instructed for these gifts to be sent here, Samira paused for a moment.

"No. Send them back." She insisted. "If you did not dare to, then I will make the arrangements myself and send a letter of apology."

Suddenly one of the villager ran into the house, panting and sweating.

"The prince!" he shouted. "The prince of Akatara has come!"

A collective gasp was heard. Samira raised a hand to calm everyone down.

"Stay. I shall speak with him myself."

She strode out briskly. The others paid no heed to her words and follow suit, jostling each other to stand by the door frame and take a look.

Farhad rode on his black horse, the horse's coat shiny with prespiration and so did the rider's face. His black hair was messy, his usually pale face was red from fatigue and unreadable emotion. And his eyes—they were bloodshot.

"Samira..." He climbed down from his horse. His blue riding clothes were dirty, he must've rode without any stops. Farhad's voice wasn't brash and confident like usual, it was trembling and weak. As if he's going to cry.

"Farhad," Samira greeted him and took his hands into hers. "Come, let us speak."

At her steady touch, the old Farhad seemed to surface again for a moment. He squeezed her hand instead and pull her, leading the walk forcefully while she could only follow. Yes, this was more to their usual tempo. Farhad, like a turbulent wind, had always swept everything in his wake. Including her, all those years ago. He took her heart and he made a mess. And it was up to Samira to clean up Farhad's mess.

Back when they were children, Farhad decided that he liked her, despite Samira's apprehension.

[Your highness, you are a prince and I am a commoner. Please mind our station in life.]

[So what? I am a prince and I like you. From now on you are mine. Now follow me.]

They had met in an ashram, where Samira was taken in as a disciple to a sage. Farhad was there to study as well. If it wasn't for Samira's esteemed master, Farhad might have taken her, a commoner, home and made her a maid in his household. As a mere plaything, she had thought back then. But despite everything, they came to an understanding and a mutual respect for each other.

Farhad understood her ambitions, Samira understood his impulsiveness. And thus they fell hopelessly in love. In the short years of their study, they daydreamed a live of adventure. She yearned to see the temples in Archam and Ankara, he yearned to travel with her and be a famous adventurer. But that was only that; a daydream, no more, no less.

Farhad took her to the edge of the forest. The place where she used to play back in her younger years. She had shown him her hiding place, once upon a summer, amidst the yellowing teak leaves that fell like rain. Here, they were far from any listening ears and Farhad released her hand. But he seemed to be at loss of words. For a long time he didn't make any sound.

"Your mother sent the gifts," Samira broke the silence first. "Did she know?"

"Samira, forgive me," Farhad pleaded with anguish. "I wasn't—I didn't mean to tell her. The gifts were sent out before I could—"

"Shh, it's alright... Farhad, it's fine." She held his hand between hers, rubbing the back gently. "It wasn't something I am ashamed of... It was my choice—our choice, remember?"

"I do, I..." Farhad was anxious before he suddenly turned serious, looking at her straight in her eyes.

"Samira, let's run away. You and I, let's travel the world, just the two of us. Like we dreamed back then. To the ruins of Ankara, or far to the west. I don't care. Let's...."

His voice quietened as he looked at the expression on her face.

"Farhad...."

"Why?"

Signs of growing anger—impatience, frustration, no, desperation was showing on his face.

"Why do you choose to be Érdélin's slave? Why won't you choose me—why won't you choose us?"

"A career, not a slave. I have a future here."

"I can give you a future!" Farhad shouted.

"As a what?!" Samira shouted back. "As a prince's wife? As decoration to be placed on the side of your arm? I am a rishika! I have my own pride, Farhad."

"To hell with your stupid pride!!" Farhad punch the tree behind her.

She flinched when the fist flew right by the side of her face, but she didn't back down. Instead, she stare down at the taller man as if looking at an unruly child.

"My honor stems from my merit. The fruits of my labor. Not on my body or who I choose to lay with," she speaks slowly, stressing the words carefully.

She knew her words hurt him, there was no going around it. They've talked about this before, they've made their choices. They loved each other, and that was why they made love before they part the last time. She chose to give her first to him, and he to her.

That Lady Olara learned about that and probably worried that Farhad would beget a child from Samira out of wedlock, or that Farhad refused to marry any other woman but Samira, it was not her problem. Akataran royals were very particular about bastards and Samira wasn't stupid. She took precautions and played safe. She loved him, she didn't want to ruin his future, nor her future.

"Farhad, I love you. But I can't marry you."

It was her final decision.

"I've accepted the position in Érdélin royal court. I can't be a princess," she continued.

"I know..." Farhad's voice was gentle. His anger had been extinguished, and what was left was a tired, brokenhearted young man. His hand caressed her brown ringlet before cupping her cheek. He was smiling a broken smile, and tears were—

"I can give you riches beyond one's imagination. All the comforts you need, anything. A golden cage, if you will, but you, my little bird, you wish to fly. You yearn for the open sky."

Farhad knew, of course he knew. He was the one who understood her most. He knew that he can give her anything but independence. And that was why they couldn't be together.

"We once dreamed of that open sky together," Farhad's voice was only a whisper now and their foreheads were touching.

"We did..." She didn't push him away. She was in pain too. She was in tears too.

"May I hold you, Samira? Just..."

"Yes," she nods and move to hold him first.

Wrapping her arms around his back, her face buried on his wide shoulder, and he held her tight, so tight she almost lost her breath. She could feel his hot tears on her hair, his sobs wrecking near her ears. They've grown up together, they loved each other so hopelessly, so innocently. Dreaming of a future together.

A shared past, but not the future.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"So this is goodbye?"

"Yes. It's time to say goodbye."