I remember the night my parents sat me down, their voices firm yet tinged with sorrow. "It's for your own good," they said. "We can no longer keep you here."
I didn't understand. Why now? Why so suddenly? But their decision had been made. They had arranged everything with Nifs—my so-called uncle, though I knew he was nothing of the sort. He was the only person I would be allowed to speak to. From now on, my name was Dalia.
That night, a carriage was brought to the house. The air felt crisp against my skin as I was wrapped in a heavy cloak, concealing my identity. I was given strict instructions: the carriage must not stop, and under no circumstances was I to speak to anyone but Nifs.
As I mounted the horse beside the carriage, I took one last look at the place I had always called home. The moon cast a pale glow over the familiar walls, the garden where I once played, the windows that once framed my world. It was beautiful, yet I could no longer grasp the warmth it had once given me.
Tears blurred my vision, but I did not let them fall. My heart ached with uncertainty. Would I ever see my family again? Would they ever see me as I truly was, not as Dalia, but as the person I had always been?
The carriage jerked forward, and with it, my old life was left behind.
Will I ever see Hafs again?