The moon hung high over Thebes, bathing the grand estate in silver light. The air was still, heavy with the lingering scent of incense, and the halls of the noble household had finally fallen silent. Servants had long retired to their quarters, and the city beyond the estate walls lay in slumber.
Aarav should have been asleep, too.
But something had woken him—a sound, soft and unfamiliar, weaving through the corridors like a whisper of the wind. It was unlike the chants of the temple priests or the rhythmic drumming of festival processions. This sound was delicate, fluid, like water gliding over polished stone.
Music.
Barefoot, Aarav crept from his chamber, drawn toward the sound before he could think better of it. He followed the melody down the dimly lit hallways, his pulse quickening as he realized where it was coming from.
Khai's private chamber.
The grand doors were slightly ajar, and from within, the soft, melancholic tune floated outward, wrapping around Aarav like an unseen thread pulling him closer. Carefully, he peeked inside.
Khai sat near the open balcony, his silhouette framed by the glow of a single oil lamp. The sheer fabric of his robe cascaded over his shoulders, revealing the elegant curve of his collarbone. But Aarav barely noticed that—his gaze was fixed on the instrument in Khai's hands.
It was a sekh—a long-necked lute with delicate strings, an instrument played only by musicians and commoners, not nobles. Yet there Khai sat, his fingers gliding expertly over the strings, coaxing a song from them that was both haunting and heartbreakingly beautiful.
Aarav had never seen him like this.
Gone was the noble's carefully crafted mask—the sharp kohl-lined gaze, the poised demeanor, the weight of expectations. In this moment, Khai was simply a young man lost in his own world, a soul pouring itself into music no one else was meant to hear.
Aarav barely breathed, afraid that even the slightest sound would break the spell.
But then, suddenly, the music stopped.
"I can feel you watching."
Aarav's heart nearly leaped from his chest.
Khai didn't turn immediately. He let the silence stretch, as if savoring the moment before slowly tilting his head toward the door. His dark eyes—free of kohl for the night—met Aarav's in the dim light.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then, Khai smirked. "Does the servant boy from Meluhha have a taste for music?"
Aarav stiffened. He had no excuse for being here, for seeing this side of his master. His first instinct was to bow his head, apologize, and retreat. But before he could, Khai lifted the sekh slightly, tapping his fingers against the strings.
"Come in."
Aarav's breath hitched.
"…Master?"
"I said, come in."
Aarav hesitated. Was this a test? A trap? But something about Khai's gaze told him otherwise. Carefully, he stepped inside, his movements careful as if stepping into a sacred space.
Khai watched him, amusement flickering in his eyes. Then, without another word, he plucked a slow, deliberate note, letting it hang in the air between them.
"Tell me," he murmured, "have you ever heard this melody before?"
Aarav swallowed. "It sounds… familiar."
Khai's lips curved slightly. "It should." He continued playing, this time weaving a different tune into the air. "This is a song from your land. One of the traders who visited my father's court played it when I was a child. I have remembered it ever since."
Aarav's eyes widened. His land. His people. For so long, he had felt like a stranger in this place, a shadow that did not belong. But now, hearing the melody from his childhood played by the hands of his Egyptian master… it was almost too much.
Khai's gaze lingered on him, reading every flicker of emotion on his face.
"Do you miss it?" he asked softly.
Aarav clenched his fists. "It does not matter what I miss, master."
Khai's fingers stilled against the strings.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Khai said, "Perhaps it does."
Aarav's breath caught, but before he could respond, Khai shifted back, his mask slipping into place again. With an elegant movement, he set the sekh aside and stood, stretching lazily.
"You may go now," he said, his tone returning to its usual detached coolness. "If you dare to eavesdrop again, at least bring me something sweet to eat."
Aarav quickly bowed his head, stepping backward toward the door. But just before he exited, he glanced back one last time.
Khai stood by the balcony, bathed in moonlight, his expression unreadable.
Aarav didn't know what had just happened. But as he returned to his chamber, his heart still racing, one thing was certain:
Tonight, he had seen something that no one else had.
-to be continued