She looked down at the crisp white piece of paper, folded neatly in her hands. She kept her eyes glue to that plain white, smooth and soothing. She bowed, head lowered. The messenger stared down at the sky-coloured hair brushing the back of her head. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stared. They remained like that for a while, in the silence of the room, brightly lit from the blazing light that shone in from the window. The desert warmth blurred their surroundings. The messenger sighed, and in a flare of heat, was gone. She dared to raise her head then. Placing the still-folded piece of paper on the table, she walked to the window and peered out. The sun hung high in the sky and the streets below bustled busily. A wind picked up as she stared sightlessly into the sun, thinking about the boy who had dreamed, reached for what he wanted, and fell short. That boy was gone now. The sand sung a dirge for him.