Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoy this short chapter. Although nothing new really happens, you get to feel Yasmine's emotions more. I hope you like it, and please review!

-LunarLitLover

Preview for Next Time: Ali's pain of betrayal and debate about what to do next

Recap: Ali, Admin and Ayska know the truth of Yasmine's identity, and rescued her from her father. Yet Ali feels betrayed, and has not yet forgiven her.

Chapter 19: Yasmine (Fatima)

Hurting Hearts

"Shukran, shukran, Admin, Ayska. Thank you, thank you." I hugged my two friends fiercely. They had forgiven me so easily. They had not asked any questions, they had not accused me of any offenses, they had not passed any judgments. They had simply forgiven me for my lies.

"You're welcome, Fatima. We will always accept you as family, no matter where you came from originally," Ayska replied, embracing me. "After all, Allah sent you to us. We would be fools to ignore his blessing."

I smiled. A friend like Ayska was priceless. However, as I pulled away from her, I saw Ali sulking in the corner; he was glaring our way. Until that moment, I had forgotten that Ali had not spoken to me following my rescue. My smile was instantly wiped from my face.

I looked away and tried not to care.

I was unsuccessful.

How could he turn from me so easily? How could he judge so quickly for a life he did not have and for decisions he had not been forced to make? I knew that what I had done was wrong; I knew he was hurt that I had not trusted him and confused about his feelings. I did not blame Ali for pulling away from me somewhat but how could he abandon my friendship so thoroughly? I had apologized profusely and promised I would do what I could to make amends. Maybe that had not been enough, but if it wasn't, what would be? Didn't he understand that I needed him? Didn't he see that his withdrawal was tearing me apart? How could he be so cruel? How could he simply not care?

When I felt the heavy wetness in my eyes, I exited the tent quickly with the excuse that I had to help the Bedouin women prepare the meal. I could not let Ali see my tears.

Once outside in the fresh air (which was, remarkably, more private), I wiped my eyes with my burka and pulled it over my face.

The wind whipped at my clothes as I made my way over to the cooking area. It would have been sunset, had the clouds not crowded the horizon; time to prepare the evening meal. I had truly planned to help with the cooking, but had not been so intent on doing so until Ali had upset me – again.

The women welcomed me to share their work; extra help was always appreciated. I labored alongside the rest of them, my individuality lost in the multitude of required tasks. These desert women did not care who my father was and how much money he had; to them, I was only a pair of hands equally capable of helping in their task. Such a thought soothed me.

We served shwarma and fuul that evening to all of the hungry men and children. The lamb and mashed fava beans, seasoned with garlic and lemon, were swiftly devoured by the famished tribe and praise was given all around. The men I served thanked me sincerely, and I was pleased to know that someone appreciated me.

Following the meal, the Sheikh of the tribe held open-forum, majli, in the presence of the whole tribe. Some stories of the day were told, but there were no complaints among the content people; the Sheikh soon vacated the fire circle for the entertainment.

I sat near the front of the circle, with a few friendly women I had socialized with while cooking. We talked happily of daily life and its pleasures, but I was frequently distracted by my own thoughts.

Across the circle, sat Admin, Ayska, and of course, Ali. Admin and Ayska had eaten their meal beside me, so I felt in no way abandoned by them; I understood that they were trying to fairly divide their time between the silent but feuding parties of Ali and me. Although Ayska and Admin were occupying most of their time speaking to members of their wedding party, we frequently caught each other's eyes. When such a thing happened, we would trade smiles.

Ali, however, was conversing with no one. He sat miserably between the bride and the bridegroom, and stared at the fire. He did not look up until an elder of the tribe began to sing.

The entertainment that night was excellent, so much so that even Ali could not ignore it. Stories of Scheherazade were told in song and poems of Al-Mutanabbi were recited. Folk music was sung and original music was played on foreign instruments.

Yet despite my fascination with the proceedings, I found my eyes constantly flickering towards Admin and Ayska. Well, really towards Ali. Once, his eyes caught mine. I was prepared to hold the gaze to see what it might say, but he couldn't bear to look at me. He turned his head sharply and refocused on the performer.

I, too, turned my head away from him and began to converse with my companions. If one person couldn't talk to me or look at me, fine; there were many, many others here who would acknowledge me and share my company. I was surrounded by dozens of new, interesting people; I was around the hospitable desert ancestors of my mother. They would accept me.

But I knew that would not satisfy me. I could be surrounded by the whole world, and I would still feel isolated.

In my heart, I would still feel alone.