Chapter Text
The cushions in his room were still warm from the sun.
Kalim sat cross-legged in the middle of the seating area in his room, the silky folds of his robe spilling around him like water. The low table in front of him bare, except for the envelope—ivory, gold-trimmed, creased slightly at the corners from how tightly he’d held it.
He’d already read it. Twice.
The papers inside were back in his hands again, folded neatly, carefully, as if he could erase what they said by being gentle with them. He tucked them into the envelope with fingers that didn’t shake, but only because he was trying very hard not to let them.
His smile had faded at some point. He wasn’t sure when.
He smoothed the envelope closed and set it on the table, staring at it like it might change if he just blinked slowly enough.
An engagement.
Official, formal, sealed in ink and duty. It wasn’t a surprise, not really—he’d always known it was a possibility. Something talked about in passing, like the weather, or inheritance, or political alliances. But knowing something was coming didn’t make it feel any less like a stone dropping into his chest when it finally arrived.
He looked around the room, quiet now except for the soft rush of a breeze through the open window. Sunlight danced on the floor. Somewhere below, a fountain trickled and a bird called out once, twice.
He should be happy. That’s what everyone would expect. It was a good match—smart, strategic, stabilizing.
He could be happy. Maybe. Eventually.
He touched the edge of the envelope again, then pulled his hand back like it burned.
Instead, he picked up a pomegranate seed from the dish beside him and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.
It was sweet. Too sweet.
Like everything lately.
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The garden smelled like oranges and warm stone and the sky felt huge overhead—endless and blue and buzzing with sunlight. He ran barefoot through the grass, arms outstretched like he might take off if he just went fast enough.
The anklets on his legs jingled with every step, a tiny symphony just for him.
He knew he wasn’t supposed to pick the flowers. But this one was blue—his favorite shade of blue. And it was just like him cool, composed, beautiful, deep and almost glowing—and it looked a little like a star. He plucked it anyway, careful not to snap the stem too low. Maybe if he gave it away, it wouldn’t count as breaking the rule.
He turned toward the tree.
The other boy was there, half in shadow, with that serious, squinty face he always made like he was thinking about something too heavy for someone his age. Kalim didn’t really understand it, but he liked it. He liked how still the older boy could be. He liked how calm he seemed, how steady. Like he couldn’t be moved unless he wanted to be.
Kalim flopped down beside him, sweat sticking the edges of his hair to his forehead. “You’re not playing,” he said, breath still catching in his chest.
“No,” the boy replied, like he didn’t need to explain anything else.
Kalim tilted his head, studying him. “Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“You’re frowning.”
“I always frown.”
Kalim giggled. “You didn’t yesterday. Yesterday you smiled.”
He remembered it clearly—how the boy had laughed, just a little, when Kalim slipped and splashed headfirst into the fountain chasing after a dragonfly. That small smile had felt like winning something. Like discovering treasure buried under stone.
“This one’s for you,” he said now, holding out the flower. “It’s just like you.”
The boy stared at it but didn’t take it. Kalim’s fingers twitched. Maybe it wasn’t a good enough flower. Maybe he should’ve looked harder.
“I can find a better one,” he said quickly, already scrambling to his feet. “Maybe something red! That's a lot more like you!” passionate, strong, smart. Yes, red suits him much better.
He ran again, heart light, bare feet whispering across the grass.
He didn’t see the moment the flower ended up in the older boy’s lap.
But he hoped he kept it.