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A low hum echoed through the hammam, amplified intensely in the vast, empty space. If one were to close their eyes, they might feel the sound waves brush against their skin, making every hair on their body stand on end.
A jinn, perhaps, luring him in with a sweet song? He might have believed it, had the tune not been one he’d heard many times before. Even if the space seemed empty, it was only the smoke concealing the figure behind the melody.
Malik stepped closer. He followed the sound—almost eager to find who was singing, as if he didn’t already know. The nearer he drew, the denser the smoke became, clouding his vision but never enough to hide the outline of a muscular back leaning on the edge of the bath, turned away from him.
The water warmed his skin as he stepped into the bath, whispering a quiet Bismillah . Yet nothing stirred more heat within him than when the figure glanced over their shoulder, golden eyes locking onto his—sharp, intense—before softening as recognition settled in.
“Safety and peace, traveler,” he greeted, and ya Allah , how much he would sacrifice to see that smile again. That smallest tug at the corner of their mouth, a restrained flicker of satisfaction at the title. Not even the faint bloodstain on their face could diminish the rare expression. Malik knew to treasure it—moments like these were few and far between.
Though the figure turned away again, they shifted slightly, making room beside them. Without hesitation, Malik took the space, as if the rest of the bathhouse didn’t exist.
“Ashokrulillah, I am glad to see you have returned from your travels in good health,” he said, watching them slump forward over the edge of the bath, cheek pressed to the cool tile. On another day, he might have taken offense at the lack of a proper reply. But today, all he did was lift a hand to rest gently on the traveler’s bicep—tense beneath his touch.
Only then did he notice the humming had stopped.
He traced slow circles across the muscle, lost in his thoughts, fingers tapping lightly against warm skin. The silence between them stretched out like silk—quiet, sacred.
Time passed unnoticed. Malik, emboldened, moved closer. He settled right behind the traveler, his fingers replaced with lips—pressing soft kisses from bicep to shoulder, down the curve of their spine. His hands slid to their waist, rubbing gentle circles into the flesh.
Little by little, the traveler began to soften. Their shoulders, once raised in vigilance, sank. With each kiss to their spine, each pass of Malik’s hands over tired muscles, the tension melted away. Eventually, the traveler lifted their head, golden-brown eyes turning to meet his.
“Say my name,” they whispered, gaze steady, unwavering, “I am not away from home—so allow me the honor of being more than a traveler.”
With their face fully revealed, Malik leaned in, cupping his beloved’s cheeks in both hands. He pressed a kiss to their forehead.
“Altair,” he breathed.
Altair exhaled—slow, steady—as his body completely relaxed, nearly melting into Malik’s touch.
“When will you learn?” Malik whispered, “No matter how many overpopulated cities or empty lands you wander through, destiny and time will always bring you home.”
Altair said nothing—there was nothing more to say. He simply basked in the bliss of finding himself once again in the arms of his home. Malik’s lips never strayed far from his skin, showering his beloved with affection, only pausing long enough to gather the scattered pieces of Altair’s soul into his embrace as he murmured against his ear:
“Ya rayah, even the road knew you'd come back to where your name is spoken with love.”