And she couldn’t even turn to anybody. Not Zarmina or Gulalai or anyone because they had all warned her from the beginning, from the first star that had sparkled in her eyes, they had warned her, told her to stay away from him, told her he would ruin her.

And here she was, ruined. With nobody to blame but her own wretched, cruel heart.

Ya Allah help me, please, help me.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes, come in,” she called, wondering why Gulalai had bothered knocking when she had just left. But when the door opened, she realized why.

It wasn’t Gulalai.

It was Rashid.

“Assalam u alaikum,” he said. When she returned the greeting, he sheepishly lowered his head. His ears were pink. Oh, Gulalai.

Just what she needed to solve her boy problems: another boy. Excellent.

“Gulalai-sahiba said you wanted to see me,” Rashid told her.

“Yes,” Durkhanai improvised. “I had some . . . matters to discuss. Will you join me for tea?”

“I would love to,” Rashid replied, offering a sweet smile. He joined her at the table and they both sat.

Rashid reached for the tea.

“I can do it,” she offered.

“I insist,” he replied. He poured tea into her cup, asking how much sugar she would like. She allowed him to pour it into her cup and stir, then watched as he did the same for himself. He then moved onto the various little finger foods.

Ordinarily, Durkhanai would put whatever she liked into her own plate, but she was amused by how endearing Rashid was in his efforts to be a perfect gentleman and impress her.

He was nervous, she could tell, and it was made further evident when he accidentally dropped his napkin to the ground.

“Oh,” Rashid said, reaching down to pick it up. Durkhanai watched curiously as he did so, and, just as she suspected he would, hit his head on the table on his way up, causing tea to spill from his teacup.

She refrained from sighing.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, embarrassed, moving to clean up the mess. He gave a surprised sort of laugh, but she saw the quick knit of his brows, the frown tugging at his lips.

“No, don’t worry about it at all,” she said, offering her sweetest smile. It was at least nice, she supposed, to have a boy be a fool for her, rather than her being a fool for a boy.

“Yes, well, what did you want to discuss?” he asked, after cleaning the mess. There was a pile of tea stained napkins lying to the side. The silk tablecloth was stained as well, though she hoped not beyond repair.

“I just wanted to . . . converse with you,” Durkhanai improvised. “To be certain all was okay with your family.”

His was an important one, allied to the Miangul family for generations.

“How thoughtful,” he responded, genuinely touched. “My sister is doing much better now, shukria.”