5. Tara
CHAPTER 5
TARA
T he gilded gate stands imposing before me, its intricate metalwork the epitome of the world I’ve been immersed in for the past two years — an elite enclave where privacy is prized above all. As the late morning sun casts long shadows over the designer lawns, a guard emerges from the sentry box, his expression unreadable behind aviator shades.
He motions for me to follow, leading me to a small table inside the tiny building where a single document lies in wait. One glance tells me it’s a non-disclosure agreement.
“Standard procedure,” he says, handing me a pen with an air of formality that feels almost ceremonial.
I can’t refrain from letting out a dry chuckle as I sign my name on the dotted line. In this world, secrets are currency, and trust is earned through the act of omission. It’s not my first time signing away my right to share the details of the lives I’m privy to, and even before coming to this country I spent years keeping details of people’s health completely secret — that’s part of my duty, after all.
But Faiz’s palace? This NDA? There’s something about it that screams uncharted territory.
The guard directs me where to park, and I follow his instructions and leave my car at the end of the driveway. The grounds are oddly quiet, the back of my neck prickling. Something is off here, and for the life of me I wish I knew what it was.
The front door opens before I even have the chance to knock, and a tall man looks out at me. The butler? A security guard? It’s hard to say. He looks like he could floor the biggest footballer with one clean tackle, though.
“Dr. Hague.” He opens the door to allow me inside, and I step into a massive foyer.
“Good morning,” I greet, trying to keep my tone light. His only response is a terse nod; he definitely isn’t here for small talk.
I follow him through a maze of huge rooms, each one more grand than the last. The wood floors are polished to a mirror-like sheen, and the walls are adorned with regal portraits of Faiz’s ancestors. Their eyes seem to follow me, silently judging their unwelcome visitor.
The man leads me into an expansive study, where a wall of windows offers a panoramic view of the emerald-green gardens. There’s an almost palpable tension in the room, and the furniture seems too perfect to sit on. It feels more like a museum than a home.
“The sheikh will be with you momentarily,” he says.
“Thank you.” I smooth my blouse and move my medical bag from one hand to the other. It only has the essentials in it, and even though I have no clue why Faiz called me here, I figured I should bring it anyway.
The man leaves, and I’m left alone in the room. There’s no time to explore or even wonder what’s happening next, though, because there’s a brisk knock on the door and Faiz enters.
His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, then dart away, unable to hold my gaze. His expression is inscrutable but his stiffness is telling.
“Dr. Hague,” he greets, in that low baritone of his that never fails to send shivers down my spine.
“Tara,” I correct. “Please.”
His eyes widen slightly, and I understand how out of proper protocol first names are, but his family calls me by my first name, and it’s not as if I’m expected to call him by his.
But then: “And you call me Faiz,” he says smoothly. “Please.”
I gulp against the lump in my throat. “Yes. Faiz.” I nod.
“Thank you for coming.” He draws in a long breath, his shoulders rising. “Will you… follow me, please?”
“Of course.”
He holds the door open for me, and then leads me down a carpeted hallway. With each further step into the inner sanctum, anticipation coils tight in my chest. I’ve heard whispers about Faiz’s personal residence, a place few have entered and even fewer understand. What lies inside these walls is a mystery.
But it’s not any strange activity that catches my attention; it’s the silence. The quiet in this palace is so at odds with the usual buzzing hive of the main royal residence. Here, the absence of voices, the lack of hurried footsteps, the scarcity of staff — it all hangs heavy in the air, like a thick velvet curtain muffling the world outside.
At the main palace, I would have seen dozens of staff by now. Here, it’s only been the guard and the man who opened the front door.
It’s beautiful, yes, but there’s a coldness here, an impersonal touch that leaves me feeling unsettled. In every corner, in every shadow, the questions linger — unspoken yet deafening in their silence. What compels a man like Faiz to retreat into such seclusion? What fears drive him to keep the world at arm’s length?
Each step we take is measured, his gait rigid with tension. His broad shoulders are squared like ramparts, holding back an unseen siege. I can almost feel his unease, and it presses against my own chest, heavy and foreboding.
“Everything here… it’s so quiet,” I venture, my voice a soft intrusion in the hallowed halls.
“Privacy has its price,” Faiz replies, the words clipped and curt as if spoken through gritted teeth.
Right, then. Whatever that means.
The silence stretches taut between us again, and I look for something to say to fill the space but there’s nothing. I’ve never been good at small talk, and I’m not about to suddenly take to it now.
We arrive at a door, carved tall, like all the other ones in this mansion. Faiz hesitates for the span of a heartbeat before pushing it open. The room beyond is awash in soft blues and greens, everything cheery and so unlike the rest of the palace. Stuffed animals perch on shelves and windowsills, their marble eyes watching over a child-sized bed where a young boy of about six or seven lies listlessly.
I stand in the doorway, blinking, trying to comprehend. What is a child doing here? Is he the son of one of the staff?
“I would like you to examine him,” Faiz says.
“Oh.” I clear my throat and smile at the boy. “Of course.”
Now, this I know how to do — be a doctor. Small talk, flirting… those things trip me up, but when it comes to medicine, I am in my element. “What are the symptoms?” I ask.
“Persistent cough, fever, trouble breathing at night,” Faiz rattles off, and I can hear the worry in his voice.
I approach the bed, my movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle the child. He watches me with big, curious eyes that seem too bright for his pallid face.
“Hi.” I set my bag on the floor next to the bed. “I’m Dr. Hague, but you can call me Tara if you like. I’m going to check you out, okay?”
He nods his head against the pillow. “Okay,” he rasps.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
He shrugs his tiny shoulders. “Bad. I keep coughing. It’s hard to breathe in sometimes.”
I smile reassuringly as I press my stethoscope to his chest, listening to the telltale crackles of congestion. The exam is short — thankfully. That means there’s nothing too terrible afflicting him.
“Sounds like a chest infection,” I say. “A course of antibiotics will clear it up.”
“Is it serious?” Faiz asks, the iron-clad control in his voice wavering for the first time. I try not to stare at him, so caught off guard by his demeanor shift. Where is the distanced, tough man I’ve known the last two years?
“Very common in children. We caught it early; he’ll recover well,” I assure him. I smile again at the boy. “You’ll be much better and playing again soon. I bet you’ve been happy to miss school though, huh?”
The boy’s face cracks into a grin. “Yes,” he chuckles. “I can’t go down to class with Amina. We get?—”
“You should rest.” Faiz touches the boy’s arm. “Talking will strain your voice.”
“TV?” the boy asks hopefully.
“Yes.” Faiz hands him the television remote before nodding his head at me.
I follow him out the door and into the hallway, the sound of cartoons behind us. “I can order the prescription and have it delivered here,” I say.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and I can nearly feel his defenses coming back up.
“Thank you,” he repeats, voice low and softer this time… like he actually means it.
“You’re welcome. Although… it is my job.”
He shakes his head. “Your contract is with my parents. Not with me.”
“It extends to you,” I point out, wondering not for the first time why he chooses not to take advantage of my available services. Or, rather, why he hasn’t until today.
“Also.” He clears his throat. “Thank you for keeping this… confidential.”
I nod, professional courtesy warring with a burgeoning need to reach beyond the doctor-patient dynamic. “I’d like to keep monitoring him over the next couple of weeks,” I say, watching his face closely. “Regular checks will ensure he’s recovering properly.”
Faiz’s stance shifts, discomfort etched into the set of his jaw. The request seems to corner him, but after a suspended moment, he relents. “All right,” he agrees, though the word smacks of reluctance. “You can come back.”
My alarm bells go off. Something very strange is going on here, and I’m glad for the excuse to return to check on the boy. It’s not that Faiz comes across as a bad person. It’s that there are too many question marks hanging around the situation, and it’s my duty as a medical professional to make sure my patients are well cared for.
“Tomorrow,” I confirm. “I’ll come back tomorrow. For now, I’ll go say goodbye to him.”
Faiz’s eyebrows rise in alarm, but I don’t hesitate. I’m already heading back into the bedroom.
The boy’s face brightens at the sight of me. His smile fills the whole room, despite his illness, and suddenly I want to know everything about him.
“What’s your name?” I ask, kneeling down to his eye level.
“Th–that’s not important,” Faiz interjects from behind me, and if I was suspicious before, now I’m positive something odd is going on here.
“Ali,” the boy responds with pride. He blinks at me, studying my face, and I can sense how intelligent he is.
“Nice to meet you, Ali,” I say, giving him a gentle smile. “You rest well, okay? We’ll see each other again soon.”
“Okay.” He coughs. “I will.”
I head out of the room, Faiz hot on my heels, prepared for him to dress me down for asking the boy’s name. What was I supposed to do, though? Treat him like a wild animal? He’s my patient now, and that means that his well-being is my concern.
Once we’re a safe distance from Ali’s room, I speak up. “I didn’t know you had a child living here.”
His footsteps behind me stop, and I turn around to find his lips pulled thin. “You signed a non-disclosure agreement,” he reminds me.
“Of course.” I nod once, waiting for him to make the next play.
He doesn’t answer immediately, the silence stretching between us as heavy as the secrets he is desperate to keep. The house seems to hold its breath, echoing the tense hush that envelops us. His gaze, sharp and guarded, pierces me as he watches my reaction.
“Ali is… special,” Faiz finally murmurs, breaking the silence. His voice is barely audible, like an unspoken prayer whispered in a sacred temple. A soft sigh escapes him, as if he’s torn between divulging his secrets and maintaining the fortress he’s carefully built around himself over the years.
“Special… how?” I ask, my curiosity overtaking my professional demeanor.
He hesitates, his gaze holding mine hostage. His eyes hold a world of torment, a constellation of emotions swimming beneath their surface — fear, uncertainty, longing… love? It’s raw and vulnerable, a side of him I’ve never seen.
I hold my breath, aware that we’re at a new point, on the precipice of something wild and perhaps scary. He’s cracked the door, let me into his world a little bit. If only he opens it a few more inches…
“Don’t you worry about that,” he says dismissively. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
That’s that. He walks me to the door, where we make arrangements for a good time for me to come by, and then I’m unceremoniously ushered onto the front stoop.
The palace doors close behind me with a quick smack, sealing away the quiet mystery that is Ali. Sunlight glares off the limestone path, forcing my gaze down as I walk, the gravel crunching underfoot like a timer counting down the seconds until I’m here again.
I should be focused on Ali’s recovery, the clinical details of his chest infection, but my thoughts are knotted around the question of his identity. Who is he and why is Faiz so protective of him?
I get into my car and start the engine, feeling off leaving Faiz’s palace and heading back to my sad, small apartment. The guard at the gate nods as I pass, and I feel like he’s always been there. Even before the palace was built. Even before the concept of time was created.
I want to brush all of this off, to tell myself that Ali is the son of one of the staff members and it was just easier for Faiz to call me to the palace rather than take him to a doctor’s office. But things don’t add up, especially when you consider how distant Faiz is from his family.
Is Ali… Could it be…?
No. I don’t want to entertain that possibility — that Ali is a child whom someone is missing. That he’s being kept in this palace as a hostage or a kidnapping victim. That’s too crazy. Too unexplainable. Why would Faiz do that?
Then again, can I really write anything off at this point?
I do know that I need to keep my speculations in check until I know more. I can’t let my imagination get ahead of me. Rather, I need to keep my eyes and ears open to information as it comes in.
I sigh as I turn onto the road. It would be so much simpler if I could just tell myself this isn’t my problem, but it’s too late for that. The moment I walked into that bedroom, I was already in too deep, and now I have to see this situation — whatever it is — all the way through.