9. Tara
CHAPTER 9
TARA
I ’m thinking about Ali — and his father — constantly whenever I’m not with them. It’s only when I’m back at Faiz’s palace, stepping into Ali’s room yet again, that I feel like my thoughts can slow down. His small chest rises and falls rhythmically, a testament to the resilience of youth and tender care. He stirs slightly as I approach, and the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a drowsy semblance of a smile.
“Good morning, Ali,” I murmur.
“Doctor Tara,” he says, his voice a sleepy hum. “I feel better.”
“That’s wonderful to hear. I can tell just by listening to you speak that your chest congestion has cleared.”
I feel Faiz’s presence behind me in the doorway. It’s my third visit to Ali, but I doubt Faiz would be absent even if it were my hundredth. He’s a protective parent, and I don’t blame him. While I’ve never been fortunate enough to feel the kind of love that comes with having a child, maybe one day…
I give myself an internal shake, bringing my focus back to the present moment. There’s no point in moping about what I don’t have — namely, a family of my own — especially when I’m here to do a job.
“I do want to listen to your breathing, just to make sure,” I tell Ali, as I pull out my stethoscope.
Indeed, he’s much better. His energy still seems a little low, considering that he’s six and is probably bouncing off the walls under normal conditions. That’s not too concerning, though.
With Ali settled and content, I step out into the hallway, only to find Faiz leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a rare, unguarded smile curving his lips. The sight is disarming, pulling at threads in my heart that really shouldn’t exist in the first place.
“You were bright and early today,” he says, his voice rolling out like smooth velvet, wrapping around me in a way that makes me hyperaware of my every breath.
“Ali’s health waits for no one,” I reply, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. My attempt at levity does nothing to still the flutter in my chest.
“Come, have coffee with me in the sunroom,” he suggests, stepping away from the wall with a grace that belies his powerful frame.
“Sure,” I answer, a little too quickly, perhaps a little too eager.
It’s an invitation that feels as warming as the Zahranian sun itself, but it’s also a tad confusing. Him inviting me to have a scotch the other day was linked to us having a business meeting. This? There’s no reason to have coffee together.
…Unless he has something else to tell me about? A secret wife hidden in the attic, perhaps?
God, I hope not.
Faiz leads the way, and I follow, drawn by the pull of something indefinable. The sunroom is bathed in light, the scent of coffee flirting with my senses as we enter. I take a seat as Faiz pours two cups and slides the dish of sugar cubes my way.
“Thank you.” I add a couple cubes, stir, and take a sip. Too late, I remember that I’m still not used to how strong the coffee is here. In goes another lump of sugar.
“I hope all is well at my parents’.” Faiz pauses. “You were there yesterday, were you not?”
“Yes.” I don’t know what else to say; I’m still feeling a tad guilty about working for Faiz without letting the sheik and sheikha know.
We sit in silence for another minute, a bird calling just outside. Finally, Faiz speaks. “You said you didn’t travel much growing up. Where have you been?”
I duck my face, embarrassed. “Outside of the United States? Only here.”
He blinks at me, but he looks more sad than anything else. “That’s too bad.”
“I know,” I sigh.
“Surely, your job at the main palace affords you time off?”
“It does.” I trace my fingertip along the rim of the coffee mug. “I haven’t planned any trips, though. I don’t know where I would go.”
That’s not true. There are plenty of places I want to see. The issue is that I have no one to go with, and I ache to explore the world with a companion at my side.
“You said you’ve been to most countries,” I say, eager to direct the conversation away from my own life. “What is your favorite place you’ve visited?”
He talks of cities and seas, of mountains that scrape the heavens and deserts that whisper with ancient secrets. Paris, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro — he paints each place with words that stir a longing within me. A longing not just for the places he describes, but for the life unlived. The adventures untaken.
“You should travel,” he says suddenly, catching me off guard with the intensity of his gaze. “See the world. Throw a dart at the map and go there.”
“Maybe I will,” I admit, the thought taking root. Traveling… escaping. But what am I seeking escape from? The confines of my routine or the confines of a heart afraid to want more?
“Life is short, Tara,” Faiz continues, unknowingly threading his fingers through the fabric of my thoughts. “We should experience all it has to offer.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” I say, voice barely above a whisper, the idea blooming like the flowers outside. Outside, where the world awaits — a world vast and beautiful, but one that I’m hesitant to reach out and grab.
“More coffee?” Faiz asks.
“Yes, please.”
I extend the mug, but as I do it slips from my hands. I try to catch it but it hits the edge of the ceramic milk pitcher instead. It cracks into two, one of the pieces getting me across the palm. A red line blooms across my skin, and I exclaim in surprise.
“Let me see.” Faiz’s voice is a low command, his hand already encircling my wrist with surprising gentleness. He inspects the small wound, his brow creasing with concern. “Stay still.”
“It’s nothing, really—” I start to protest, but he’s already on his feet, moving to retrieve a first-aid kit from a nearby cabinet with confident efficiency.
I watch him, my hand throbbing in tandem with the pulse of surprise at his urgent response. It’s just a slight cut, but the way he cares, the way he moves — it’s intimate, almost personal, and it sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.
“Here,” he says as he returns, kneeling before me.
His fingers are deft as he cleans the cut, his touch careful not to cause more pain. His face is close, too close, and I can’t help but be taken in by the rich brown of his eyes, the flecks of gold that hadn’t caught my attention before.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice softer now, a whisper designed just for me.
“Only a bit,” I admit, and I’m not just talking about the sting on my skin. My heart feels like it’s been pricked too, swelling with an ache that’s sweet and terrifying all at once. The space between us shrinks, filled with the danger of a live wire.
He looks up at me then, and there’s something in his gaze that steals the breath from my lungs. Does he feel this too? This pull that tugs at all the reasons why something between us could never work?
His hand is steady as he places a bandage over the cut, but when his fingers brush against mine, they tremble ever so slightly. We’re close enough now that I can feel his breath, warm against my cheek. Our eyes lock, and the world falls away, leaving only the possibility of what could be.
In this infinite second, I think he might lean in, close the distance completely…
But the moment shatters as Amina walks into the room, humming softly to herself. She heads straight to the coffee pot.
“Good morning,” she greets us cheerfully, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. And just like that, the spell is broken.
Faiz stands abruptly, stepping back as if the proximity burns him. He avoids my gaze, focusing instead on some distant point over my shoulder.
“Morning, Amina,” I manage to say, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.
Amina pours herself a coffee, continuing to hum, while I’m left trying to piece together the fragments of something that felt like it could have been real but that’s also left me wondering if it was all just wishful thinking.
The awkwardness fills the room, and while Faiz has taken his seat, he’s looking everywhere but at me. Grasping for some conversation to break the tension, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Ali could benefit from some fresh air,” I suggest. “He’s recovering well, but he needs air and sunshine. Perhaps a trip to the park would do him good.”
Faiz’s reaction is immediate, a bolt of tension through his frame that I feel as if it were my own. “He will go to the beach next week,” he states flatly, and I see the steel walls slam down behind his eyes.
I freeze. Why is he so resistant to Ali going to a park? Surely, no one there will even think that he is Faiz’s son. Why would they? “But Faiz, he can’t be cooped up here forever.”
“He won’t be,” he retorts, the edge in his voice cutting short any further protest. “And that is my matter to worry about. You are his doctor, and that’s all.”
Silence hangs heavy, and Faiz seems to shrink into himself, his earlier warmth now replaced by a cold front. “I have a video meeting,” he announces abruptly, standing.
I watch, heart sinking, as he strides away, each step taking him further from the intimate moment we shared. Amina sits across from me, her features softened by the morning glow, her eyes reflecting a world of understanding and patience. It’s just us now, Faiz gone, his presence lingering like a shadow on the wall.
“He is like that sometimes,” she says.
I sigh. “Apparently so.”
“Do not let it get to you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
Her lips pull thin, and she looks away, confirming that she knows exactly who I’m referring to.
“Does Ali ever really get to leave this place?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. The question feels heavy, laden with implications I’m only beginning to understand. “Or was Faiz just saying that about the beach?”
She considers her words, and I can tell she’s weighing truth against loyalty. “He does, but it’s a rare occasion,” she admits, her gaze flickering down to her hands as if the answer lies within the lines of her skin. “We’ll go next week, yes. But Faiz… he never comes along.”
I nod, feeling a pang of sorrow for Ali. My heart aches for him, this boy growing up surrounded by walls and known by so few people. I think of my own childhood, the loneliness that clung to me like a second skin, shaping me into the woman I am today. A woman who, sometimes, I wish I weren’t.
“It’s no way to raise a child,” I say, more to myself than to Amina. “All the staff in the world can’t replace the simple joy of making a friend.”
Amina meets my eyes, and there’s a silent acknowledgment that passes between us — a shared concern for a little boy who’s inherited a gilded cage. “He’s bright, well-educated,” she offers, as if trying to balance the scales. “But yes, Tara, you’re right. He needs more than these walls can give.”
I let out a sigh, wishing that I could argue more but knowing it’s no use. Faiz is the authority when it comes to Ali, and as far as I know he’s doing nothing illegal. I feel trapped, caught between my professional boundaries and the urge to wrap Ali in my arms and show him the world — the vast, vibrant world he’s been denied.
The irony isn’t lost on me, as I’ve also denied myself the larger world. That’s the saddest truth of it all: I fear that Ali might turn into an adult such as myself, timid and unable to properly make friends even when he wants to.
“Faiz is… complicated,” Amina adds, pulling me back from the precipice of depression. “His love for Ali is boundless, yet somehow still bound. And we must respect that, even when it breaks our hearts.”
I stand, walking to the window that looks onto the pool and the gardens beyond. There’s a lot to do in this palace, but nothing outside even suggesting a child lives here. No play structure, no toys littered about.
“Maybe one day.” My murmur is both a wish and a prayer. For Ali. For Faiz. For myself. “Maybe one day, Amina, things will change.”