Chapter 7 A Storm Within the Silence
Sana walked beside Hatim through the moonlit corridor, her footsteps soft, but her heart pounding like a thunderclap. His hand still gently held hers—not firm, not possessive, but like he wasn’t ready to let go.
She didn’t look up. She couldn’t.
> “Why did you do that?” she whispered again, voice shaking.
Hatim didn’t respond immediately. His jaw was tense, eyes staring ahead. The silence between them felt heavier than any words could.
> “Because you didn’t deserve it,” he said at last. “No one deserves to be treated like that. Not even a servant.”
The word servant stung a little. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because that’s all she had ever been allowed to be.
But there was something else in his voice—something softer than his usual sharpness.
> “I didn’t mean to make her angry,” Sana murmured.
Hatim stopped walking. Turned toward her.
> “You didn’t,” he said. “She’s… always angry.”
He studied her for a moment, searching for something behind the veil. The moonlight caught the edge of her amber eyes.
> “I still want to see your face.”
Sana lowered her gaze quickly.
> “That won’t happen until the stars themselves command it, Your Highness,” she said, managing a small smile behind the fabric.
Hatim’s lips twitched, almost amused. “Then I’ll wait for the stars.”
He let her hand go.
And just like that—he walked away.
---
The next few days moved like ripples on a still lake.
The palace was quiet, but not peaceful. Whispers swirled through the marble halls. About Hatim. About her. No names were spoken, but every glance she got from the guards, the maids, even the nobles—burned.
But Hatim… he was different.
He didn’t yell anymore.
Didn’t smash things.
Didn’t look like he was trying to break the world with his anger.
Instead, he was often seen walking through the palace gardens, deep in thought. Reading under the old banyan tree. Even laughing softly when the court jester tripped over his own shoes. It was like a veil had lifted from him too—though no one knew why.
No one but her.
---
One afternoon, Sana was in the courtyard helping an old gardener carry flower pots when a loud voice echoed.
> “You there! Veiled one!”
She turned to see Prince Asman—Hatim’s cousin—lounging under a golden parasol. He was smirking, holding a goblet of wine.
> “Why don’t you take that veil off and show us if the rumors are true?” he laughed cruelly. “They say the prince is bewitched by a kitchen rat.”
Laughter erupted from his group of spoiled noble friends.
Sana bowed her head and turned to walk away.
But she didn’t get far.
Asman grabbed her wrist.
> “Don’t ignore royalty, you cursed—”
> “Let. Her. Go.”
The air turned to ice.
Hatim stood a few feet away, his voice calm, but deadly.
Asman blinked. “Brother—I was only—”
> “Did I stutter?”
Hatim's blue eyes were glowing faintly.
Asman released her instantly and stepped back. “Tch. Must be some powerful magic, brother.”
Hatim ignored him. He turned to Sana.
> “Come.”
She followed without a word.
---
In his chamber, silence stretched between them again.
Hatim walked to the window, hands behind his back.
> “Does this happen often?” he asked.
Sana hesitated. “…Not always.”
That meant yes.
> “They treat you like you're… less.”
She stayed silent.
> “But you’re not,” he said, turning toward her. “Not to me.”
Her eyes widened behind the veil. “Why? Why not?”
Hatim stepped closer. “Because when I look at you… I don’t see a servant. Or a cursed girl. I see something else.”
He didn’t say what. And she didn’t ask.
But her heart… oh, her heart already knew.