Novel: "The Shadow and Maryam"
In a rare moment of stillness,
My shadow visited me.
It wasn't exactly like me,
It was heavier than me, deeper than could be seen,
And more knowing of me than I knew myself.
It sat opposite me,
And whispered in its rough voice:
"How are you… Maryam?"
I did not answer.
I wanted to scream, to cry, to run away,
But something in its eyes made me speak…
So the story began.
About a dream I hid between my notebooks,
About a love that was never fulfilled,
About a betrayal that broke me,
And about a pen that gathered my pieces,
And made me write… so I wouldn't fade away.
This is not a love story,
Nor a tale of victory,
But a confession.
Between me…
And my shadow.
No one saved me… except myself.
I wasn't screaming,
But I was dying in a loud silence.
Everything inside me was falling apart,
My heart, my confidence, even my voice… no longer sounded like me.
I remember that night,
When I sat in the corner, holding my soul in my arms,
While the world went on, laughed, and talked…
And I just tried not to cry out loud.
I wanted to scream:
"Save me… I am drowning!"
But the words froze in my throat,
And all that came out… was a trembling breath.
No one saw my sorrow,
Because I was good at pretending.
I wore my smile like armor, and said: "I'm fine."
But the truth?
I was broken to the point I no longer knew how to be whole.
I was in pain… and I envied the clouds because they cried openly,
While I… buried everything inside my chest until it became my temporary grave.
I survived.
But not like heroes survive,
I survived like someone who comes out of fire with one eye… and half a heart turned to ash.
Dialogue: "Me and My Shadow"
The night is still, the room is cold, nothing moves… except a shadow standing by the wall.
Shadow:
Your ghost visited me again…
How are you, Maryam?
Have you become what you dreamed of?
Or are you still stuck there… in the middle?
Maryam (smiles sadly and whispers):
How much I wished to embrace you…
But you're an illusion,
An illusion created by my memory when I found no one.
Every time I see you, it feels like I'm talking to myself before breaking down.
Shadow:
You're still as you are…
Fighting the harshness of days with mischief!
I've always envied your ability…
To smile amid the ruins,
And laugh though your heart is torn.
Maryam (laughs lightly, tired):
Shall I tell you about my adventures?
About the days I laughed while crying?
About the tears I hid in my storybooks…
Or would you rather whisper something else to me tonight?
Shadow:
Tell me…
Have you forgiven those who betrayed you?
Have you forgiven yourself for your weakness?
Have you ever hated me…?
Maryam:
I forgave everyone… except myself.
And I hated everything… except you.
You are my shadow…
And I neither escape from you, nor do I want to,
For in my solitude… you were the only one who remained.
Second Excerpt – "Me and My Shadow"
Maryam:
Ah, my shadow…
My books have become abandoned drafts,
Unfinished novels,
My feelings are incomplete chapters without endings.
I stand in the middle,
When my worries suffocate me, and my troubles grip my neck,
I resist with all my strength.
I paint on my face the features of patience,
But inside, I scream…
And no one hears.
Scene: "Me and the Shadow – The Trial"
Setting: A dimly lit room. Maryam sits while the shadow stands. His voice is cold, full of doubt.
Shadow (mocking):
You wrote?
You dreamed?
And you haven't even finished your education?
You have no certificate,
No paper that says: "This girl deserves to be heard."
Who will listen to you?
Great writers toil for years…
And you write about love and betrayal, as if you understand anything about life.
(A short, cold laugh)
Even your last dream…
Just the illusion of a little girl,
Dreaming of an embrace… and a kiss.
You write,
But who said you are a writer?
Who said you're enough?
---
"Me and the Shadow – The Explosion"
Shadow (with a sarcastic voice, smiling with a hurtful softness):
What's wrong with your words, Maryam?
You came to me like a happy child…
And now you want to talk about dreams, writing, glory?
You have no certificate, no full education…
So why do you think you deserve to be heard?
(Pauses briefly, then laughs quietly)
Like that child who ran to get her toy,
But the seller pushed her away saying:
"Go back home, your father is not with you."
Maryam (looking at him, tears almost choking her but she doesn't cry… she shouts):
What's wrong with your harsh words?!
I came to you as a laughing child,
And now… I see you trying to break what's left of me?
Have you read my words to criticize me?
Have you ever tried… to feel them?
I wasn't really here,
I was sitting between my cold walls,
Watching my series,
Cooking, raising my children,
Waiting for my husband to come home,
A gray routine wrapping around me like dust…
I was eroding silently, but I never gave up.
Then they came…
My mother, my siblings, my friends…
They told me with warm words:
"Go on, Maryam… we are the ones who will remove the thorns from your path."
They are the ones who freed my words from my old notebooks,
If they hadn't believed in me,
My words would still be hidden…
Papers without a voice.
(Steps forward and raises her voice)
And now you talk about "certificates"?
Is a certificate what defines who I am?
Has a piece of paper become the one to decide the fate of dreams?!
I cried because of the war,
Because of poverty…
I thought I was a failure,
Because I couldn't complete my dream like others.
But I wasn't a failure…
I survived!
Maryam (looking into his eyes, laughing softly like anger):
Do you know, my shadow?
You talk too much,
As if you forget who I am.
You ask me who said I'm a writer?
I am the one who said so…
I am the one who wrote when no one was listening.
When they were asleep,
And I was trembling on my pillow,
Writing to stay alive in the light.
You say, "You have no certificate?"
True…
But I have a wound that taught me more than any lecture,
And I have a mother who said to me confidently:
"I trust you."
Do you know what this word does to a girl who lost everything?
It builds her up from scratch.
You laugh at my dream?
But you don't understand…
The dream was not just a kiss.
The dream was a moment I felt I was not alone,
That someone saw me,
Saw my exhaustion, saw my heart.
But even if no one saw me,
I saw myself.
And that is enough.
I write, despite everything…
Because when I cry, no one hears me,
But when I write…
The world listens.
I write, because words have not betrayed me as people did.
I write, because fear does not live in letters,
And because I'm tired of being silent.
And you?
You are a shadow…
Feeding on my self-doubt,
But today… I am hungry for confidence.
So lower your voice,
And be quiet for a while.
Because I am…
Maryam.
Flashback – "My Notebook and My Heart's Certificate"
Maryam, 9 PM…
A melting candle, and a notebook filled with solutions…
Tired eyes, but full of hope.
Maryam (whispering to the shadow):
Listen to me well, shadow…
Don't think my mother just sat and watched me.
She pushed me…
Towards the light, towards hope.
She brought me books and said with a smile:
"Study, my dear, in your own way. I trust you."
I told her with tears in my eyes:
"How can I study without a school? Without a teacher?"
She patted my hand and said:
"Because you are smart… strong… you will succeed. Just trust my words."
So I studied,
Long nights, exhausting days,
Notebooks filled with ink, solutions, mistakes, then small victories.
It wasn't easy…
But I overcame,
And my mother herself tested me…
And I passed.
She hugged me…
As if embracing the whole victory.
Then I ran, like someone flying,
I went to register for the entrance exam, my heart beating with joy.
Suddenly… I heard his voice:
"Maryam? Aren't you at university?!"
It was my teacher Ibrahim,
His question stabbed me…
So I whispered:
"Poverty… was an obstacle, sir."
Another voice came, harsh as a sword:
"Poverty? No excuse. You didn't try… you must have failed!"
I froze, felt like choking.
But my teacher Ibrahim looked at him and said firmly:
"No, don't say that…
She was one of the top students,
She was my hardworking student,
And I was proud of her…
And I still am."
Then he turned to me and handed me the registration paper:
"Here, Maryam…
I know…
You will succeed."
Oh shadow…
My heart soared with joy,
I ran to my mother, wanting to tell her,
That our dream was getting closer,
But joy doesn't always complete…
The war broke out,
And it wasn't only in my city…
But in my heart.
A whole month of depression,
No food, no laughter, no sound.
I locked myself away…
Crying, lamenting my unlucky fate.
Maryam (looking into her shadow's eyes):
Who are you
To say I don't deserve,
When I…
I am the one who fought,
And I'm still writing.
—
Shadow (in a calm voice full of challenge):
Maryam… why do you keep fighting despite all the wounds?
What makes you refuse to surrender despite the pain and betrayal?
Many have passed my way,
Planting thorns, not roses.
They told me:
"You're a failure,"
"Your mind is small,"
"When will you mature?"
"What foolish dreams are these?"
Every word from them was an arrow,
Every scornful look a stab.
They said: "You… and you… and you,"
And I… was bleeding silently,
Pulling the thorns from my path alone,
Until I got tired.
Tired to the point I had no energy left to continue.
I became captive to their words,
Prisoner to their criticism,
A prisoner of myself… when I believed what they said.
But something changed…
When I saw how my words touched pure hearts,
How my letters were a balm to others I do not know,
They promised me they would walk before me,
Remove the thorns from my path,
And plant roses instead.
They told me:
"Just write,
And leave the rest to us.
Dream,
And we will carry the dream for you,
Until it comes true."
And then I realized…
Survival is not always about defeating everything alone,
But opening your heart to a hand that holds you,
When you're about to fall.
The shadow smiled faintly, as if seeing in her words a seed of hope growing in the desert of pain, then continued:
"And are you ready to open your heart to the rose, despite all the thorns you pulled out?
Do you trust that your path will grow roses again?"
Maryam (her voice choked at times):
"I must trust those who trusted me…
I remember well how they held my hand when I was drowning,
I didn't know how to swim yet.
I recall a painful moment…
When I tore up my diary and threw it away,
But my friend asked me about it,
I looked at her with tearful eyes,
And told her I was angry,
How could she understand? Those words and stories were all my treasure."
She said it with sadness and frustration.
Shadow (leans slightly, voice calm with gentle reproach):
"Did you think tearing the pages would erase the pain?
Or were you trying to erase a part of yourself?
But Maryam…
Even if the notebook is torn,
Your words will remain alive in the hearts of those who read them,
And your worlds will keep being born anew,
No matter how much you try to abandon them."
Maryam (sighs slowly, trying to regain strength):
"Maybe I was running away…
But now I know I'm strong enough to face it,
I will write…
Because I am no longer alone,
There are those who hear me, who believe in me."
Shadow (silent, then stepping back, whispering):
Maybe… I was the failure,
Because I didn't see in you… a woman born from fire.
And I didn't believe you could…
Write your name with the ink of pain… and make it pride.
Maryam (looking at him, not with a smile, but with a new light in her eyes):
"I was trying to scream,
But my scream came out as a story…
I try to cry,
And my tears fall in the shape of letters."
She steps toward him, no weakness in her walk, but the trace of long fatigue that finally stands tall.
"Do you know, my shadow?
I no longer want to be perfect,
Nor to please everyone,
Nor to explain to those who don't see the pain beneath the smile."
Shadow (looking at her in surprise, almost shy):
"You have changed…"
Maryam (with calm confidence):
"No, I have only… stopped burying myself so others can rest."
She pauses for a moment, then gestures toward a corner of the room where scraps of old papers, notebooks, memories, even torn dreams lie.
"All this… I am no longer ashamed of.
This is me…
In all my shattered pieces,
And the more I break…
The more honestly I write."
The shadow feels excitement:
"I'll take you to your favorite place, but not to write....
To tell me one of your stories."
Scene: A quiet night… the sea gently restless, stars sparkling as if awaiting a story.
Since you brought me here, listen closely:
In a world tired of noise, amidst the city's clamor and the streets' panting…
Ella had her sacred ritual: to escape.
To flee the chaos of reality into the silence of books.
She searched the shelves for paper to cradle her heart,
For a story like hers, or one that would heal a part she hadn't yet named.
She entered the library like one returning to an old embrace.
The old man glanced at her with a look tinged with surprise, as if time had suddenly reversed:
"It's been a long time…"
He said, voice cracked by waiting.
"I thought you'd lost your passion, my little one."
Ella smiled shyly and softly said,
"How could I lose it… when I'm still searching for the treasure?"
The old man laughed, but this time his laugh was not sarcastic…
But filled with something like a legacy.
He approached slowly and said,
"Let me take you somewhere different…
A place that resembles your soul."
He looked around as if to make sure no one could hear,
Then whispered:
"This journey… is unfinished.
My grandmother gave it to me before she left,
And now… I give it to you.
Because I know… you will complete it."
He moved toward the upper bookshelf.
Brought a wooden ladder,
Climbed it as if his steps carried memories,
And moved a shelf everyone thought was fixed…
Behind it…
A hidden wall with a small gap just the size of a book.
He carefully reached in,
And pulled out a book wrapped in a layer of time,
Its scent like unread letters.
He sat opposite her and placed it before her gently.
"Read carefully… before you take the first step."
He said, his eyes filled with the longing of someone who can no longer travel.
Ella embraced the book as if it were her second heart,
Unaware…
That the book was not a novel,
But a gateway.
And in the evening…
After a light dinner and warm coffee,
She sat reading, unaware that life as she knew it,
Was about to change forever.
She opened the book… and found the first sentence saying:
"Where would you like to begin your journey?
– In the corridors of history?
– In the heart of fantasy?
– Or in the story of the three princes?"
Scene: Quiet night, a faint coffee cup in her hand, the old book on her lap, exuding the scent of dust and nostalgia.
So many names…
So many stories…
As if a whole world was placed in her hands,
She slowly closed the book and shut her eyes.
"Where do I begin?"
She whispered to herself, as if afraid the stories might hear her.
Then she smiled boldly and mischievously:
"I'll let my heart choose,
I'll open the book at random…
And wherever my hand lands, my journey begins."
Her trembling fingers stretched out…
The book opened to a page titled:
> "My Innocent Girl"
She read the first sentence in a nearly hushed voice:
"Dear adventurer…
I start the story, but the ending is yours."
Her eyes widened.
"Oh, this is real excitement!"
She said happily and began to read.
---
Summary of the story inside the book:
Three princes,
A vast palace,
A small rose growing amidst cold tiles…
She is "Nara," an innocent girl, gentle as a summer breeze,
Speaking shyly, and walking like songs on her fingertips.
As for "Minister Jack,"
He is the handsome, stern young man, the smartest among the kingdom's men,
Loving order and hating chaos…
And his kingdom entrusted him with caring for the three princes.
In another corner…
Mira, the rich merchant's daughter, a cunning girl,
Falling in love with the blonde prince "Sam,"
But the prince doesn't see her,
His eyes always… on Nara.
Every trap Mira set,
She fell into herself,
And every conspiracy woven with threads of envy…
Made Nara purer in Sam's eyes.
Minister Jack grew tired of Mira's chapters,
Of her distractions, of her unroyal behaviors,
And in a moment of anger…
He banished Mira out of the country.
But, at the end of the page… a mysterious line:
_ Dear adventurer… choose who you will be.
Back to Ella, who read attentively, then tilted her head laughing:
"Who will I be?
The innocent girl?! No, no, that's impossible…
Cold, shy, waiting for a prince to save her?
Me?! I'm the one who pulls others to safety!
These are children's stories… old man, what kind of book did you give me?!"
She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning Minister Jack's lines.
"The minister… I like him!
The only one who sees everything, controls the story without being the hero.
If I were Mira…
I would have loved him."
She laughed at herself, then shook her head:
"Oh, Ella… it's just a novel… nothing more!"
But suddenly…
The page trembled.
The letters faded, began to ripple as if water drops evaporating.
"Wha… what's happening?!"
Ella screamed,
The letters melted, pages disappeared,
A bright light, then…
Darkness.
A moment of silence followed…
Then another light…
But not the lamp's glow above her bed.
Rather… the light of a new day, in a world unlike this one.
She looked around… her eyes widening.
"Did I fall asleep… while reading?"
She whispered to herself, trying to comprehend what was happening.
But this was not the usual dream she saw…
No bed, no book, no room…
But another world, resembling the legends she used to read as a child.
She raised her eyes in astonishment,
Stood on tiptoe,
Gazed at the place,
And her breath caught.
A palace… unlike any other.
Its walls were not made of stone,
But of glass reflecting the sky, as if the sky were trapped inside.
Its ceiling sparkled, studded with jewels that moved as if they were alive.
The stairs were spiral-shaped,
Suspended in the air,
Not touching the ground…
As if made for walking on magic.
Silver columns,
Entwined with threads of light,
Shivering as if playing music not heard, but felt.
In the courtyard,
A fountain rose endlessly,
Each drop carried a different color,
Falling as crystal roses,
Then melting and returning clear as before.
And the air?
A blend of lavender's scent and warm rosemary,
Carrying whispers,
As if the palace itself was telling an endless story.
Ella looked at her dress,
A Damascene blue gown, leaning toward black,
Embroidered with silver threads weaving a strange map on her body.
And her hair?
Not as she knew it…
But carefully braided,
Adorned with rings of gold and ruby.
She smiled, a curious tear gleaming in her eye:
"What a magical dream…!"
Then she glimpsed her shadow on the wall…
And froze.
The shadow… was not Ella's shadow.
It was taller…
More feminine…
And more arrogant.
She ran to the nearest mirror,
Looked… recoiled.
"No… this is not my face!!"
Her eyes were sharp, lined like magic.
Her lips full, and her eyes held a cunning she had never known.
She was not Ella…
She was… "Mira."
A small maid approached her,
Her eyes unlike those of ordinary servants,
Carrying a mystery, as if she knew an untold secret.
"Please wait a moment, Lady Mira…
Lady Nara will be here shortly."
Ella blinked, or rather "Mira" as she had become,
Was she really inside the story?
Was this Nara's palace?
The palace she had just read about?!
She gazed at the vast courtyard…
The threads of light still glittered between the columns,
And the wind played on the curtain fabrics a melody resembling the opening tune of every tale.
Suddenly…
The golden doors of the palace opened.
And she appeared.
Nara.
A girl who looked like she had just stepped out of a poetic verse,
Walking calmly,
A gentle smile sparkling like morning on her lips.
She wore a bright yellow dress,
Embroidered with sea pearls,
Swaying with her steps as if woven from light.
Around her neck hung a necklace,
A red gemstone like blood,
Resting on her skin white as a sunbeam.
Her hair?
Blonde, long, flowing behind her like wheat ears at harvest time.
She approached…
Her smile unchanged.
"Mira!"
She whispered lovingly,
Then threw herself into her arms, embracing her as if they had never been apart.
"How are you?"
Ella…
Stumbled over her words,
Her eyes fixed on this strange enchanting creature:
"I… I… I'm fine… Nara?!"
Nara laughed softly, as if the whole world smiled.
"I missed you so much!
You've become so beautiful, Mira!"
Nara took her hand; the warmth of her palm felt like memories.
"Come…
I'll take you to the garden where we used to play as children.
Remember? We chased butterflies… and stole peaches from the trees."
And Ella…
Did not reply.
She walked beside Nara,
Her heart screaming:
"I am not Mira!"
But her lips…
Only smiled.
The garden was a piece of fantasy.
Flowers bloomed in storybook colors: violet, lemon, ruby,
And drops of dew danced on their leaves as if knowing the visitor was no ordinary guest.
The scent of blossoms filled the air,
A swing hung between two almond trees, swaying gently,
Nearby, a decorated table,
Where maids brought warm tea,
In gilded glass cups,
Floating on them were dried flowers befitting princesses.
Nara sat first,
Perched as if she'd been accustomed to luxury since birth,
And looked at "Ella" — "Mira" with wide eyes:
"Tell me…
How did you become this beautiful?
Was that faraway town as lovely as they said?"
Ella smiled shyly,
Trying to keep her eyes steady:
"Everything was… beautiful,
But I missed this place."
Nara leaned toward her,
Her laugh tinged with nostalgia:
"I missed it too…
Our childhood, the carefree laughter…
Do you remember Prince Sam? He's become very handsome!"
Ella felt a nervous flutter creep into her heart.
The name "Sam"…
Nara…
The garden…
Damn! This is the start of the story!
But she held herself together,
"Yes, I remember him…"
She said softly, as if afraid her secret would be revealed.
Nara smiled and stepped closer:
"Everyone knows you're here, Mira…
I sent for them; they'll all arrive soon."
Ella
"I'm sorry, but I must leave… I have unfinished tasks."
Ella gasped softly:
"Please, Nara… I need time."
Nara looked at her,
A strange, deep look…
A mix of longing and control.
"But they're coming for you, Mira.
They're eager to see you.
It's not fitting for you to leave now."
She said, gripping Ella's shoulder
With a strength Ella hadn't seen from her before.
Her eyes grew sad,
As if she wanted to say something she couldn't.
"Alright…"
Ella whispered,
"But I… won't stay long."
Minutes passed like an eternity.
Silence before the storm.
Then…
The rumble of carriage wheels and the sound of horses drawing near.
They arrived.
The three princes,
Each carrying a different aura,
Princess Darin walked confidently, her gaze surveying the palace.
At the forefront…
Minister Jack.
His face calm, stern,
His eyes scanning the place, but when they landed on "Mira,"
He paused for a moment,
Contemplating how the mischievous child had changed…
The guards?
Stayed outside, guarding the carriages,
While inside…
Everyone sat, greeting "Mira."
The carriages stopped, the horses calmed,
and in the spacious courtyard of the palace, the three princes, Princess Darin, and Minister Jack gathered,
amid light laughter and welcoming glances…
Ella — "Mira" — tried to keep her breath steady.
Everything seemed familiar to everyone… except her.
Minister Jack remained standing, not approaching,
greeting her from afar with eyes that never left her face.
It was not a look of admiration… but one of questioning.
The others sat on the gilded sofas,
as if this awaited reunion had taken them back to childhood days:
Edward, the youngest prince, laughed, pointing at her:
"Do you remember when you made us run from the guards?!
That night we walked for hours until we neared another village,
all because you heard about a buried map from your father?!"
Rai, the second prince, chuckled:
"Don't forget that trip…
That day my father punished me severely, thinking I was the mastermind!"
Then he smiled at her:
"You were mischievous, Mira."
Ella smiled, feeling embarrassed.
She did not remember any of this,
but she followed the scene carefully so as not to be exposed.
Sam, the eldest prince, scrutinized her features:
"The new country… changed you.
Why are you so calm like this?"
Mira whispered:
"The journey was long… I'm still not rested."
Rai asked:
"How was that land?"
She answered calmly:
"Beautiful… enchanting.
But it's not as beautiful as our homeland."
Darin, the youngest princess, jumped up:
"Did you bring us gifts?!"
She said, eyes sparkling.
Edward teased gently:
"Sister… you lack nothing. Don't be greedy!"
Darin sighed, frowned:
"None of your business!"
Then she sat down, her shoulders twitching with irritation.
Mira laughed and raised her hand:
"I brought the gifts with me,
with my personal guard."
Then she looked at the guard…
glanced quickly at his face,
Was he really carrying the gifts? Or was she pretending?
The guard returned loaded with beautiful wooden boxes,
each labeled with a prince's or princess's name,
filled with perfumes and fine accessories.
She distributed them with a smile… then held a bag without a name.
She paused. Thought.
Who was this for?
Then, without hesitation, she lifted her head and looked at him…
at "Jack,"
the silent, observing minister.
"I haven't forgotten you among my gifts."
She said with a steady smile.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, a suppressed surprise.
"How can I accept a gift?"
Mira looked at him firmly:
"Do I deserve to be refused?"
Jack remained standing like a mountain.
His gaze still doubtful, his voice firm:
"I'm not one to ask for gifts…"
Sam interjected, laughing softly:
"Don't embarrass her, Jack!
She remembered you from her journey… take it."
Jack hesitated… then extended his hand, took the bag,
and said quietly:
"Thank you."
Before anyone could say a word, Mira stood up:
"Excuse me…
I have to leave now, I have work to finish."
Darin quickly rose:
"Mira?! But everyone came for you!"
Ella bowed slightly and smiled:
"I will return… I just need a different air."
Despite their insistence and pleading looks,
she left.
Walking with steady steps…
she felt two eyes following her.
The eyes of Minister Jack.
Mira got into her carriage, with a composed face on the outside,
but inside, her heart was secretly breaking.
The carriage sped through the alleys of the old city,
until it stopped in front of the small palace, abandoned of warmth.
Mira got down, the guard silently welcomed her, then she entered.
As soon as she stepped inside the palace,
the voice of a woman echoed through its halls,
a growling voice, spewing anger at everyone passing by.
Her stepmother was yelling at the servants, overturning tables with her glare,
and when she saw Mira… she gasped angrily:
"Finally… you showed up!
Did you do what your father asked of you?!"
Mira stopped, confusion in her eyes:
"I don't remember… what did he ask me?"
The woman's anger flared, she rushed toward her, then…
A loud slap broke the silence of the room.
"You ungrateful girl!
Have you forgotten his kindness to you?!"
She pulled her skirt tail and left, trailing strands of hatred,
and returned minutes later accompanied by the father.
The father, Martin, his features hardened, eyes shooting embers.
"Do you really not remember?
Or are you simply refusing to do what you were told?!"
Mira, in a quiet voice:
"I don't know what you're talking about…
At least let's sit down."
Everyone sat down… the father, the stepmother, and Mira.
The room was thick with sparks.
Martin (in a voice like a sword):
"I told you before…
You must stay in Nara's palace.
Attract Prince Sam to you, by any means!
Do you understand? We are falling apart…"
"I have lost everything in the town of Ain Al-Jibal—
my reputation… my money… my strength!
And tomorrow… you will return,
accompanied by Nara."
Mira shuddered, tears in her eyes, but she held herself together:
"But, father…
you are asking for the impossible.
Prince Sam loves Nara; his heart does not see me!"
The father, angrily:
"I don't care!
Aren't you a woman?!"
Mira, stunned, stands up:
"What do you mean by being a woman?
To seduce him?! To sell myself?!
I… will never sacrifice my dignity behind an illusion, behind a man who doesn't even see me!"
Stepmother, in a low, malicious voice:
"Look at her…
her voice has grown loud!"
Mira, with burning eyes, responds:
"A loud voice is not insolence,
but the echo of my dignity being trampled before you!"
But the father could not bear it… another slap landed on her cheek.
His voice roars:
"To save our name!
We will vanish among the nobles!
We will remain servants… servants to our enemies!!"
Mira breaks down in tears:
"Are you really my father?
There are a thousand ways to salvation…
a thousand keys and exits.
Why do you want to sacrifice me?!
He will never love me, please… understand!"
But the father stands, his gaze cold as ice:
"The discussion is over.
Tomorrow… to Nara's palace.
You will sleep there,
and you will make Sam fall in love with you,
whether you want it or not."
Then he added words like knives:
"If I had been blessed with a son…
he would have been better than you."
He left with his wife, who walked away murmuring,
pouring her poison into his ear,
and driving a new dagger into Mira's back.
Mira stood alone… tears on her cheeks, but her eyes… blazed.
In a corner of her room, Mira sat alone.
As if the whole world had withdrawn around her, leaving her face to face with herself.
She covered her face with her hands and cried…
cried like the little girl her father lost in the crowd,
searching for a chest to hold her… but finding none.
Suddenly…
Slow footsteps,
and the sound of warm breaths.
An old maid approached her, her face full of wrinkles…
but her eyes still held that tender light, like a mother's.
She bent toward her and hugged her as if embracing a heart broken for years.
"Don't cry, my little one…"
whispered the old woman, her voice trembling with emotion,
"Your mother… was a great, pure woman,
and you resembled her more than you think."
Mira lifted her trembling head, looked into the old woman's eyes.
"Prince Sam… is no longer that boy; he has become a man now.
But you…
are still the girl I promised your mother to protect.
Whichever path you choose,
whichever decision you make,
I will walk it with you,
even if its end is fire… I will not leave you alone."
Before Mira could respond, a young maid in her twenties approached and said eagerly:
"And we too… all of us stand with you.
We love you… and know who you are, even if everyone else forgets."
To be continued...