Mahrí Nashir

I arrived at the abandoned temple at sunset. My shadow stretched far ahead, and the air had noticeably cooled—but I welcomed it. The day's heat had given me a headache. The girl must have heard me from afar because I had adorned myself with spirit-chasing bells, same as aaishira wore. But that wasn’t all. I knew she would likely refuse to speak to me again, convinced that she was the target of evil spirits. I decided I had to go even further.

Far out in the fields, away from the village so no one could see me, I placed a cloth over my right eye and poured hot wax into the socket. It felt as if someone was pressing down on my eye, and I was certain I had burned myself a little. But I knew there was no other way. It dawned on me that this was probably the only thing that might make her speak.

With a jingle of bells, I climbed through the broken wall. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, and I finally saw a figure crouched in the corner, swirling with shadows.

"I've come back," I announced, even though I suspected she had already recognized me by my footsteps. I received no response, just as I had expected. But that didn’t bother me. I sat down in the middle of the room and, making sure it was loud enough to be heard, began unpacking the food I had brought. I carefully arranged everything on an unfolded cloth. I continued, "This time, I came prepared. As you must have heard, I'm wearing a sacret bells."

After a moment, I heard a voice from the darkness. "That’s not enough." The voice was indescribably sad and weary. It weighed down my heart. Just as I had thought. The bells weren’t enough.

"That’s not all," I took a sip of hot spiced tea with sheep's milk and continued. "I have my eye sealed with wax, just like you."

Another pause followed. In the distance, I heard the neighing of a wild horse. Then something rattled. A face hesitantly emerged from the shadows, like rising from the depths of the ocean. She turned toward me and swallowed nervously.

"You're lying," she hissed. "I don’t know why you're doing this, why you're putting yourself in such danger. Are you testing me, duuksh?"

"I can’t leave a girl alone in the wilderness. But clearly, you don’t believe me, so I just want to show you that you can trust me. I don’t want to hurt you."

"It’s not about you. I won’t let you hurt yourself, whoever you are," the woman refused, but her voice trembled. It was clear that saying those words pained her deeply.

"Alright, as you wish. If you insist, I won’t talk to you. But that doesn’t mean we can’t share a meal." I unwrapped fried flatbreads with pieces of meat. The scent filled the entire space. I tore one of the flatbreads and held out a piece to her. "Here," I urged. "You won’t refuse offered food, right?"

I gave her a sly smile. It wasn’t just that she looked very hungry—it was tradition. When hospitality was offered, it was extremely rude to refuse. It was a sacred act.

The girl hesitated again. It seemed like she wanted to retreat into the shadows, like an animal into its burrow, but in the end, she hesitantly reached out her hand. Carefully, I placed the piece of food into her palm.

Both of us placed our index and middle fingers on our lower lips, bowed, and said, "Meerim, thank you for the meal and for life you gave me."

The short ritual was over, and we started eating. We ate in silence. I rolled the food over my tongue, but I wasn’t paying attention to the oily, salty taste spreading through my mouth. I was watching the girl. She withdrew a little back into the darkness but remained partially in the warm sunlight. She ate very timidly, nibbling at the flatbread in tiny bites, like a small bird. Then, suddenly, she stopped mid-bite. She swallowed and whispered,

"Duuksh… where did you get these flatbreads?"

I smiled again. She couldn’t resist. She couldn’t stay silent. Just as I had hoped. "Shahíra Nashir baked them today." I held my berath and waited for her reaction.

The girl inhaled sharply, startled. "You know… mother… Shahíra?" she asked, her voice shaking.

A chill ran through me. I had feared this. Still, I tried to answer as naturally as possible. "Yes, I’m staying with the Nashir family. They are kind enough to host me. They’re all very kind people. The house is always lively, but still… it feels like someone is missing." I added the last sentence hesitantly.

The girl’s mouth twisted in a painful grimace. Maybe she would have cried—if she could. Now, she could only shed tears of wax. She placed the flatbread on the ground. She had lost her appetite.

"You’re… Mahrí, aren’t you?" I whispered softly.

The girl shook her head in refusal and fully retreated into the temple’s shadows.

My heart pounded as I tried to organize my thoughts. How could they have done this to their own daughter? What had she done to deserve this? Questions swarmed my mind like a cloud of relentless mosquitoes. I tried to push them away and think rationally. There was no point in judging them until I knew all the facts. Maybe it would all make sense later.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and shadows spread across the landscape. It was time for me to leave.

"I’ll leave the food here, Mahrí," I said and stood up, with the jingling sound of the bells on my clothes.

"It’s not their fault," the girl whispered, though there was still bitterness in her voice. "Don’t blame them, duuksh. They had no choice. The fault lies with me. I shouldn’t even be here. Ghani and Shahír bring me food. It’s dangerous. I’ve told them many times to stop. If aaishira found out, she could banish them too."

"Why? Because you attract evil spirits? I don’t mean to insult your faith, but this is absurd. How did aaishira even come to believe that?" I asked angrily. I knew that doubting the gods and supernatural beings was unthinkable for them, but this wasn’t right!

"I…" Mahrí started but stopped herself. "No, that’s enough. I shouldn’t be speaking to you at all. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t come back, duuksh."

"Stop saying that!" I snapped. Then, realizing I had been too harsh, I took a deep breath and continued more gently. "Please, stop saying such things. If I were afraid of spirits, I wouldn’t be here. And if it truly troubles you, then touch it. Touch my eye. I want you to know that I’m not lying. I want you to stop feeling guilty for talking to me."

With two steps, I reached Mahrí. She was curled up there, looking at me—even though she couldn’t see me. I knelt.

"I want you to trust me, Mahrí. I want to help you."

For a moment, I hesitated. Then I reached out and gently took her hand. At first, she flinched, but then she relaxed. Her skin was smooth and soft as silk. I guided her hand to my face. She stretched out her fingers and touched the wax. She stayed like that for a moment before pulling back.

I waited to see if she would say something. When she didn’t, I stood up and turned to leave. One last time, I looked back—and nearly gasped.

She stood right behind me, her head and hands lowered. The gentle evening breeze played with her hair and dress. She looked mysterious and graceful.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for the food… and for showing me. I appreciate it, duuksh."

I smiled and awkwardly ran a hand through my hair. "It was nothing. I’m glad you feel that way. I know you said I shouldn’t, but… I will be back."

Mahrí didn’t protest. Maybe it was just my imagination, but before she disappeared back into the shadows, I thought I saw her nod slightly.