[Nessani Kemenlo]

The empty room had stopped the gypsy short; Musif’s words had led her to believe that Khalid would be waiting for her already. She waited a few moments in silence, but when he did not immediately appear, she began to make ready for her departure.

By the time Khalid knocked on the door, Nessani had bathed and donned her cleaned gypsy clothing, white blouse and blue-green skirt. Her hair hung down about her shoulders much as it had when she had first come to Arakmat, but this day, she had treated it with fragrant oil in the way Nahara had showed her, creating glossy black curls. The same oil had been rubbed into her skin after the bath, leaving her tattooed flesh soft and supple and smelling of vanilla and honeysuckle.

She stood, staring out of the crack between the window and the blue fabric that kept prying eyes out. The street could be seen below with people passing now and again but Nessani’s eyes saw none of them. She was lost in a numb, unfeeling haze.

The tumbling of the locks echoed loudly in the silence of the room bringing Nessani painfully back to her senses. She half turned from the window and watched as he pulled back his hood, her thoughts running back to that first day. Her eyes met his for only a moment before she forced herself to look away, lest she fall under their spell. Moving about the room, she busied herself, carefully folding the clothing she had borrowed for the morning’s interview as he watched her. It wasn’t until she no longer felt his heavy gaze upon her that she turned again to face him. Her arms folded across her bare midsection as she watched him unlock the wardrobe.

His business-like handling of her departure stirred the fire within her and she felt her anger flare, flashing in her eyes and the hard set of her jaw. There was no ‘I wish you didn’t have to go, Zayn’ or ‘hurry back to us, little sister’. She knew it was childish and petty of her to obsess over it, and had he known, she was sure Khalid would lecture her on the dangers of emotional attachments in their line of work, but she let the feeling remain. Anger was easier to deal with than melancholy self-pity.

Nessani brushed past him, focusing on choosing what she would take with her, rather than the disappointment she felt. Her head nodded curtly in response to each of his remarks as a pair of trousers were folded and laid on the bed, topped by the pink skirt he had offered her on their first meeting. A small mountain of fabric was piled on the bed when she was finished. The pouch was laid atop like a cherry on the cake before the latch was opened and the contents leafed briefly through.

Everything seemed to be ready and when Nessani couldn’t think of any other excuse not to face him, she turned and looked her big brother in the eye. Those turquoise orbs drew her in and her anger seemed to melt against her will, no matter how she worked to wrap herself in it. The silence grew between them and for a moment it seemed as if she planned to leave Arakmat without having spoken another word to him. At last, she crossed the room to stand beside Khalid. Rising onto the balls of her feet, she leaned in toward him, her hand rising to rest against his chest for balance as she pressed her lips softly to the skin of his cheek.

She pulled back, leaving just a fraction of space between them and whispered a simple. “Thank you”, her sweet breath still brushing his cheek. She didn’t expound on the phrase, offered no explanation as to whether she meant for teaching her his craft, for the generous bounty he and Musif had just given her, or for believing in her enough to defy Musif and invite her into their family – or maybe for all of these. Her body relaxed, lowering to the flat of her feet, her hand falling from where it perched on his chest to hang by her side.