Between the Grapevines

21. Wahid Wa'Ishrun

When Fayza stirred, her eyes did not open to see the wardrobe that held her clothes nor the sunlight that poured through the balcony she always left open. They opened to the black wall.

For a moment, she doubted that she'd ever awoken to any other sight. For the shortest of breaths, she found herself wondering if she'd ever made it out of this cursed prison in the first place. Had her escape been a sweet dream that her Lord granted her to remove the girl from the misery of the years she spent within the walls? Had Iman and Tamim just been a figment of her imagination that seemed realer than anything else she'd experienced in the past three years?

But if Iman and Tamim had not been real, then... was Riyad not real? No, she refused the thought of it. She wore his ring. Her neck ached as she rolled onto her back and pulled her arm out from beneath her. She lifted her hand in front of her, squinting through her still unclear vision onto her ring finger. It stood bare, with no ring.

Her brows knit. She lifted her other hand, no ring.

Perhaps she could not see well enough yet. It was dark and she could hardly make out anything around her except the faint light coming from the abandoned corridor. Instead, she felt for it with her fingers. She searched around every finger but found nothing.

Then her eyes lowered to the brown sleeves of an all too familiar uniform. She gasped, lifting herself up to peer down at the uniform she wore, dirtied and torn as it had been.

Fayza's eyes darted around her, searching for any sign that four more years had gone by since she escaped. But everything remained just as it was. Even the water dripping from the corner and down each rusted bar that isolated her even further from the outside wall.

"Dear God...," she breathed, feeling her chest begin to tighten as the reality of her situation set in. She'd never escaped. The entire time, she'd been here, asleep, dreaming about all of it.

Iman was a dream.

Tamim was a dream.

Riyad was a dream.

A loud clang came against the metal of her cell and Fayza lifted her gaze to the two men who called her attention. One of them peered down at her boredly, the other lowered himself to her height and slid a tray of rice beneath the cell bars. The spoon rolled against the filth of the ground.

"Finally, she's awake," the standing soldier muttered.

Fayza watched them silently, her glare strong enough to ignite a visible flame in the darkness that loomed over her. Even if she was only a shadow to them, she knew they saw her hatred when one of them narrowed his eyes and moved closer to the bars, throwing one arm lazily over the one that stretched across the space. "Is there a problem, Awad?"

She said nothing again. Thinking to herself of the treatment that had not changed in the slightest, the tone that remained just as it had been, more proof that she'd never left the four walls. It was enough to drive a girl mad. But she could not give them the pleasure. Instead, she remained quiet.

"Don't make me come in there again," he warned her, the corners of his lips pulling up in an animal-like snarl. "I'll beat that disgusting stench out of you again. Is that what you want?"

The soldier beside him snorted. "Is that her smell?" He asked.

"No," Fayza whispered. They both turned to her, no doubt hearing her hushed words through the echo that formed from the space around her. She met their gazes boldly and smirked. "It's your mothers."

"You-," the man began then hesitated as if contemplating something.

"Go in. Go in," the other encouraged him, like two teenage boys daring one another with more immaturity. They both looked behind them, further down the corridor, then unlocked the door and rushed in.