MasukOur life became quieter after that.Not less complicated.Just quieter.There were still things we didn’t know how to talk about. There were still moments when the weight of our families, our names, and everything that had happened between us pressed against the walls of our home.But somehow, the noise had softened.We learned to protect our ordinary moments.Morning walks when neither of us felt like talking.Late-night conversations when sleep refused to come.Dinner in the kitchen, sometimes carefully prepared and sometimes completely ruined.Arguments over whose turn it was to make tea.Laughing at terrible movies until our stomachs hurt.Falling asleep on the couch and waking up confused about what time it was.Sometimes the palace still felt enormous.Sometimes the attention still felt exhausting.There were days when I couldn’t walk outside without wondering whether someone was watching.There were days when a simple photograph could become a headline.But inside our home, we
Pregnancy made me think differently about his brother.Maybe because suddenly I understood how deeply the fear of losing someone could shape a person. Every day, I carried the fragile knowledge that something inside me depended on me, and with that came a fear I had never known before—the fear of losing someone before I had even had the chance to know them.One evening, we were sitting quietly on the rooftop.The city stretched beneath us, glowing with thousands of lights. Cars moved like tiny sparks along the distant roads, and the cool evening breeze brushed against my skin.He had been unusually quiet.I didn’t ask what was wrong.I had learned that sometimes silence was the only safe place for certain memories.Then, after several minutes, he spoke.“I wonder what he’d think of all this.”I turned toward him.His voice was soft.His older brother.The one I had never met.The one whose death had changed everything.He hadn’t spoken about him in months. I had heard pieces of the st
Omar figured it out before anyone else.Of course he did.He always seemed to know things before we said them. Sometimes, I wondered if he had a secret talent for reading faces, or if he had simply spent so many years around my husband that there was almost nothing left to hide from him.We were having breakfast when Omar walked into the apartment.He stopped near the doorway.His eyes moved to me.Then to my husband.Then back to me.And he smiled.Not a big smile.Just enough.The kind of smile that said he already knew something we hadn’t told him.“What?”I asked, trying to sound casual.He shook his head.“Nothing.”My husband immediately narrowed his eyes.“Omar.”“Nothing.”“You’re smiling.”“I am happy.”“For what?”Omar looked directly at me.Then at my husband.Then back at me.“Some things are obvious.”I nearly choked on my tea.My husband stared at him for several seconds before slowly leaning back in his chair.“You know?”Omar shrugged.“I have been driving you since yo
The news came on an ordinary Tuesday morning.There was nothing romantic about it.No dramatic music.No perfect setting.No beautiful sunrise pouring through the windows at exactly the right moment.Just me standing in our kitchen, holding a cup of tea, staring at the same message on my phone for the third time.I wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.My hands felt strangely still, but my heart was racing.My husband noticed.He was sitting across the kitchen, scrolling through something on his tablet, but he had always been annoyingly good at noticing when something was wrong with me.“What is it?”I looked up.“I think…”He immediately put the tablet down.“You think what?”I handed him my phone.He read the message.Then looked at me.Then read it again.“Maya.”“I know.”He slowly sat down.I sat beside him.For a while, neither of us spoke.We simply stared at each other as if one of us might suddenly know what to say.The future we had been planning suddenly looked different.No
My parents came to Dubai six months after the wedding.My mother had been nervous for weeks.“What if I offend someone?”“You won’t.”“What if I use the wrong fork?”“Mom.”She frowned at me seriously.“What if I accidentally call his father by his first name?”I laughed.“Then he’ll survive.”She didn’t look convinced.My father, on the other hand, was much calmer. He seemed far more interested in what golf courses were available than in the fact that he was about to spend several days surrounded by royalty.Of course.That was my father.While my mother was worried about etiquette, appearances, and making a good impression, my father was already asking my husband about tee times.I watched them both with a strange mixture of amusement and gratitude.Six months earlier, I had been terrified of bringing my parents into this world.Not because I was ashamed of where I came from.I wasn’t.But because I remembered how uncertain everything had once felt.The first dinner between our fami
Three months into our marriage, someone leaked our wedding photographs.Not the official ones.Not the carefully selected pictures that had been released to the public.A private photograph.One I’d never seen before.It showed us standing outside the reception hall, just after the ceremony.His forehead was resting against mine.My eyes were closed.His hand was wrapped around mine, his thumb resting gently against my knuckles.There was nothing scandalous about the picture.Nothing inappropriate.It was simply intimate.Too intimate, perhaps, for the world to see.We looked like two people who had forgotten the cameras existed. Two people who had forgotten the guests, the palace, the expectations, the titles, and the entire world beyond us.Just two people who were in love.By lunchtime, the picture was everywhere.My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.Messages.Emails.News alerts.Comments.Notifications from people I had never met.Opinions from strangers who knew nothing about me but







