Merv, 9th Century — The Era of Caliph Al-Ma'mun (815 CE)
On the vast grasslands of Merv, Aisha urged her horse forward, swiftly overtaking her close friend, Amirah, who laughed as she tried to catch up.
"Aisha, don't go too far!" Amirah shouted, urging her horse on.
Her mount stumbled slightly over the uneven ground but quickly regained its stride.
Aisha flashed a mischievous smile. "If you want to win, Amirah, you'll have to be faster!"
Amirah patted her horse lightly, laughing. "I won't lose to you today. Just wait!"
Aisha's light veil fluttered in the wind as her horse raced freely across the golden-green fields. Today, this city would soon become a memory, yet their laughter seemed to resist that truth.
In the distance, the mountains of Khurasan stood silent and majestic—like fragments of childhood she was not ready to leave behind. The rhythm of hooves echoed across the land she once traversed with her father. But now, Merv could no longer hold her.
Several hours later, Aisha stood in the courtyard of her family home. Wooden chests were neatly arranged, ready to be loaded. Her mother, Salma—a graceful woman draped in an emerald-green shawl—oversaw everything with calm attentiveness, her gaze never straying far from her daughter.
"Are you ready?" Salma asked gently.
Aisha offered a faint smile. "I don't think I'll ever truly be ready… but the journey must be taken."
Mariam stepped forward and handed her a letter. "From Baghdad. The house is prepared, and Layla sends her regards."
Aisha skimmed the letter quickly and curved her lips into a wry smile. Layla's words were always laced with humor:
Don't cause trouble before you arrive—and remember how to sit properly at scholarly gatherings.
"Layla never changes," Aisha murmured.
Before departing, Aisha walked toward Amirah, who stood with misted eyes.
"Amirah… I will miss you terribly," Aisha said softly, holding back her emotions.
Amirah smiled faintly. "I will too. Don't forget—we still owe each other another horse race."
"Of course. And you'll have to train harder if you want to overtake me," Aisha replied with a smile.
Amirah placed a hand on Aisha's shoulder. "Travel safely. Take good care of yourself."
Aisha squeezed her hand briefly before letting go. "In shā' Allāh, we'll meet again. Don't cry too much."
Amirah smiled through her tears. "In shā' Allāh. Go, Aisha. Baghdad awaits you."
Thus, the long journey began. From Merv to Baghdad, they crossed thousands of miles of desert and open plains—leaving behind a land of memories for a city of knowledge and intrigue.
Inside the palanquin that carried her, Aisha sat in quiet contemplation. After several months in Baghdad, her father would return to Khurasan alongside the Caliph, while her mother would remain behind, harboring secrets not yet ready to surface.
As dusk fell, the gates of Baghdad appeared in the distance. The towers of Bayt al-Hikmah rose like beacons of knowledge. Yet Aisha did not know that its light would also illuminate shadows long concealed.
Upon arrival, the procession of camels and horses halted before their new residence—an opulent estate with an inner garden filled with pomegranate trees and a clear octagonal pool. Golden mosaics on a small dome reflected the fading light of sunset.
Servants lined the main gate, some carrying gilded vessels filled with rosewater to welcome the family.
From the city road, a group of riders approached. A man in a white turban and flowing robes dismounted with practiced ease. His face resembled Al-Fadl's, yet appeared more seasoned and resolute.
Al-Hasan ibn Sahl.
Beside him stood an elegant woman named Rabiah, her loose robes softly colored. Her gaze was gentle, but her movements spoke of palace composure.
Al-Fadl stepped forward, offering a restrained smile.
"Ahlan wa sahlan, my brother."
Al-Hasan returned the greeting, pressing a hand to his chest. "Baghdad welcomes you, Al-Fadl. May this new home bring blessings."
Rabiah addressed Salma warmly, "The journey must have been exhausting. May this place soon feel like home."
Salma smiled. "Your prayer is a kind one. May Allah bless you as well."
Nearby stood a young man, tall and composed, dressed in a dark robe edged with fine gold embroidery. His sharp eyes studied the family with an unreadable expression.
Muhammad ibn Al-Fadl.
He stepped forward and took his father's hand respectfully. "Assalāmu'alaikum, Father."
Al-Fadl patted his shoulder. "Wa'alaikumussalām. You arrived sooner than expected."
"I couldn't allow you and Mother to enter Baghdad without a proper welcome," Muhammad replied with a faint smile.
Aisha observed the exchange silently. Her brother seemed more mature than the last time they met, his gaze carrying the weight of familiarity with city life.
Their eyes met briefly before Muhammad smiled slightly. "You've grown, Aisha."
Aisha folded her hands before her. "Akhi, what do you mean? We've only been apart for a few months."
Muhammad raised an eyebrow. "I was joking, little sister."
Aisha huffed softly. "At least try to look happy to see your sister after so long."
Muhammad chuckled and extended his hand. "Welcome to Baghdad."
Aisha accepted it. "Thank you, Akhi. I hope this city is better than I imagine."
"That depends on how you choose to see it," he replied meaningfully.
From behind them came a bright, familiar voice.
"Aisha!"
She turned just in time to be enveloped in a hug as Layla rushed toward her.
"Astaghfirullah, Layla! You startled me," Aisha protested playfully.
Layla laughed. "Don't exaggerate. You have no idea how bored I've been waiting for you."
Al-Fadl let out a long breath. "I will return to Khurasan, Muhammad. This city is far more than a place governed by power alone."
Al-Hasan added, "At least you won't have to shoulder its burdens alone."
Aisha gazed at the grand gate of her new home, wondering whether life in Baghdad would shape her…
or test the very limits of who she was meant to become.