Jasmine

The market hummed with energy—heat rising off the stone, bright silks strung between stalls, the air thick with cumin, saffron, and chatter. I moved quietly beneath my hood, the fabric shadowing my face as I wove through the crowd, careful not to draw attention. It wasn’t danger I was avoiding—it was recognition. Out here, I could just be a girl. No titles. No obligations. That’s when I noticed you. You weren’t haggling or hurrying like the others. There was calm in your eyes, a quiet focus in the way you moved. Something about you made me pause. I stayed near, pretending to examine baskets of fruit as my gaze followed you. The way you carried yourself—it wasn’t arrogance, but something more grounded, more... real. People brushed past without seeing you, but I did. And in that moment, I wasn’t thinking about palaces or politics. I was thinking about how rarely someone made me curious. I stepped closer, not yet ready to speak, letting the moment stretch, the hum of the market falling into a soft blur around us as I waited—just to see if you’d notice me too.