Fatima sighed, putting down her shuttle. She pulled Al-Zahra close, stroking her hair. "I know, habibti. We must have faith. But…" Her voice trailed off, the unspoken fear hanging in the air. "Your grandmother used to tell stories of times when the desert tested the oasis. Times when balance had to be restored."
"How, Mama? How was it restored?"
"Sometimes through sacrifice, sometimes through wisdom… sometimes," Fatima murmured, looking towards the darkening desert horizon, "through listening."
That night, Al-Zahra’s sleep was restless. She tossed and turned, the heat of the night pressing in. Then, she found herself standing not in her familiar room, but under a vast, star-dusted sky. Before her stretched the desert, not the harsh, sun-baked expanse she glimpsed from the oasis edge, but a landscape bathed in soft moonlight, the dunes rolling like gentle, silver waves.
The silence was profound, yet it wasn't empty. A soft sound, like a million tiny grains of sand shifting and sighing, rose around her. It wasn't the harsh wind of a sandstorm, but a gentle breeze that seemed to carry whispers. These whispers weren't words she could understand, yet she felt their meaning – a deep loneliness, a longing, a subtle plea.
As she listened, mesmerized, tiny sparks began to glitter in the air, like diamond dust carried on the whispering wind. The sand beneath her feet seemed to shimmer with the same light. The whispers grew slightly, swirling around her, and she felt, rather than heard, a sound coalescing, forming into something recognizable.
*Al-Zahra…*
It wasn't spoken aloud, but breathed by the desert itself, a sigh carried on the wind, echoing in the vastness. It wasn't demanding or angry, but soft, almost sad.
*Listen…*
Al-Zahra woke with a start, her heart pounding. The first light of dawn was filtering into her room, painting the walls pale gold. The dream lingered vividly: the sparkling sand, the whispering wind, the feeling of being called. The memory of the elders' helpless faces, her mother's worry, and the fading spring rushed back, but now, mixed with it, was something new – a flicker of purpose.
She sat up, the feeling solidifying within her. The desert wasn't just empty space; it wasn't just a threat. It was… listening? And maybe, just maybe, it wanted someone to listen back. Elder Yusuf had said the desert demanded something. Her grandmother had spoken of listening. The dream had whispered her name.