On a stone bench, almost invisible, was a man dressed completely in black. The clothes were simple, worn by wear, not by fashion. And the most disturbing thing: a traditional pashmina covered not only his head, but his face, leaving only a narrow slot where darkness hid his eyes.
—Who is there? —she asked, recovering her posture, the tone of a director, not a prisoner.
—The third option —he answered.
Amira felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.
—Sapphire?
The name was a rumor in that city. A legend. A ghost that no one had seen for ten years.
They said his mother died in a plane crash. They said he survived “cursed”, burned, deformed. They said her face was so monstrous that children would cry if they saw her. They said a thousand things to justify the morbidity.
—Are you hiding here because the light scares you? —challenged him.
He let out a slow breath.
—Hypocrisy disgusts me. The light in there only illuminates lies.
He pointed to the living room behind the glass.
—My brothers see you as a safe with legs. They want your father to die and you to be tamed.
The impudence shook her.
—And what do you see? —she replied, crossing her arms.
Zafir didn't move. It was a statue made of shadow.
—I see a woman calculating the price of her own soul. —Pause—. You don't need a husband, Amira. You need a partner. Someone who won't die if you're smarter.
The way he said it... was not flattery. It was a challenge.
—They say you're a monster —she whispered.
—The world says many things to justify its fears. —His voice lowered a tone—. Maybe I am.
Zafir stood up.
Was tall. Much more than his brothers. Wide shoulders. Dense presence. He didn't impose for shouting, he imposed for existing.
—If you choose me, there will be no covers. There will be silence. There will be the weight of living with a man who does not show his face. Can you... share a bed without knowing with whom?
Before Amira responded, a sweet, poisonous voice cut from the door.
—Amira.
Khalil had opened the terrace. The light from the hallway entered the garden and Zafir immediately retreated into the shade, as if the light hurt him.
—We are waiting for you —Khalil said, ignoring the dark man as if he were a piece of furniture—. Your father asked the notary. The contract is on the central table. It's show time.
Amira looked at Khalil's perfect smile... and felt disgust.
Then he looked towards the shadow where Zafir remained still, without begging, without convincing, simply... present.
He returned to the living room without saying a word.
The room fell silent as Amira stood in front of the ceremonial table.
The notary was sweating, nervous, and offered him a golden feather.
Khalil and Amar stood at his sides like peacocks who already feel like winners. The flashes thundered without sound.
—Miss Amira Salgado —announced the civil judge, microphone in hand—. Which union do you choose to honor and protect the legacy?
Khalil stepped forward, chest puffed out, smile victorious.
Amira took the pen.
His hand did not tremble.
She looked at the crowd, at the superficial brilliance of that society that would judge her no matter what she did. And then his eyes sought the entrance to the garden.
There was Zafir, an ink stain on the golden frame of the room.
Amira breathed.
—I choose the only man who told me the truth.
The murmur started like a wave.
—I choose Zafir Alsaba.
A glass crashed on the floor. Someone let out a suppressed scream. Khalil's lips tightened with pure fury.
