The Stranger and the Storm

Later that evening, Farah stood on the porch with a steaming cup of mint tea, watching the horizon turn indigo. The sky was thick with the promise of rain, a welcome break from the dry spell that had lingered too long.

Inside, Nana Salma was humming an old folk tune while stirring a pot of lentil soup. Jiddo Omar sat by the window, sharpening one of his old tools, glancing occasionally at the clouds.

"Storm's coming," he murmured.

Farah nodded. "The fields need it."

Just then, a faint knock echoed from the front gate.

She opened the door and blinked. There stood the same intruder from earlier—Nael—now with a soaked backpack and a sheepish smile.

"Don't say anything. I know how this looks."

Farah narrowed her eyes. "Lost again?"

"Not lost. Just... temporarily directionless. Also, my tent kind of flew away."

Behind her, Nana Salma appeared, eyes twinkling. "Who's this?"

Farah opened her mouth to protest, but Nael beat her to it.

"I'm Nael. I was just leaving."

"Not in this weather, you're not," Nana said firmly. "Come inside before the storm eats you alive."

Farah sighed. "Seriously?"

"You'd turn away a wet traveler, habibti?" Nana teased.

"He trampled my roses!"

Nael winced. "I apologized."

With a dramatic sigh of surrender, Farah stepped aside, letting him in.

---

The house smelled of thyme and lentils, and the rain had begun its soft percussion on the roof.

Nael sat by the fire, rubbing his hands together. "I'm really sorry for the trouble. I'll leave first thing tomorrow."

"Where were you headed?" Jiddo asked.

"I travel. Photograph hidden places. Right now I'm chasing the blooming of the ghost orchid. I heard it might grow near the cliffs north of here."

"Dangerous cliffs," Farah muttered.

"Worth it," Nael replied with a grin.

Nana brought him a bowl of soup and patted his shoulder. "You'll sleep in the guest room. And tomorrow, you help around the farm to make up for the roses."

Nael laughed. "Fair trade."

Farah watched him from across the room. There was something maddening about him—careless, reckless… and yet, something curious too. A spark she hadn't seen in a long time.

She looked away before he caught her staring.

Outside, thunder rolled like a distant drumbeat. Inside, the storm had already begun.