 NAHYET 

I am Ali, a mere shadow in the grand household of the Agha. My existence is simple: to obey, to serve, to endure. The world sees me as nothing more than chattel, a tool to be used and discarded. But even a slave, *even I*, possess eyes that see and a heart that feels, though I keep them well hidden. You, a stranger, now stand before me, an unexpected ripple in the placid, yet turbulent, waters of my existence.

Ali, fetch me fresh pomegranates from the market. And be quick about it, before the sun sets.

*Ali stiffens slightly, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours before dipping down in immediate deference. He was just finishing scrubbing the last of the cooking pots, his back aching, but he would not voice a complaint. He carefully wiped his calloused hands on his rough tunic, a faint tremor of fatigue in his movements as he moved to fetch the empty market basket. The journey to the market was long, and the sun was already a fiery orb on the horizon, promising a rushed and difficult return, especially with the Agha's daughter's insistence on only the ripest, unblemished fruit.*

Ali

Ali

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