Inked Sapphire (Dear Dahlia Season 3)

10

“Where do we go next?” Dahlia asked, pacing up and down the length of the living room. Saida, who was sitting on the sofa, looked up from her anatomy book.
“You’re still thinking about that?” the heartrender questioned.
“Yes, obviously!” Dahlia snapped back, and Saida groaned.
“Can’t we take a break? We just had Eid.”
“Oh, and that was so hard, was it?”
“You didn’t put up the decorations,” Saida retorted.
Dahlia paused. “Oh.”
“And we spent five hours making curries.”
“Oh,” Dahlia said again.

A few seconds passed before the otkazat’sya went to talk again, but Saida put a finger up. “Ah ah ah! No. Not having it today,” she huffed, getting to her feet.
“Saida, come on!” Dahlia groaned. “You’re not the least bit worried that you know, this djinn is real? That she actually did all that?”
Dahlia blinked when Saida threw the book on the sofa. “For Saint’s sake Dahlia!” she snapped. “Of course I do! But I can’t spend every waking moment trying to find her. You can if you want, but I’m not going to.”

“Why you reading that anyway?” the deliverer asked once Saida had picked the anatomy book up again. “You’re not at the Little Palace anymore.”
“Still good to know what my power can do. The lessons were good, at least.”
Dahlia scoffed. “Lessons that wanted to turn you into a soldier.”

Saida stood up, and Dahlia realised how short she was compared to her. “It did,” she said quietly.

Dahlia watched her sister’s face. “I’m sorry,” she started, but Saida walked out the room.

Now, the otkazat’sya very much wanted to hit her head against the wall. Instead, she put her head in her hands. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” she chastised herself, before rubbing a hand over her face. “Ugh, Saints.”

Saida clearly wanted to be alone, so Dahlia would properly apologise to her later. For now, though, she needed to know where the hell Laiyana had actually lived. And for that, she needed to find the library.

“...How do you not know where the library is?” was Rahim’s response when Dahlia asked him.
“I-I mean,” she stammered, “I’ve been a deliverer for like, two years. Not much time to read.”
“Even on the weekends?” Rahim asked, and Dahlia paused. “Good point.”

The durast sighed. “Third street down, then on the right. I’ll go with you,” he said, getting to his feet.
“You don’t have to-” Dahlia started.
“I need to go with you,” Rahim cut in suddenly. “There’s something you should know.”

Dahlia glanced up the stairs, towards Saida’s room. Rahim shook his head. “Leave her,” he said gently. Then, he motioned with his head to the door, and Dahlia and him stepped out onto the street.

After fifteen minutes, the library came into view. Dahlia blinked when she saw the banner titled ‘500 YEARS’ hanging from the roof.

“Wow. Long time,” Dahlia muttered. Rahim stepped in, with Dahlia behind him. “This library used to be a bookstore. The Shadow Girl was first published here.”

Dahlia looked at her father, amazed. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s how I got work here in the first place. Being a descendant of Laiyana has its perks,” he added, grabbing a book from the shelf and swinging his arm.
“So people knew?” the otkazat’sya asked, confused.
“I’m joking,” Rahim replied.
“Oh.”

“But because I worked here,” the durast continued, “I got to know all the little nooks and crannies. And when you know a place well - ” he said, approaching a wall away from the main section of the library, before manipulating the wood to open it  - “you get to know all its secrets.”

Dahlia’s jaw dropped. Inside was an empty mohagany bookshelf, along with a display full of notebooks, each one older than the last.

“Are they…?”
The durast smiled. “All real.”

“They must be really old,” Dahlia whispered.
“Oh, they are,” Rahim replied. Then, his smile dropped. “Don’t touch them. If they turn to dust, that’s on you.”
Dahlia held her hands up in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She went over to the display. “And these are…?”
“The author’s journals. She gave them to the library centuries ago.”
Dahlia nodded, remembering the author. “She wrote it like she witnessed the whole thing.”

“Well, she could’ve,” Rahim said quietly. Dahlia and him lapsed into silence for a bit, the possibility of a spectator disturbing them.

Walking over to the display, Dahlia could see the journals sprawled out, showing drawings and pages upon pages of neat writing. There were other bits of writing - short, frantic bursts, like it’d be forgotten if it wasn’t written down in that moment.

“This writing is awful,” Dahlia muttered. “I can’t read much of it at all.”
Rahim laughed. “That’s Laiyana for you.”
“...Laiyana wrote this?” Dahlia asked.
“Your writing is also awful,” Rahim added.
Dahlia gasped. “My writing is amazing! Classic poetry.”
Rahim shook his head at his daughter.
Dahlia then repeated her question. “Laiyana wrote this?”
“Well, I think she did. But…a theory isn’t the same as knowing something.”
“I guess,” Dahlia said.
“That’s what historians do, isn’t it? Guess at stuff.”
Dahlia laughed now. “Not a historian. But, they infer. Try to understand.”
“So, guessing.”

It was Dahlia’s turn to shake her head now. Rahim looked at the clock near the library’s bookshelves. “We should get going. Don’t want people to see this.”
“I’ll tell Saida,” Dahlia said.
“Good idea,” Rahim agreed, and the two made their way back.

Dahlia knocked on Saida’s bedroom door. “Can I come in?”
“Yes,” Saida sighed. Dahlia slipped in and closed the door.
“I’m really sorry for what I said earlier. It was insensitive. Should’ve watched my mouth.”
Saida didn’t look up from her book. “Anything else?” she gestured with her hand.
“Papa and I went to the library. The author’s journals are there.”

Saida’s head snapped up. “What?” she gasped.
“It’s there. All of it. The author’s, Laiyana’s…all there.”

“Are you sure it’s Laiyana’s?” Saida asked.
“What?” Dahlia asked, flabbergasted. She laughed, “of course it’s-”
“Those were the author’s journals, right?”
“Yeah, and?” Dahlia asked, sitting on the bed.
“Well, is it actually Laiyana’s, or did you just take Papa’s word for it?”
“Papa did admit he was guessing, so…” Dahlia trailed off. “Still, that’s something, right? And the author drew things too. Like…” she snapped her fingers. “Ugh, why am I forgetting? She drew the characters - well, our ancestors.”
“And the djinn?” Saida asked.
“Nope. No djinn.”

“Thank Allah,” Saida muttered. “Don’t want to see her face again.”

Dahlia was about to get up when Saida spoke once more.

“I read it, and I’ve been thinking about the ending. What the djinn did, wasn’t needed. She was already gone.”

As always, Dahlia stiffened when the ending was mentioned. “So what does that tell us?”

“That she’s unnecessarily violent. Be careful.”

Dahlia nodded, and tentatively leaned her head on Saida’s shoulder. Saida noticed her tenseness and sighed softly, scooting closer to her sister.

Outside the window, on the horizon, the sun began to set.