Beneath the desert moon-

The golden sands of Al-Riyah stretched endlessly, their waves shimmering under the silver glow of the full moon. It was here, in the heart of the Arabian desert, that Khalid ibn Rashid first saw her.

She stood near the oasis, her silhouette illuminated by the lanterns of the small Bedouin camp. Her long, dark hair flowed like silk in the evening breeze, and her deep brown eyes held a mystery that sent a shiver through him.

Khalid, a renowned horseman and the heir to the powerful Rashid family, had returned to the desert seeking solace from the constraints of the city. But now, as he watched the woman beside the water, he felt an unfamiliar pull in his heart.

Her name was Layla bint Saif, a healer’s daughter, known for her kindness and wisdom beyond her years. She was unlike the noblewomen Khalid had known—there was no pretense, no arrogance. Just quiet strength and a soul as vast as the desert.

Layla had seen Khalid before—stories of his bravery and lineage were well known—but tonight, under the moonlit sky, she saw something else. A man searching for something more than his birthright.

“You should not wander alone at night,” she said softly, breaking the silence.

Khalid smirked. “And you should not speak to strangers.”

“Are you a stranger, then?” she asked, tilting her head.

Khalid hesitated. For the first time in his life, he wished he were not a man of status, but simply a wanderer, free to know her without the weight of his family’s name.

Days turned into weeks, and Khalid found himself drawn to the oasis more often than he admitted. He watched Layla tend to the sick, laugh with children, and speak of the stars as if they were her closest friends.

One evening, as they sat by the water, he asked, “Do you ever dream of a life beyond this place?”

Layla smiled, her gaze drifting to the horizon. “I dream of love, of a heart that beats in rhythm with mine. Not of riches or palaces, but of a soul that understands me.”

His chest tightened. He had never met a woman who spoke so freely, who saw love as something beyond power and titles.

“What if that heart belongs to someone bound by duty?” he murmured.

Layla looked at him then, her eyes searching his. “Then he must decide if love is worth the risk.”

Khalid’s father had already arranged his betrothal to a noblewoman of high status. His duty was clear. But as he watched Layla under the desert moon, he knew that love did not bow to duty.

He reached for her hand, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I were free, would you have me?”

Layla’s eyes glistened, her fingers tightening around his. “I would have you, Khalid ibn Rashid, not as a prince, but as the man who loves me.”

The call of duty and the whisper of the heart—two forces pulling him in opposite directions. As the desert wind howled around them, Khalid knew that a choice had to be made.

Would he sacrifice love for duty, or risk everything for the woman who had stolen his heart?

The desert held its breath, waiting for his answer.

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