Dinner was a sanctuary. After the evening prayers were completed, the family gathered around the long, mahogany table. The atmosphere was thick with the aroma of saffron rice and roasted lamb.
His father, Ahmed, sat at the head, looking every bit the benevolent patriarch. There was a profound peace in the way they moved—the clink of silverware, the soft murmurs of gratitude, the shared glances.
As Amir watched his parents laugh over a shared memory of a summer in Tangier, he pushed the restless, gnawing questions to the back of his mind.
This was real.
This peace, this legacy, this family. Whatever "ghosts" he thought he saw were surely just glitches in his recovery. He chose to drown the mystery in the warmth of the lemon cake and his sister's endless chatter about bad poetry.
_______
While the Lahman estate was a fortress of quiet tradition, the city center was a riot of color and noise. Tiana took a deep breath of the crisp air as she walked through the park with Reigna.
"I'm telling you, Tiana, if you spend one more Saturday night looking at Excel sheets, I am going to delete the entire Microsoft Office suite from your laptop," Reigna declared, swinging her shopping bag.
"I have the Thorne brief, Reigna! You should have seen how Henderson looked at me," Tiana defended, though she couldn't hide her grin.
Today, she had traded her stained silk blouse for a pair of high-waisted vintage jeans and an oversized thrifted sweater. She felt light.
"I always imagine Henderson to be a gargoyle in a cheap suit. Forget him," Reigna said, pulling her toward the cinema.
They spent the afternoon lost in a mindless romantic comedy, eating popcorn that was too salty and laughing until their sides ached. It was a rare reprieve, a day where Tiana didn't have to be the "hardworking girl with the ruined name."
She was just a twenty five in the city with her best friend.
The high lasted until they reached the mall.
"Oh, look who it is," a sharp, nasal voice rang out near the fountain. "The bargain-bin twins have emerged for a day out."
Tiana stiffened. Standing there, draped in a designer trench coat that probably cost more than Tiana's annual rent, was Alvina. She had been their classmate years ago—a girl who measured a person's worth by the thread count of their sheets and the brand of their shoes.
Alvina looked Tiana up and down, her lip curling in a choreographed sneer. "Tiana, darling. Is that sweater from the 'destitute' collection? And Reigna... still wearing the same boots from senior year, I see. Some people really do stay stagnant, don't they?"
A few people nearby slowed down, sensing a scene. Several teenagers had their phones out, the cameras already rolling in hopes of a "Mall Fight" video.
Tiana felt the familiar sting of shame, but Reigna didn't skip a beat. She stepped forward, a dangerous, knowing glint in her eyes.
"You know, Alvina," Reigna said, her voice loud enough to carry to the gathering crowd. "It's funny you're talking about 'quality' and 'standards.' Especially when you're currently auditioning for that new indie film, aren't you? The one that prides itself on 'wholesome family values'?"
Alvina's smirk flickered. "What does that have to do with your hideous outfit?"
"Nothing," Reigna shrugged playfully. "But it has everything to do with that 'scandalous' little weekend you spent in Vegas last month. You know, the one involving the producer's yacht and the police report that your daddy paid to have buried? I wonder how the casting directors would feel about that footage I happen to have a copy of."
The color drained from Alvina's face so fast it was almost comical. She looked at the circle of phones around them—the lenses pointed directly at her panicked expression.
"I... I have no idea what you're talking about," Alvina stammered, her voice losing its edge.
"Test me," Reigna whispered, leaning in. "Keep talking about our clothes, and I'll make sure your 'Barbie Girl' image is dead before the sun sets."
Alvina didn't say another word. She turned on her designer heels and marched away, her head down, pretending she hadn't heard a thing. The crowd dispersed, some disappointed there was no hair-pulling, others whispering about what they'd just captured.
"Reigna!" Tiana hissed, half-horrified, half-impressed. "Do you actually have footage?"
"Of course not," Reigna winked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"But she thinks I do. And in this town, the fear of the truth is way more powerful than the truth itself. Now, let's go get some expensive ice cream that we can't afford".