Part 65

Autumn clouds in the sky.
No, not just autumn, it felt like a season risen from an ancient dream of a lost age. The noon light had descended in a slow, lazy yet solemn manner, as if every scene of this moment were written on the pages of a manuscript. The gravel road, each grain of dust upon it shining like gold in the sunlight.

Usuf moves forward. His fine blue clothing sways like a tide. His horse, white with grey marks, steps with a faint sound like a suppressed growl. Its movement is smooth, filled with confidence, yet in his eyes rests the restraint of a hunter watching an enemy. In his shadowed gaze there is no trace of fatigue, only the sign of carrying an unseen burden.

Beside the road lies a vast pond, its water seeming to have swallowed light for twenty years. Next to it stands a bamboo grove, where the wind plays like a flute. The sound comes so silently that it feels as if some otherworldly spirit is raising a melody through its breath.

All around stretch green fields, spreading far into the distance. As if Ar-Rauf himself had woven a carpet of peace by hand. And within this stillness, beneath dense green leaves, hides a chilling loneliness. As though nature itself has paused within the dream of an old day.

In the distance stand palm and date trees like guards, witnesses to the ancientness of this landscape.

A gentle breeze is flowing. In that wind are the scents of water, dust, bird feathers, and the shadow of some lost song. As the air passes beside the horse’s ears, it trembles and shakes its head with a soft sound.

Usuf stopped.

There was still no shadow of exhaustion in his eyes, yet something inside seemed to be breaking, a silent explosion of weariness. He untied the horse and let it loose upon the nearby grass. The animal calmly lowered its head and began tearing at the grass.

Usuf himself, that tall and strangely gentle young man whose eyes seemed to carry the memories of his past, sat down.

No, he did not simply sit, he slowly let himself sink onto the grass. The grass, still holding the morning dew, left a cool mark upon his forehead.

Placing his hands beneath his head, he looked toward the sky.

That sky, bluish yet so deep that the eyes slowly seemed to sink into a cosmic emptiness. And within that emptiness floated clouds like white cotton, moving at a steady pace, as if recalling the memory of some ancient feeling.

"Rafts of clouds drifting in the blue sky. A mysterious creation of Ar-Rauf." , Usuf himself said quietly, as if the sky alone were his listener. His voice, soft yet heavy, felt like the shadow of a poem. And with those words, the wind seemed to respond. In the gentle breeze, a few strands of Usuf’s hair fell forward. Sunlight played upon them.

Only the call of birds could have broken this silent scene. But today, even the birds seemed to remain quiet in respect for this moment.

There is no sound around. Only at times a faint noise comes from within the bamboo grove. The movement of a bird? Or the breath of someone hiding?

But Usuf does not hear it. His eyes are closing. Nature around him has grown so calm, as if every blade of grass has sworn not to wake him. The sun slowly shifts away, the light that rested upon his forehead sliding down onto the grass.

Usuf has fallen asleep.

He did not even feel the moment when his eyelids lowered. His chest rises and falls slowly. His breathing feels like the rhythm of an ancient poem. After a silent battle, peace at last.

This sleep is not only for rest. This sleep is the pre-echo of some creative future. A young man sleeps within the most innocent yet deepest setting of the world.

And the clouds in that sky are still drifting… drifting.

******

Almost an hour later.

The play of light and shadow was taking on a different form, the fading light of the day slowly seeming to swallow the scent of grass, the whisper of the bamboo grove, and the soft rippling lines of the pond’s water. In the gentle autumn air, something felt torn, a shadow, a pull. Something that can only be felt through absence.

Usuf’s eyes slowly opened. He rose from the haze of sleep and sat up. For a few moments he could not understand where he was. Then awareness returned like a sudden gust, as if someone were whispering inside his ears in a low voice, emptiness, loneliness, something strange… something was missing.

His lips trembled. He narrowed his eyes and looked around, the grass was still, the birds were gone, even the wind seemed to have stopped.

He lay like that for a while. Trying to shake off the sleep completely. He looked toward the sky. The vast sky. Then he sat up. He looked around. An empty field.

Suddenly something struck inside his chest. He slowly said to himself, "I am forgetting something. But I cannot remember." The voice sounded alone, like a lost watch from an ancient hour.

Then, like lightning, it came back to him. The horse. The pouch.

With sudden speed, Usuf’s silent unrest tore through that supernatural stillness. He stood up, dust marked across his body, the grass behind him pressed flat by the warmth of his form. His eyes swept around, beside the pond, the line of palm and date trees, the shadow of the bamboo grove, everything looked the same as before, only inside him nothing was the same anymore.