(this incredible poster is the handiwork of our lovely host @sazanes!!)
Welcome to our third Kiara Theron Appreciation Week! That time of the year when we get together and celebrate this wonderful character (though to be honest, every day is a great day to celebrate Kiara).
This year, we will be holding this event around May 21st, which is World Day for Cultural Diversity for Dialogue and Development! Basically, a day specially meant to celebrate all cultures and diversities. And which estate is best known for its rich culture, art and literature? Castelserraillan, of course!
Here are our themes for this year:
Day 1 - May 21st - Culture/Festivals
Day 2 - May 22nd - Character Appreciation/Throwback
Day 3 - May 23rd - Languages/Wine
Day 4 - May 24th - Diplomacy/Nature
Day 5 - May 25th - Family/Friendships/Romance
Any content is welcome - art, fanfic, edits, essays, moodboards, interactive media, headcanons...even short appreciation posts and screencaps! Our only requirement is that the content should be Kiara-focused and depict her positively.
Each day has a theme, and some will have two. For those days, you can choose whichever theme you prefer or you can even combine them! It isn't completely necessary to post the content exactly on the day it's meant for...just make sure you tag it with the day and theme even if you're submitting it on a later day.
We also will be accepting pieces after the event is over, and all year round until the next KTAW! So even if you have your post ready much later, please don't hesitate to tag us! 🤗
Blogs to Tag: @hanaleeappreciationweek, and hosts @lizzybeth1986 and @sazanes
Tags to Use: #kiaratheronappreciationweek, #KTAW, #KTAW 2024
There are some incredible fan-community blogs that work tirelessly both to promote creative fandom works and make the experience fun for their writers! Do check them out!!
If you know any others who would like to be tagged, please let me know! Here are the amazing works sent in for 2023 and '22 if you'd like to get more inspired!
KTAW 2022 | KTAW 2023
Can't wait to see all our fellow Kiara fans next month!!
Summary: It's the night before Kiara and Hana's wedding! What fun things do Kiara's cousins from Fes have in store for their henna night?
A/N: You'll find details and visuals on the fashion and henna designs (as well as faceclaims for the OCs!) in this post.
Tagging @kiaratheronappreciationweek for KTAW Day 1: Culture, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW/LGBTQ Archive, @choicespride as well even though it may be a bit early for the pride event.
It is tradition - Kiara has been told over and over, wedding after wedding, from the time she was twelve - for a woman to have her bridegroom's name hidden in the designs of her henna.
Their families back in Fes would make a game of it on their wedding night; the groom could touch his bride only when he found his name, tiny and dark and perfect - leaving the most beautiful stain on her palms.
At least four (well...three, really) of those cousins had giggled over how it all went down at their own wedding nights. Nour's henna had her husband's name written in extremely small print, squirreled away among a row of curls. Imane's flowed along the curves of a large, floral paisley. Nissrine's husband was rumoured to have taken hours searching for his name in her henna and poor Fatimazahra's collapsed into an eight-hour slumber before he could even truly try.
All four of them laughed even harder when they were told that Kiara would be marrying a woman.
At first Kiara assumed it had to be the fun of celebrating two brides rather than just one. Double the joy, double the dancing, double the bridal henna!
Should've known better, Kiara mutters to herself as her eyes search frantically for telltale signs of calligraphy along the darkened vines on Hana's palm.
She almost lets out a triumphant yell when she catches a lovingly inscribed kaaf, deceptively mirroring the vines. That's before she realises the other four letters are scattered in Arabic all over Hana's palm.
Kiara purses her lips, immensely annoyed. Why did she think this to be so romantic in the first place?
"Oh!" Hana whispers in delight, "Look! I've found mine." Her finger lightly traces the soft skin underneath Kiara's little finger, caressing the spot where her own name is inscribed, in Mandarin....as a whole word. Her eyes sparkle in childlike glee.
Kiara manages to catche an alif peeking out from behind a flower on the soft skin just below Hana's thumb. She lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking her head.
Perhaps she should thank every deity of every faith that her parents' gave her a name as short as Kiara. Imagine her plight if it had been as long as Fatimazahra's, zut alors.
"My darling cousins," she says, her eyes still roaming over Hana's palms. Now...now she understands all those hearty cackles Nour seemed to be making, at the idea of arranging a henna party for two women. "Elles me conduiront à ma tombe!"
--
Every woman at the henna party in Castelserraillan that night shared very knowing grins as Kiara and Hana entered - completely blissed out, skin dewy and aglow, a mixture of a french lavender scent and the earthy aroma of ghassoul clay emanating from their bodies.
They'd been brought into the hall like princesses of old, carried in jewelled palanquins, dressed in caftans and takchitas whose golden threads reflected the soft light of the hall, the candles that seemed to receive their own henna treatment in tones of pink, purple and rose gold, and their light glowed softly in trays of pure gold.
Having experienced the joys of the pre-henna night hammam baths themselves, most of Kiara's aunts and cousins could tell how good the treatments must have been within the first ten minutes of a bride entering the ceremony.
Beneath her golden veil, Kiara's eyes roamed around the hall, in awe of the sheer love and detail that must have gone into planning this party alone. Both women being daughters to a multitude of cultures meant that Kiara and Hana had to pay their respects to several of their homes - Bethulia. Castelserraillan. Udvada. Orleans. Fes. Shanghai. Cordonia. - in different ceremonies, and include a multitude of relatives.
Which meant that Kiara's aunts and cousins knew this night was their moment to shine.
Hana was whisked to another corner of the room before Kiara could even get a chance to speak to her - a bevy of ladies already surrounding her to fulfill requests, give her mint tea, admire the henna's artist's craft or just for a small chat. Anything and everything Hana wanted. Tonight (and this was exactly how Kiara wanted it) Hana was going to be treated like a queen.
From under her lashes, Kiara sneaked a look at Hana. The woman she would call her wife tomorrow. Listening, nodding, her silken brown hair catching the glow of the lights as she threw her head back at a joke her aunt Hala said.
"If you stare any harder you'll bore a hole in the wall behind her," Nissrine came to her, grinning as she followed Kiara's gaze. She looked around the hall, slightly doubtful. "How did we do?"
Kiara laughed, placing her free hand on her cousin's arm, reassuring her with the word they would all use to describe something as beautiful. "Zwina."
Fatimazahra - who had been minding the caterers this whole time - seemed to appear out of nowhere, chukling. "Tomorrow is her wedding night. Of course everything will be zwina. The macroute will be zwina, her henna will be zwina, her wife will be the most zwina."
Kiara moved her gaze from Hana to her own palms, admiring the naqasha's speed and precision. The henna felt cool on her left palm, the designs on her arms already beginning to dry a little and the paste itself smelling pleasant and earthy - the way real henna should.
The naqasha - an experienced henna artist from their hometown whose team had become popular among the family circles for their vast knowledge of different henna styles (Indian, Pakistani, Khaleeji, Fassi, Marrakechi, Meknessi, Saharawi - you name it) - had finished making a beautiful dome at the centre of Kiara's palm, and was now referring to a tiny piece of paper Imane seemed to have given her before carefully writing out Méihuā - the name Hana's paternal family often used for her - in Hànzì script.
Kiara smiles mistily as she watches Soraya, the naqasha, labour over each character of the script, making sure she never got a single line or slant wrong. Hana often told her that that name reminded her of happier times, far more than her own birth name did. It meant plum blossom - the flower that grew fragrant and resilient in the snow, China's national flower. Her Năinai's favourite flower.
And over the past year...she'd begun to answer to it a little more too.
Kiara mouthed a silent "thank you" to Imane as she sauntered to her side, looking very pleased with herself.
"Wonderful work, Soraya," she patted the naqasha lightly on her shoulder, "What oils did you add in the henna paste this time?"
"Tea tree, geranium and lavender," Soraya said, smiling, "She can hold her hands in front of some herbal incense later. A lovely rich colour and the scent will be incredible."
"Ohhh...what a deep stain it'll leave behind when the henna comes off!" Imane looked back at Kiara, winking. "Remember what our aunts used to tell us, Kiara? The darker the stain of the henna, the deeper the essence of his love. Or her's, in this case."
Kiara was grateful for her golden veil as heat creeped up her neck. Maman loved that adage, ever since her own wedding where - if Kiara's aunts were to be believed - her henna deepened to a dark, rich brown without even holding her hands to a brazier like everyone else did.
Kiara always liked to call herself a practical woman. But this didn't stop her from dreaming of showing Hana her palms, rich and deep brown from both henna and their love.
"Is Hana liking her designs?" Kiara asked Imane.
"Iyyeh," Imane nodded. "Soraya's girls have really outdone themselves. Indian designs are usually very elaborate, but Hana wanted something simple, a little floral."
She gave Kiara a wolfish grin, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "I think you're going to love it."
Kiara narrowed her eyes at Imane. She knew that look. It was the kind she would give all her cousins when, as children, she was about to do skin her knees climbing the branches of a fig tree.
Kiara was going to open her mouth to ask what Imane had in mind, when the low, deep strains of the guembri rang throughout the room.
It was Nissrine's younger sister Nour, closing her eyes in reverence and plucking the strings of the family guembri - a legacy from her father, a renowned Gnawa master himself. The guembri had been in the family for generations, itself decorated with henna patterns so intricate it would amaze even the best of naqashas.
As the women in her family got up to dance to "Toura Toura", a song Kiara would listen to and relish in 12 hour lilas every year in Fes (singing in Bambara - a language neither she nor her cousins truly understood but loved to hear), she found herself somehow dancing next to the woman she had been craving to see for the last few hours.
"Well, hello there," Kiara said, sneaking a kiss to Hana's cheek.
Hana giggled. "Fancy running into you."
They danced until their feet were sore, until their eyes begged for sleep, until their henna dried - leaving behind a stain that was a deep, dark, rich brown.
--
"They did that on purpose!" Kiara huffs, ten minutes after she has triumphantly shown Hana the final letter - the rāy curling at the base of her wrist. "They were planning to annoy and vex me this entire time. If they were here right now I'd tell them to go cook themselves an egg."
For all her grumbling, however, Kiara was quite overjoyed. She had hoped that her extended family in Fes would adore Hana just as much as she did, that they would love her and pamper her silly. They went above and beyond; they made Hana's first real experience of Morocco practically unforgettable.
It was. In every sense of the word. Even if that involved secretly pulling Kiara's leg.
Hana pouts, her fingers still tracing the name on Kiara's palm. "I wish they scattered letters for me too. Seems like more of a challenge." She shifts a little more into Kiara's arms, turning her gaze to her own palms. "Not that I don't love your henna already. It's gorgeous; look at these curls in the center! They remind me of a compass rose."
Hana runs her fingers purposefully along the length of Kiara's body. She presses five tiny kisses along her face.
"A kiss for each letter," she hums happily against Kiara's skin, "A just reward for your hard work."
Laughter bubbles in Kiara's throat. "Only five?"
"Kiara Yasmine Thorne," Hana's voice takes on a raspy, sultry quality, "Don't be greedy."
"Ma moitie," she whispers back, "I believe tonight's the one night when greed is allowed."
Hana bites her lower lip to stem her own laughter, then lets her lips roam free over Kiara's face.
"Fine, then," Hana huffs in mock-petulance, only too happy to go along with the joke, "Eighteen kisses it is."
Kiara buries her hands in Hana's hair as she breathes in the fragrance from between her shoulder and neck. "I won't mind if you give me more...but alright. Eighteen's a start."
Translation -
Darija:
Kaaf (ك), yaa (ي), alif (ا)(twice), rāy (ر) are the isolated letters that - I think - will form Kiara's name in Arabic. I believe that it may look somewhat like this (كيارا) when written as one word, but the letters are meant to be scattered around Hana's henna just to tease Kiara.
Ghassoul/Rhassoul clay - a type of clay that some people use as a cosmetic product for their skin and hair. It’s a brown clay only found in a valley in the Atlas mountains of Morocco. The term “rhassoul” comes from an Arabic word that means “to wash.” Typically used in hammam baths.
Zwina - a compliment, literal meaning is beautiful or good.
Macroute - a diamond shaped sweet cookie filled with dates and nuts or almond paste.
Naqasha - Henna artist
Guembri - a three stringed skin-covered bass plucked lute used by the Gnawa people
Lila - a rich ceremony in the Gnawa community, of song, music, dance, costume, and incense that takes place over the course of an entire night, ending around dawn. Learn more here.
Toura Toura - Popular Gnawa song. Here is a version by Innov Gnawa.
French:
zut alors - an expression of annoyance, like saying "darn!" or "damn!", mostly used in non-serious instances.
Elles me conduiront à ma tombe! - They will lead me to my grave!
Va te faire cuire un œuf! - Literally, "go cook yourself an egg!". An expression of annoyance, similar to "go take a hike!" or "leave me alone!"
“I thought you wanted a job, not a husband.” Coming from anyone else, the statement would have been naïve, or perhaps condescending. But it had come from Riley Zane, who didn’t inhabit the world of the Cordonian Court, but who also wasn’t as jejeune as many had dismissed her to be. From the first, there had been a shrewdness to her that Kiara found a bit unsettling, though not that surprising.
Everyone had secrets, after all. Kiara suspected that Riley’s were as nebulous as her motives. The woman had a Master’s degree in political science from Columbia University, but she had thrown her hat in to compete for a practice that she couldn’t quite hide her disdain for. Not everyone at Court could see it, but Kiara had more practice than some at reading others. Her parents had taught her that she would need such a skill, in their world and in the outside world alike.
Hiding her disdain was also something Kiara had practice in. She didn’t have the luxury of rolling her eyes at Madeleine’s directive.
“I do, but it never hurts to have both.” In truth, Kiara had no interest in a marriage that didn’t resemble her parents’ with their mutual respect and admiration. But that was a truth she kept close to her chest.
Of course, some people were remarkably oblivious to the truth.
“Hana is much more than beautiful. She’s also kind, witty, brilliant, and quite a talented baker.”
No one else seemed to be catching on to the fondness in Riley’s gaze as she spoke about Hana, the way her eyes locked with Hana’s, and the blush on Hana’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the attention the two men were giving her.
“That is quite the endorsement, Lady Hana. Do you have any other references?”
“References?” Kiara couldn’t hide her surprise.
“A wife isn’t unlike an employee or business partner. It’s important to hear from those who know the candidate to ensure a good fit,” Rashad explained.
Well. Kiara could understand Rashad’s business-mindedness, to a point. But it struck her as rather arrogant for Rashad to eschew social graces for such bluntness.
“Indeed,” Neville nodded. “Reputation is everything at court. It’s a pleasure to encounter a lady with such a good one.”
If Riley picked up on what may have been a bit of a dig toward her (and Kiara would wager that she did) she didn’t care. “It’s very well-deserved,” she said, eyes settling on Hana again.
Well this was interesting. Riley was clearly interested in Hana, an interest that Hana likely returned, based on the interactions Kiara had observed, interactions that could easily be passed off as friendship if one wasn’t paying very close attention to body language and expression. Yet they both understood the need for Hana to make a potential match. Of course it also begged the question of what Riley was up to, if the photographs of her with Tariq told the entire story.
“You should meet my poodles!” Penelope said abruptly, distracting Kiara from her train of thought. “Dogs are the best references; they have a sense about people.”
That must be… a joke?” Rashad said, hesitating.
“Er… yeah,” she agreed. “Just a funny, silly joke…”
Kiara cringed inwardly. Penelope was eccentric, but she didn’t have the wit to leverage it to her advantage.
“Lady Kiara,” Rashad began, moving his attention away from Penelope. “I understand you plan to work in the foreign ministry? I admire your ambition.”
Kiara put on a charming smile. Rashad wasn’t a terrible prospect, but she needed to buy herself some time, play a long game in order to decipher whether Madeleine’s promise to wield her connections for Kiara would be fulfilled. Besides, Kiara had her standards. A European man, particularly an international businessman, ought to be multilingual. “Oui, Monsieur Rashad. Ce serait un saint-graal pour moi.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French,” he replied, looking a little baffled.
Riley’s eyebrows raised long enough for Kiara to notice. Kiara could relate to her surprise. Still, Rashad wasn’t a lost cause. Probably.
“ Entschuldigung?”
Neville perked up before Rashad could respond. “Is that German? Such a beautiful language.”
Kiara wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or if he thought that would impress her, but an awkward silence ensued.
“You know, Hana is very ambitious! She masters anything she puts her mind to,” Riley said. It was a bit abrupt, but Kiara found herself grateful for the distraction.
“That is very impressive, Lady Hana,” Rashad agreed.
“Yes, the court is a demanding place. I have learned a lot in my time here,” Hana said.
“You’re too humble, Hana. You have excelled here because you prepared,” Riley said, giving Hana the adoring look again.
Hana smiled, nodding. “I guess I have worked hard for this.”
“Preparation is the soul of success,” Rashad noted.
“That’s what I always say!” Riley flashed a too-wide smile.
Neville sighed. “The court certainly is dog-eat-dog. It is most impressive for anyone to survive with their character intact.”
“Dog-eat-dog?” Penelope gasped. “I’ve never heard of anything so barbaric!”
“It’s an expression…” Neville said slowly, his brows furrowed in confusion.
Rashad looked to Neville and lowered his voice slightly. “Maybe we should keep the conversation simple for Lady Penelope’s sake.”
“Oh…” Penelope trailed off, her lip quivering. Kiara wracked her brain for something to say that might distract her.
“So Rashad, what do you do for the ole nine to five?” Riley asked. Her stance shifted. Kiara wondered what her game was.
“I am a partner at Sloan Enterprises, where I primarily handle legal matters.” Rashad answered.
“Un entrepreneur?” Kiara asked, cocking her head to the side. If he couldn’t decipher cognates, then she would have to write him off entirely.
Rashad regarded her carefully before nodding once. “Indeed, though my business partner is the real visionary.”
“If your partner is the brain, that must make you the looks,” Penelope flirted, smiling coyly at Rashad.
Rashad scowled. “I’m sure you intended that as flattery, but I contribute far more to the business than my looks.”
What it must be, to be a man and be allowed to be indignant over attitudes that women faced on a daily basis. Kiara could feel her patience stretching thin, diluting to a point that it wouldn’t cover her annoyance in any language. While Penelope’s statement had been cringeworthy at best, Rashad ought to be able to read people; he had grown up in the Court, would have trained in diplomacy not only at home but wherever he studied, would have honed his skills, ought to be able to see Penelope’s awkwardness, see her eyes filling with tears.
“You seemed hesitant to mention your title when Countess Madeleine made the introductions,” Hana said, deftly drawing Rashad’s attention.
Rashad’s anger was still etched in his face, but his features began to smooth out as he responded. “Yes, well, I prefer to let my personal accomplishments speak for me, rather than my lineage.” Kiara felt some of her diplomacy returning. She could appreciate Rashad’s desire to be seen for his skills and not his surface attributes.
“And you, Lord Neville? What do you do?” Riley asked, her tone perfectly balanced with polite interest that was neither feigned nor overly eager.
“I help my father manage the affairs of Cormery Isle and my family’s estate,” he explained flatly. “It’s quite a demanding job, and it usually keeps me away from court.”
“Well, it sounds like you could use someone like Hana. Someone who can be a perfect hostess at a royal ball just as easily as she can make you laugh after a long day of work.” Riley was hyping Hana up to absurd levels. Kiara wondered if she was being purposeful as a result of jealousy, or if she was calculating a future in which she was ensuring a stable future for Hana that might include a discreet affair. Kiara could appreciate the pragmatism, though it was a bit depressing to think about such a cynical possibility.
Neville’s look toward Hana was appreciative. “If Lady Hana is all you say, a proposal may be imminent!”
“A good partner is even more valuable than a good assistant,” Rashad agreed.
“I couldn’t agree more!” Hana gave a dazzling smile, raising her glass as the two men clinked their glasses with her.
How romantic.
“Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt, but there is someone else I would like to introduce you to,” Madeleine smoothly interrupted as she sauntered up to the group.
“Of course,” Rashad said, moving away from the group. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure. Especially you, Lady Hana.”
Neville bowed again, his eyes on Hana. “Until we meet again.”
“Enjoy the picnic!” Riley chirped, waving goodbye to the men as they followed Madeleine.
“I don’t think that went very well for me,” Penelope mumbled, staring into her lemonade.
“There will be other suitors, Penelope,” Kiara gave her arm a light squeeze. Penelope was a pedestrian in a world of automobiles; fragile, but she had more adeptness than she appeared. Surely she would find another pedestrian. Someone kind.
Hana looked at Riley. “What did you think of the guys?”
“They seemed…stable.”
“Stable?” Hana chuckled. “That’s… romantic.”
Kiara regarded the way the two women looked at one another. No, Hana wasn’t yearning for stability.
“I don’t know,” Hana mused. “Didn’t they seem kind of… boring?”
Well that sealed it. Hana had found herself, Kiara would wager, a bit of a mystery in Riley. The woman almost certainly had secrets. No wonder she had been able to infiltrate the Court. The thought made Kiara slightly uneasy. Hana struck her as being something akin to a fawn, and Riley a wolf.
Tantalizing scents wafted through the air. Penelope turned as a waiter walked by with a tray. “Mmmmm! Smells like my grandmother’s curry chicken. I have to try it!”
Kiara felt her stomach rumble. “Oh, grab me some!” She followed Penelope.
The chicken was well-seasoned and perfectly cooked, a welcome distraction from the mysteries and politics of Court. Kiara knew it was all par for the course, but it so often lacked the finesse, the communication of diplomacy, which had always struck her as more of a dance than a game of chess.
“She wears it well.”
Kiara was shaken from her musings. “Sorry?”
Penelope dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Riley. It’s a bold choice, to wear trousers. And an off the rack blouse. But she looks good. Charming. She knows how to choose clothing, I suppose is what I’m saying.”
Kiara thought about the outfits Riley wore, how they were fitted but overall rather conservative, about how she was dressed practically today, about how her usually pinned up hair was styled today in a single braid off to the side. It was calculated, purposeful. Riley was an interesting person, could be an ally, in better circumstances, had the potential to be a formidable opponent.
“Confidence,” Kiara said. “Riley has a great deal of confidence.” And cleverness. Kiara wondered how much Riley had unveiled of her cleverness, wondered what she hoped to accomplish. Perhaps she had similar goals. She had shown skill in negotiation today, after all. But as ever, the question of whether it was worth it came to the forefront.
Kiara blinked. She supposed she could ask herself the same question. Surely there were other avenues to her career goals. She had also trained at a top university, after all. Then again, she lacked a certain freedom, due to her family’s position as one of the Great Houses. It was a privilege that was saddled, always, with a precise need for delicate balance and tact.
Kiara suppressed a sigh and sipped her lemonade. Diplomacy was an art, one she enjoyed. But it was also a science, and with all sciences, it came with the tedium of observation, the holding of breath as one waited to see if the results would confirm the hypothesis.
On a sunny spring morning, a little Robin redbreast bird came fluttering the wings, setting it‘s tiny claws on the window sill. It tilted it’s head to one side and then the other wondering what lied beneath the floral quilts. It tweeted softly calling out, if anyone was around. When nothing happened, it crooned loudly until the quilts moved. Excited to get a response it flew around the room in two circles chirping in a high pitch before it trailed away into the trees outside.
The quilt was now lying in double, the owner sitting upright, confused by nature’s morning alarm. Her black hair was all tousled around her head, while a few fell on her face. She released her breath in a puff, sending a strand of hair up her brow, only to land back on her lips.
Her phone played the ringtone she had set for a special someone. She plunged to the side table and lay on her tummy to receive the call.
“Hey…”
“Bonjour, Ma belle!” Rashad said in his sultry voice.
“Ahaan?” Kiara raised a brow listening to words of endearment in French. “Bonjour mon beau!”
“You are awake. Mon Amour.” He made a statement rather than asking her.
“Hmmm. Your spying little bird just woke me up with its noisy whistles.”
“Je suis vraiment désolé! But I am jealous of that bird. He gets to see you early in the morning.”
Kiara snorted at his attempt to sprinkle French words in his dialogues. She flipped on her back, holding the phone in one hand and combing her fingers through her tangles with the other hand. “Exactly how many French words did you learn last night?”
“I am afraid I may have only one or two left…Ma chérie.”
She started laughing and he joined in. He felt helpless when it came to matching her linguistic skills.
“Is there something special today?” She asked, although she knew.
“My workaholic girl, it’s Valentine’s day.”
“And what’s in your mind?”
“You will see, mon Amour. See you later at the council hall. “
“See ya.” She smiled and was about to hang up when he called again.
“Kiara?”
“Oui?”
“Je t‘aime”(I love you.) He played his last french card.
Kiara giggled “Moi aussi.” (Me too.) She replied.
*****************
She entered her work space in the council hall complex to grab her documents before heading to the meeting. Mr Thomas trailed behind her but stopped at the door. “A little note was delivered from Lord Rashad ‘s office a few minutes ago. I have placed it on your table.” He informed her.
“Thank you Mr Thomas. I will have a look.”
She saw a simple white envelope and opened it to check the contents. A letter.
She sat down for a few minutes to read it...
Meine liebe Kiara,
Ich kann nicht aufhören, an dich zu denken. Du gibst meinem Leben einen Sinn. Mit dir wird niemals langweilig. Ich will mit Dir Zeit verbringen. Willst du mit mir ausgehen?
Dein Rashad.
(My dear Kiara,
I can‘t stop thinking about you. You give meaning to my life. With you it’s never boring
I would like to spend time with you. Will You Go Out With Me?
Your Rashad.)
“Impressive Rashad! A letter in German! “ She said to herself aloud and grinned. She picked up her phone and texted. “Ja, Ja, ich würde gerne mit dir ausgehen.” (I would love to go out with you.)
Suddenly she looked at the time on the display screen and cursed herself. “ You fool! You are going to be late for the meeting. Wake up Kiara!”
She grabbed her documents, slipped the note in her purse and rushed out to the conference hall.
When she entered the hall, her eyes first fell on Rashad as he had occupied the seat next to her allocated seat. He was beaming at her. She quietly sat next to him, trying to ignore the blush his gaze was causing. He leaned sideways to whisper German words in her ear, “Ich liebe dich.” (I love you.)
Kiara’s cheeks reddened beyond her control. She leaned back at him and softly spoke, “Ich Auch.” (Me too.)
"You are blushing."
“You know I don’t have the self control for that.”
The speaker’s voice over the loudspeakers caught their attention and they soon got busy in what they did the best – discuss and debate plans for Cordonia.
Rashad watched Kiara place her points with confidence and poise. Her words were balanced, judged and well thought of before she spoke. He was in awe of her knowledge and conduct. She was an altogether different person when at work- focused, accomplished and unstoppable.
When the meeting annulled after two hours, Rashad slipped another envelope, a yellow one, in her hand. She gave him a questioning look. “Something to read over lunch. I will be off to the Capitol for a meeting at noon.” He smiled and walked away.
A soft smile played on her lips as she secured the envelope in her purse and got back to work.
After a few hours she settled down for a quiet lunch alone in her office. The first thing that came to her mind was the letter. She opened her purse to retrieve the second envelope, which she had tucked neatly in one of the pockets.
She opened the letter and started reading. “Elsku Kiara mín,”
She rolled her eyes and squealed, "Seriously, Rashad? Icelandic?” She started reading with some effort.
Ég verð brjálaður þegar ég horfi í fallegu brúnu augun þín. Bros þitt færir birtu til míns dags. Hönd þín í hendi minni gefur mér kraft til að vinna bardaga mína.. Ég er blessaður að hafa þig í lífi mínu. Vertu með mér að eilífu.
Rashad þinn.
She read in broken words and felt frustrated. She was just picking up the language. There were a few words she couldn’t decipher. She could comprehend his affection through it but she needed a proper translation. She opened the translator on her laptop and quickly typed his words. She let out a sigh of relief to finally be able to understand the letter completely.
“My dear Kiara,
I go crazy when I look into your beautiful brown eyes. Your smile brings brightness to my day. Your hand in my hand gives me power to win my battles.. I am blessed to have you in my life. Stay with me forever.
Your Rashad.”
She grabbed her phone to send him a quick text, “ Icelandic?”
“Ég elska þig.” (I love you.) Came the reply.
“Ég lika.” (Me too.) She messaged back.
She felt delighted and gave herself a little dance around her table. Mr. Thomas knocked at her door to bring her out of the reverie. She straightened her skirt and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Come in.”
He brought with him a number of files and Kiara once again poured herself into her work.
Evening brought a fresh Breeze with it. Kiara dressed up in a maroon one piece that accentuated her figure at just the right places. She let her hair loose, the straight black tresses cascading down her back, just above her waist.
She reached the venue, a new Korean restaurant, Rashad had messaged her about. He was waiting near the main door. Her eyes roamed over his steel gray suit. His hands were tucked inside the pockets of the trousers as he stood there casually looking around. His soft black hair covered his temples in a style. She loved to move her fingers through his wavy hair.
As she approached him, he stretched out a hand and she slipped her hand in it. He pulled her into a hug. His hand curled around her waist, flushing her body to his. She melted in his arms as he left a kiss on her cheek.
They parted and she looked up into his black orbs that shone brightly in the night lights. “Thank you for those lovely notes.”
He brought his thick finger to her lips, “Shh, Wait until it’s over.”
Kiara tilted her head and raised a brow in amazement.
They exchanged a smile as he ushered her in. He let his left hand graze on her waist as he walked her till their table. He let her slide on the sofa chair and instead of sitting across the table he slipped in next to her.
“The day is full of surprises.” She commented.
He curled his fingers in hers and lifted her hand to his lips. “I can’t agree more.” And he kissed the back of her hand.
They were sipping on their drinks when Rashad pulled out another envelope from his breast pocket. It was much smaller than the previous ones and pink in colour. He passed it to her.
Kiara was by now thrilled at all the efforts he had put in planning the day. She excitedly ripped open the letter only to find illegible scriptures. She noticed that it was a repetition of a pattern of letters that looked Asian. And collectively formed the English letters I. L. U
사랑해요 사랑해요. 사랑해요 사랑해요
사랑해요. 사랑해요. 사랑해요. 사랑해요
사랑해요. 사랑해요. 사랑해요. 사랑해요
사랑해요. 사랑해요. 사랑해요. 사랑해요
사랑해요. 사랑해요 사랑해요. 사랑해요
“Oh Rashad I know what this means but I can’t decipher this script.”
“The clue is where you are sitting.”
“It’s Korean??”
“Saranghaeyo”. Rashad nuzzled in her hair. She knew that term from a few Korean dramas she had watched. (I love you)
She placed a hand on his cheek to repeat , “Saranghaeyo.”
Soon, the dinner was served and both of them enjoyed a calm relaxing evening. They planned to walk down to Kiara’s suite in the Capitol. It was maintained for her stay and work with the council.
On her way Kiara asked him, “What brought this idea to your mind? Those notes you sent to me?”
He shrugged his shoulders and tightened his grip on her hand as they strolled. “I wanted to send you one note in each language for every hour of the day. But I could only learn so much in the past few days.” He chuckled.
“French n German I understand, but why choose Icelandic? You know I am still a beginner in that. And Korean? I don’t know it all.”
“Icelandic was just to challenge you. Were you able to comprehend?”
She looked at him sheepishly. “I took help from the translator.”
Rashad’s head fell back in laughter. She pouted her lips but then pulled him back, “Why Korean?”
“Maybe we can learn it together?”
“Oh!” She pondered for a moment before saying, “I thought you may write something in your mother’s native language.”
“Urdu?”
She nodded. “I have heard so much about your origins, I would love to learn Urdu from you.”
He pulled her by her shoulders, facing him. “You know, you never stop amazing me.” They hugged and a placed a kiss on her forehead, before they started walking again..
After sometime, they reached Kiara’s suite in the Capitol. Rashad kissed her goodbye and started walking away.
He had literally poured out his heart to her today. And she had reciprocated with affirmation. Yet he felt something was missing. She never initiated it. She only replied. He was overthinking. His mind wavered into these thoughts the moment he turned his back to her, to walk away. He had taken few steps when he heard her.
“Rashad?”
He turned to look at her.
She looked nervous for a moment before she spoke.
“Lateefon ke Sheher me
Khushi ka sabab mila,
Ye dil shukraguzar hai ke
Hume tere jaisa humsafar mila.”
(In the city of jokes
I got a reason to be happy.
This heart is grateful
I found a companion like you)
Rashad stood standstill blinking his eyes. She hadn’t expressed herself, he had thought and now she did it in the most unexpected way. She said through poetry in Urdu.
When Rashad did not move, Kiara nervously called again, “Rashad?”
As if he woke up from a slumber he called with a thrill, “Kiara!”
The next moment he ran to her, scooped her in his arms and twirled her around. They snickered and laughed together. She brought down her forehead to his and they stole a moment for themselves after a busy day.
