“Why don’t you stay with me here?” Kasim used to ask me, but I’d ignore his words and continue walking. I also noticed that he would keep his distance from me.

“Where did you get this ring?” Kasim asked, and I sub-consciously raised my hand to see the metal ring on it. Okba had given me the ring after I recovered from the storm’s incident, and told him about the wandering spirits of the desert.

‘The ring is forged with iron which is said to be the element of King Solomon.’ He had told me back then. ‘It will ward off the evil and protect you from a djinn if you encounter one in the desert’.

Had it not been for this ring, I would’ve been mortified for having a someone like Kasim follow me around in the desert. The ring affected him so he dared not approach or harm me.

At night, the little fennec fox followed me and kept me company when I’d pitch up a tent to spend the night. It  would catch geckos and beetles from the desert and bring them to me to eat. I’d squeal in horror, and ask it to throw them away. I’d set up the fire and have dry food instead.

I tried to eat as little as possible to last myself for few more days since I’d eventually run out of the food. I’d check and clean my stitches, and put a fresh plaster on them to prevent the infection. The fox would curl itself in my lap, and I’d stay awake unable to sleep in the foreign environment.

The desert had made me paranoid. There might be a rattlesnake, a wolf, or a passing caravan that could kill me. Okba was right when he told me that the desert is alive. It eats and devours the humans, and feeds on their emotions. Even a person with a strong resolve will crumble in such harsh and cruel environment.

A day passed, then another, followed by a sense of loss of time after some days as I ran out of the last bit of food and water. I had heard before that the people would often drink their own fluid to survive in the desert and would resort to eating all sort of things.

I’d stare at the little fox, and the poor thing would look at me as if I’d kill and eat it.

“I won’t do that to you!” I’d snap at it, and the poor thing would run away from me in terror. However, It’d still bring me the things it’d catch in the desert, and I’d refuse to eat them.

I had become a wandering ghost in the desert without a trace of food and water in sight. When I was lucky, I’d dig out some plant to squeeze water from its roots to moisten my tongue and throat. Often, I’d see the water from the top of the dune and run towards it only to realize that it’s mirage.

Going on without food and water in the desert for days had exhausted me. I’d lie on the sand during the day not having energy to move, and wait for the sunset to travel again at night. I had rolled up my pants, and took out dagger to cut the flesh of the upper thigh to eat, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it and tossed the dagger in frustration.

‘You’re a coward!’ I shouted and slapped myself.

I even considered ending my life in the desert, but all of my efforts would have gone to waste.

The midday sun of the next day burnt, and I could barely walk due to hunger and fever. My throat, parched and hoarse, hurt as if I had swallowed thousand thorns. The stomach and ribs had sunken into the spine. The lips became dry and split, and the corners of fingers bled after being chewed on them to relieve some of hunger.

If I had gone for another day, I’d have ended up as a processed corpse in the sand myself.

With last bit of hope, I pushed myself up on top of another mound, and let out a eccentric laughter upon seeing the water in front of me. I skid down the slope, and let myself fall down the dune rolling into the sand as I had no energy left in me to even stand.

I raised my head, and crawled on my empty stomach towards the water. I pushed myself up, and collected the water in my hands to drink; however going on without water and food for days made my stomach wretch and I threw up.

I gagged and heaved on empty stomach, then, tried drinking again slowly. This time, it didn’t hurt my stomach. I fell back on the sand, and reached my hand to touch the water with his dagger.

When I woke up, Dylan was sitting beside me reciting a poem in another language 

It sounded melancholic, but his voice comforted the heart and soothed the ache as I listened to it.

Pour onto me thy wine from Heaven,

I’ll collect it in my body, the chalice

This soul been parched for long;

A drop could do no more

Come hither, why you escape me?

The separation is death, if you shun me

Oh, how far I could run, Qais?

I’m no Shams, I’m no Rumi!

“What language is this?” I asked him, and he snapped his head at me in surprise.

“You’re awake.” He said, but met with a noncommittal silence.

“It’s Persian.” He told me. “I can renounce all, but wine—never”. He recited something again, and I recognized the verses this time.

“Is it not from Rubaiyat?” I rolled onto my good side, and sat upright looking up at the moon on the sky.

“The moon hasn’t been this radiant since childhood.” I said. “Father used to take Darcie, Alex and I for a night walk in summer through the fields to see the fireflies.”

 I became nostalgic reminiscing about the old times.

“The moon used to be so bright to light the entire path for us to run and play around. Alex was little, so father would carry him in his arms, but Darcie and I would race with our shadows in the moonlight and step on them.”

I paused for a moment as my heart felt constricted.

“The fireflies that I used to chase after and catch in the bushes to bring home and release afterwards are no longer there. The moon is gone, so are the fireflies. In the end, we all grew up.”

“Where’s your father now?” Dylan asked, and my throat tightened. I gazed at the moon in longing, and wondered if grief had no end to it.

The moon has witnessed more deaths and births than humans, has listened to their silent cries and prayers for millenniums and seen the civilizations crumble to dust, and rise again.

“He’s gone.” I said. “I didn’t think Okba would be gone too.”

The voice cracked as tears threatened to spill from my eyes and I started crying again.

Humans don’t realize the pain and grief they carry inside them until they experience it again. I didn’t realize it that I had been mourning for quite long until I lost Okba too.

I rested my forehead on my knees to hide the face as I cried it all out. The pain I had been suppressing in my heart resurged, and the wound I had been trying to heal re-opened at his death.

Dylan fell silent, and let me have the moment of reclusion in myself, but kept me company.

“I’m envious.” He spoke. “You have at least something to reminiscence about whereas I have nothing. I have neither past nor future. I’m a wanderer with no origin passing through time to the eternity.”

“Can’t you recall it?” I sniffed, wiping the tears and turned to him.

“All beings in this world experience birth, or at least have memory of their childhood, but I have neither”, he said. “One day I realized that I was here, and there’s no other explanation.”

His features softened under the pale glow of moonlight, but his face had a melancholic look on it as if he carried years of pain inside him. Although he was sitting beside me, he seemed elusive.

“There must be someone who knows about it.” I said to him.

“No one here knows it.” He told me. “You humans can experience death, and have an end to your sufferings, but I cannot die either. If I’m fortunate enough, I’ll meet Lord in the end and ask him for death.”

“Lord?”

“The one who has created us."

“Have you seen him, The Lord?” I asked, but he shook his head.

“Your Lord simply wants you to suffer.” I stated and tasted bitterness in my mouth.

“He doesn’t want us to suffer. We suffer because we want to suffer.” He defended himself.

“In anguish we find meaning, but in meaning we find anguish. We torment ourselves all our lives to find the meaning, but when we find the truth it pains us further. There’s no repose.”

I sighed and wrapped arms around myself. "What meaning do we even want to find in this life?”

“Soul Searching.” He answered. “Isn’t why you’re here as well regardless of all the sufferings you had to endure?”

He was right. If not feeling lost and looking for something for myself, would I have wandered off this far?

“How to find this Self then? I feel more lost than ever.”

I thought that all experiences in the desert might teach me something, but they left me with more questions.

“The self isn’t something sold in the Bazar of Egypt, nor Shams Al-Tabrizi could give it to Rumi. He had to find the truth himself. You can only find it inside yourself, or perhaps look outside yourself for the answer.”

“Sometimes, I doubt that you’re one of those people.” I chuckled at him. “I even thought that you could be Khidr.”

“No, I’m not.” He laughed. “If I were Khidr, would I have been so lost?” He paused to look at me with saddened expressions and said, “The wine is not for us lowly beings to drink.”

He pursed his lips and said, “I’m a mere being wandering through time who doesn’t know his end.”

“You’re no simple being.” I remarked. “Sitting in the desert under the moonlight and listening to you is enlightening. You have done enough.”

I let out a sigh and relished in the tranquility of the night under the full moon. Humans fight for life in death, but to him, who couldn’t die, death was peace. In that godforsaken place, I was looking for life, but he’s looking for death. We, two, were indeed of different worlds.

"Would you like some tea?” He suddenly asked, and I quirked my brow at him. Who would want tea in the middle of the night?

He made a small fire near the lake and placed a pitcher on it after filling it with the water. He prepared Tuareg tea, a desert staple made with tea leaves, spearmint and sugar to relieve internal heat and pour me a cup of it.

I accepted the cup of tea from him, and looked into the swirling steam in some deep thought.

“You’ve been staring into the steam. Are you be able to see anything?”

He asked, and I blinked in confusion.

”Often, truth can’t be seen if the emotions are too muddled. The answers you're looking for have been before you all along. You’ve been traversing between the two world. Did you not realize that each encounter was to teach you something?”

I thought about it for a while, yet failed to understand it again.

“Dukhas are the sufferings that inhibit us from achieving Nirvana. Humans go through seven dukhas of Jati-the birth, Jara-the old age, Vyadhi-the sickness, Soka- the sorrow, Marana-the death, Parideva-the lamentation and Domanassa-the despair in life which creates a cycle of samsara. Birth is the root of all sufferings. Apart from Jati, which one have you experienced during each encounter?”

He asked me again, and this time I realized the truth of matter.

From the train to the woods, and all that I encountered in the desert was the manifestation of my dukhas. The soul-eaters in the woods were the projection of my self-loathing and dissatisfaction; however, when I fought with the blood-drainers, it showed helplessness and fear of death.

Okba and the girl who died in the desert showed mourning, lamentation and loss that I had to bear for life.

“Then…” I started, “What do those hell hounds show?”

“What do you think?” He asked, and I felt a chill ran down my spine. “If those hounds didn’t come, wouldn’t you rather still those people were gone?”

“No, I don’t!” I objected, but I couldn’t deceive either of us even if I had lied.

“Don’t fool yourself. You wanted them dead.”

“I-I…” I was at loss of the words as the idea horrified me.

“Those hounds are your destructive self.” He reiterated, and I shuddered at the thought.

Did the desert really change me, or it had been real me all along.

As I shifted on my leg to change the sitting position, I didn’t feel any pain in my side. I pressed on the stitches through the shirt to check the wound, but noticed that it didn’t hurt as much as before.

During our conversation, I had completely forgot to ask him how did he save me in the desert.

“I had a fever and passed out in the desert due to hunger. How did you treat me?”

“I’ve got some food with me .” He spoke without looking up. “It wasn’t really hard to take care of you."

I eyed him in suspicion, but said nothing. I picked up my tea to take a sip, but it had gone cold, so I put it down in irritation.

Having nothing to do, I watched Dylan’s face and noticed that his features resembled those from Southern Mediterranean.

It struck me that there’s no way his name could be of Welsh origin since he wasn’t even from our world.

“Is your name really Dylan?” I confronted him.

“I don’t have a name.” He admitted. “When I met you, I heard someone being called ‘Dylan’ so I took on his name. Later, you also started calling me Dylan and I decided to keep it."

I felt pang in my heart after hearing him say it. A person with no birth, no origin and no name was more miserable than I was.

“What do you want me to call you, Haroush or Aaron?” I asked him.

“Haroush”, he eagerly said. “I’ll call you Kandicha then.”

“You really want to name me after a She-Devil?” I was flabbergasted at his name choice.

“Aren’t you the one?” He teased, “Even Kasim dared not disturb you in the desert.”

“It’s because of this ring.” I showed it to him and mischievously brought it near to face to test him .

“Do you feel uncomfortable?” I probed, but he snickered at me.

“I am not a djinn to be affected by it.”

He swatted my hand away, and I sat back in disappointment.

“I still can’t tell who you are really”. I muttered under my breath and lay down on my back to rest. I gazed at the stars, unable to sleep and heard him sit next to me resuming his previous position.

“You can’t sleep, is it because of them?” He inquired, and I nodded.

“Whenever I close my eyes, I see their faces. If it’s not them, I hear Kasim telling me I should’ve been the one to die in their place.”

“He isn't here.” He assured me, but paranoia is one’s worst enemy.

“Why did you not tell me before that he wasn’t a human.” I asked him. Until the end, I didn’t know his real identity.

“I warned you, but you didn’t listen.” He reminded me. “Moreover, he wouldn’t have let you go if you didn’t leave him yourself. He and You aren’t different from each other.”

“What is he then?” I questioned again, and Dylan countered with, “Don’t you know he’s your shadow that threatens to overtake you?”

“What would have happened to me if I didn’t leave?” I sat up and asked in fret.

“You would never have gotten out of the desert, and became a wandering ghost yourself.” He answered, and the fear unsettled my heart. The next words I blurted out were unexpected.

“Could I have still found you?” A look of surprise flashed across his face before he said, “I’d have found you.”

I lay down again, and saw him do the same but kept a distance from me.

“Sleep.” He said, “I’m here."

I closed my eyes, and heard him sing the poem again. That night, I dreamt of home and the fireflies.