Later that morning, the heavy wooden door of the riad creaked open, letting in the bright Moroccan sun and the cheerful chatter of visitors. Youness’s aunt had returned to check on him, bringing Aya along.

  Youness stepped out of his guest room and into the open-air courtyard. His stomach muscles were pulled into a tight, hardened shield while his breaths flowed smoothly over it.

  As he looked at his aunt and his cousin, something strange happened.

  Through the calm, centered lens of his newly fortified core, the world looked different. He didn’t just see them, he felt them. Around his aunt was a warm, nervous flutter of energy. But around six-year-old Aya, there was a profound, steady stillness. It was a beautiful, shimmering aura of calm, the same heavy, grounded presence that radiated from the Cheikh.

  Aya locked eyes with him. A bright, knowing smile spread across her face.

  “Asalam Alaykom,” she said softly, her voice dropping from its usual childlike pitch. “Alhamdulilah, thank God. You look so much different from yesterday.”

  The Cheikh emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a cloth. He glanced between the two children and smiled.

  “Aya, why don’t you take your cousin outside to the garden? He needs some fresh air and to touch some grass. Play together while I speak with your mother.”

  Aya nodded and motioned for Youness to follow. They walked out to the small, enclosed orchard behind the riad, where the scent of mint and orange blossoms hung thick in the air.

  They talked quietly for a moment, and Youness shyly told her about the technique the Cheikh had made him practice.

  “Sen,” Aya said simply.

  Youness blinked. “What?”

  “That’s the name of the technique Grandpa taught you,” she explained, sitting down on a patch of sun-warmed grass. “It’s when you constantly keep a hardened state in your stomach to maintain a strong emotional baseline. He told me it’s called Sen.” She giggled, a surprisingly normal sound. “But using that heavy tayammum rock was clever.”

  Youness sat across from her, crossing his legs. “You know how to do it too?”

  “Yep!” Aya tapped her own stomach proudly.

  “Did he use that same heavy stone on you?”

  “Of course not!” Aya laughed, but then her expression shifted. For a split second, the shadow of something dark and unspoken crossed her wide eyes. Then she smiled again, burying it. “He simply guided me with imagination.”

  Youness leaned in, fascinated. “How?”

  “He told me that for a girl, the stomach is the vessel of life. It is where babies are grown and protected,” Aya explained, her tone remarkably mature. “He said that in moments of struggle or trauma, a woman’s body instinctively tries to protect that vessel. He taught me to harness that instinct voluntarily. I learned to keep my stomach hardened just by imagining I was protecting my vessel for future life... my core of life.”

  She plucked a blade of grass, twisting it around her small fingers.

  “But for me, it was gradual. Daily training. It took me a whole month before I could fall asleep without losing the flex.” She looked up at him, genuinely impressed. “I can’t believe you learned to fall asleep with it in one night.”

  “I... I had to,” Youness said quietly. “If I dropped it, the pain of the memories came back.” He hesitated. “Aya... what happened to you that made him teach you?”

  Aya stayed perfectly silent. She looked away, her eyes fixing on the distant Atlas Mountains.

  Sensing the boundary, Youness didn’t push.

  After a moment, Aya took a slow breath and changed the subject. “Did he tell you about the other techniques?”

  “No. There are more?”

  “There are three in total,” Aya said, holding up three fingers. She leaned forward and drew in the dirt with a small stick.

  First, she drew a point, then traced a circle around it.

  “This is Sen,” she said. “It means protecting the core. It comes from the Tifinagh letter ‘?’.”

  Then she drew a bold X beside it.

  “And this is Ten. It means targeting the head. It comes from the Tifinagh letter ‘?’.”

  She paused, frowning slightly, and left a blank space in the dirt.

  “The third one... I don’t know. Grandpa never showed it to me.”

  “What is Ten?” Youness asked.

  “It’s when you wiggle your ears and keep the muscles around your scalp flexed,” Aya said.

  Instinctively, Youness concentrated on the sides of his head. His ears wiggled slightly, pulling his scalp back.

  “Like this?”

  Aya gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Wow! You can already do it? For me, it took a lot of painful hair brushing from him!”

  “Hair brushing?”

  “Yeah.” Aya sighed, adjusting her hijab. “A few months after I mastered Sen, I was calm, but my mind was wandering. I was getting intrusive thoughts a lot... sometimes it felt like old scenes were about to spill out of me.” She quickly looked away, cutting herself off. “My mother told Grandpa, and I had to spend a second stay at his house.”

  She pointed to her covered head.

  “Every single day, he would take a harsh, stiff brush and run it through my hair. It was so painful! I kept telling him my hair was already smooth and his brush was what was tangled. But he told me that learning to resist the pain of the pulling would teach me to control the thoughts swirling inside my head. Eventually, I learned to flex my scalp to numb the pulling. That was Ten.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She smiled softly.

  “Later, I actually started to like the brushing. My hair has never been so rich and smooth. Though, because of it, I had to start wearing a hijab at my age to protect myself from evil eyes.”

  Youness smiled, looking up at the bright blue sky. The breeze felt good. For a moment, the weight of the world lifted completely. He sighed, relaxing his shoulders.

  “Did you just relax your stomach?” Aya asked suddenly.

  Youness jolted, instantly tightening his core. “Oh! Sorry. I’m flexing now.”

  Aya laughed, a bright, ringing sound. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it! But really, I knew it instantly.”

  “How did you know?” Youness asked, amazed. “You weren’t even looking at me.”

  “Just a feeling,” Aya shrugged gracefully. “After I learned and used Ten, my perception improved. My mother says I’ve become older and wiser, like a sixteen-year-old, even though I’m just six.” She leaned in, tapping her nose. “I felt your aura drop. I heard it in the change of your breathing and posture.”

  “I told you two would make a good married couple.”

  Both children jumped.

  The Cheikh was standing right behind them, leaning on his cane, a highly amused grin on his face.

  “Grandpa!” Aya whined, her composure vanishing instantly. “We are children!”

  “You just said you had the wisdom of a sixteen-year-old after learning Ten,” the Cheikh teased.

  “Grandpa! Okay, okay, stop, hehe.” Aya crossed her arms, pouting.

  The Cheikh chuckled and stepped closer to Youness, his demeanor shifting back to that of a master.

  “How do you feel today, my son?”

  “I feel calm,” Youness answered honestly. “But... I still feel confused. My mind is loud. I don’t know what to do with all my thoughts.”

  He looked up. “Aya told me about Ten. Maybe I need to train it.”

  The Cheikh raised a thick white eyebrow. “Wise boy.”

  “He can already wiggle his ears!” Aya chimed in proudly.

  “Oh?” The Cheikh stroked his beard. “So I won’t have to brush your hair with a harsh bristle like I did to your cousin.”

  “Don’t remind me, it felt awful!” Aya complained.

  “But later you liked the massage after learning Ten, and you asked me to brush it many times,” the Cheikh pointed out.

  Aya blushed deeply and looked at the grass. “Yeah...”

  The Cheikh stepped behind Youness.

  “Close your eyes, my son. Remember last night. Remember the heavy rock on your stomach. Use Sen. Keep that image, and flex your core harder.”

  Youness nodded and obeyed.

  The Cheikh placed his index finger firmly on the top back of Youness’s skull.

  “Now. Flex your head. Pull the muscles that wiggle your ears, but push that tension all the way up to where my finger is touching your head. Lock it there.”

  Youness concentrated. He pulled his ears back, feeling the muscles of his scalp tighten. He pushed the sensation upward, squeezing the muscles at the crown of his head against the Cheikh’s finger.

  “Good,” the Cheikh murmured. “Maintain that state. Keep your thoughts tethered to that tension.”

  Minutes passed in silence.

  “Stay like this... until I lift my finger,” the Cheikh instructed calmly.

  Youness endured, holding both Sen and Ten.

  Ten had no breathing constraint like Sen, so it was easier to maintain.

  Finally, the Cheikh lifted his finger.

  “If you are still flexing both Sen and Ten... then slowly open your eyes.”

  Youness opened his eyes.

  The world exploded in clarity.

  It was as if a thin grey veil had been ripped away from his vision. The green of the grass was impossibly vivid. The golden rays of the sun seemed to hum with energy. His vision widened, stretching across his full field of sight without needing to move his eyes. He could hear individual leaves rustling in the orchard, the distant call of a bird, the subtle shifting of the Cheikh’s robes.

  His mind, once a chaotic storm, became a perfectly still pond.

  “Oh,” Aya whispered. “You don’t have sleepy eyes anymore.”

  Because of the tension in his scalp, the skin around Youness’s face was pulled slightly taut. His eyelids, once heavy with exhaustion, were now stretched wide open, revealing sharp, focused pupils.

  The Cheikh nodded in satisfaction.

  “It was the same for you, Aya. Before, when you were daydreaming, you had the sleepiest eyes. Now, you have the most wide-open eyes.” He looked at them side by side. “Now, you truly look alike.”

  “Grandpa!” Aya protested again.

  But Youness barely heard her.

  A strange pull tugged at his heightened perception.

  Without thinking, he stood and began walking toward the edge of the garden.

  Aya stopped arguing. “What’s wrong?”

  “I felt like walking,” Youness muttered.

  He stopped near the roots of an old olive tree. Half-buried in the dirt, catching a stray ray of sunlight, was a tiny shimmering object.

  Youness crouched and picked it up.

  A golden wedding ring, crowned with a sparkling diamond.

  The Cheikh walked up behind him, leaning on his cane.

  “Oh, look at that,” the old man said with a mischievous tone. “The two of you are destined together. The boy has already found you a wedding ring.”

  “Grandpa!” Aya shrieked. “Don’t tell me you put that there as a joke!”

  The Cheikh laughed. “Hmm... but it’s too big for you right now. I’m sure you will grow into its size.”

  Aya stamped her foot. “Grandpa! Stop saying that!”

  Youness looked up carefully.

  “...Did you put it here to test my Ten?”

  The Cheikh simply stroked his beard, saying nothing.

  The silence lingered just long enough to plant doubt.

  Just then—

  A loud rustling burst from the bushes beyond the garden wall.

  The Cheikh immediately stepped forward, raising his cane and motioning for the children to stay back.

  Youness, still in Ten, quietly slipped the ring into his pocket as he stepped behind the Cheikh, instinctively protecting it from wandering eyes.

  A young man pushed through the foliage. Handsome, well-built, but dusty and panicked.

  The Cheikh lowered his cane.

  “Omar?”

  The young man looked up desperately. “Cheikh! My wedding... my wedding is tonight! I lost my bride’s ring on the dirt path on my way to the village. I’ve been searching for hours!”

  “What did it look like?” the Cheikh asked calmly.

  “It’s a golden ring with a beautiful diamond. Please tell me someone found it!”

  The Cheikh slowly shook his head.

  “Nope. Never saw it.”

  Aya gaped. “Grandpa, stop lying!”

  Youness stepped forward and reached into his pocket. He opened his palm, revealing the glittering ring.

  Omar gasped and dropped to his knees, tears bursting from his eyes.

  “Oh, goodness! Thank God! Thank you, my child! Allah yzwejkom, may God marry you two!”

  “Not you too!” Aya cried to the heavens. “We are still children!”

  Omar laughed through his tears as he took the ring.

  “You saved my life. You must come! Let me invite you to my wedding tonight!”

  “No, thank you,” the Cheikh said flatly.

  “I’ve never been to a wedding before,” Youness admitted.

  “Me neither,” Aya added quickly. “And I’m not interested.”

  But Omar clasped his hands together.

  “Please! The village already knows you, Cheikh. It’s only one hour from here. Come as my honored guests.”

  The Cheikh sighed, clearly annoyed.

  “What is the name of the bride’s family?”

  “It’s the Ait Ferou family,” Omar replied proudly.

  The Cheikh’s expression softened slightly.

  “...Ah. The orphan girl who survived the epidemic.”

  Omar nodded quietly. “Yes. Unfortunately, many passed away in that incident. Her whole family... she was the only survivor. She was about your granddaughter’s age back then.”

  Aya’s arms slowly lowered.

  “My aunt adopted her,” Omar continued gently. “She grew into a kind and beautiful woman.”

  The Cheikh hummed thoughtfully.

  “Sometimes,” he said slowly, “the pain carried in youth ripens into baraka later in life. Perhaps her hardship brought her the blessing of marrying a good man... and helped guide this ring back to you.”

  He tapped his cane once.

  “That is why you must attend. It is from her baraka that you were invited.”

  The Cheikh paused, thinking for a brief moment.

  “...Alright,” he finally said. “I will ask Aya’s mother if she wishes to join. We will witness your wedding.”

  Omar beamed with relief.

  As the young man hurried off down the path, the orchard grew quiet again. A gentle breeze moved through the orange trees, carrying the scent of mint and blossoms.

  Aya crossed her arms but couldn’t hide her curiosity.

  Youness looked toward the distant village road, his wide-awake eyes bright with quiet anticipation.

  A wedding invitation had arrived in the most unexpected way.

  And somehow, it felt like they were meant to be there for a reason much bigger than a ring.