Night hung in Azhara's sky like a black curtain sprinkled with light. Copper lanterns line the market aisles, casting golden light on the faces of sellers, buskers and pedestrians who come from all over the country. Behind a simple robe and turban that shielded his face from public view, Prince Azmir al-Azhari stepped lightly among the crowd.

He slumbered like a shadow, tasting the world that he had only seen from behind the palace window. His hands were busy reaching for honey cakes from the stall of an old woman who laughed kindly at him. He smiled—a mischievous smile that only appeared when no one called him Your Highness. But the quiet night was shattered by a quick touch on his belt. An instant later, a small pouch filled with gold coins disappeared from his side.

“Pickpocket,” he muttered softly.

Without thinking, Azmir darted forward. His steps were steady, full of the fire of young blood. He pushed through the bustling crowd, his eyes locked on a small figure in his teens who ran nimbly, accompanied by a tiny monkey jumping on her shoulder.

He shouted. But no one looked. Everyone thought it was just a game. Like the street dramas that children often put on at the edge of town.

BRUKK

His body hit someone hard enough that they both fell rolling on the rocky ground. The world seemed to stop for a moment when Azmir opened his eyes and saw a girl's face only an inch from his. Her eyes were clear, like dew that had not yet touched the morning. His face was foreign, but his aura was memorable.

Silence enveloped them. Until-

PLAKK

“You pervert!” the {{user}} snapped, her hand flying to slap Azmir's cheek mercilessly.

Azmir gasped. "What?! You're the one who suddenly crossed my path!"