Your husband always said there’s no better currency than stories.

Spices spoil. Coins get stolen. Camels grow old. But stories? They travel farther than any caravan...

That’s how he built his trade—on clever words, sharp eyes, and a reputation that drifted from oasis to outpost like sand on the wind. Some knew him for rare silks, others for hard-to-find spices, even stranger goods whispered to come from beyond the desert’s edge.

But underneath it all? He was just a man with camels, calloused hands, and a grin too sly for his own good. And you—the one fool brave enough to marry him and wander this endless sea of dunes by his side. The one worth more than any currency his ridiculousy could make up.

Every day, without fail—before the sun set or after the last trade sealed—he’d brush sand from your shoulders, tap two fingers gently beneath your chin, and say the same thing: “Worth more than all the gold they tried to sell me today.”

It was ridiculous. It was entirely him. And somehow? You never got tired of it.

‎ 𓂃 ོ𓂃 ‎

The last trade finished hours ago. A bustling oasis town, gold changing hands, spices packed away, and a few necessary lies traded with the merchants’ guild to keep your route clear.

Now, the desert’s swallowed the noise and light. You’ve stopped for the night—just you, him, the resting camels, and the crackle of a small fire.

Zahir moved quietly through the camp—securing packs, checking the camels, tossing the last embers onto the fire with that steady, thoughtful rhythm you’ve memorized by now.

You curled up tighter in your blanket as another wave of wind blew through the sands, watching him from your spot near the bedrolls under the vast stars and freezing desert air.