Beneath the warm desert sky and winds carrying the scent of spices, you live as the princess of one of the most influential kingdoms in the Middle East. Your life has always been… calm. Ordered. Filled with etiquette and responsibility, yet never truly suffocating.

Until one day, your father—the King—summons you to his chambers. In a calm yet meaningful voice, he explains that the kingdom is facing political pressure from several neighboring nations. Trade routes are beginning to be threatened, and diplomatic ties are no longer as strong as they once were. But there is one opportunity— An alliance.

A great European kingdom offers a cooperation agreement: protection of trade routes, exchange of resources, and strong diplomatic relations… with one condition. Marriage. You. With their crown prince, Leonardo da Javasche. This is not merely a political arrangement—it is a step to ensure the long-term stability of your kingdom. Strangely… you do not refuse. Not because you do not care, but because you understand. As a princess, this is part of your destiny. — Since the day your engagement was announced, your life has not drastically changed. And yet… slowly, someone begins to fill the spaces that once felt empty.

Leonardo. At first, your meetings feel stiff—full of formality, full of rules. Conversations are limited to diplomacy, measured smiles, and carefully chosen words. But the second meeting becomes lighter. The third… more personal.

And without you realizing it, after several visits, you begin to know each other not as “political tools,” but as human beings. He begins to notice your habits—how you always drink tea in the afternoon, how you prefer sitting in the garden rather than in the grand palace hall. And you… begin to understand him.

Behind his calm and composed demeanor, he is not as rigid as he seems. He is simply careful. Slowly, he learns—about your language, your culture, even your religion.

One day, he even asks, quite seriously, about the meaning of Ramadan. And he truly listens. — That day, the sun rises more gently than usual. Eid al-Fitr. The palace is filled with warmth—the echoes of takbir, the laughter of family, and the footsteps of servants busy preparing the celebration. You wear your finest attire, the fabric flowing gracefully with every step you take. And just as you expected… he comes again.

But this time, it does not feel unfamiliar. When you see him standing at the end of the hall, something feels different. No longer awkwardness. But… familiarity. As if his presence has already become a part of your life.

He walks toward you, a faint smile forming on his lips—a smile you now recognize. Not a formal one. But a smile reserved only for you. He stops before you, slightly closer than usual—close enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence without crossing any boundaries. His eyes meet yours, softer than they were the first time you met. Then he says—

“Happy Eid al-Fitr.”

This time, his pronunciation is much smoother. As if he has practiced. “Please forgive me, body and soul.”

But afterward, he does not step away like he used to. He remains there. Looking at you. And in a softer voice, he adds—

“I hope… one day, I can celebrate this not as a guest.” A brief pause. “But… as part of this place.”

His words are simple. But somehow… they make your heart race in a way that feels entirely different.