A glimmer of hope shines through as guidance appears once more

The next day, I texted my two senior fellow students and Singh, telling them that I had found an Arab willing to go into the desert. Then I called Professor Emuddin. After receiving his approval, I took Musa to meet him.

To avoid the awkwardness of walking alongside someone in white robes, I arranged to meet the professor directly outside his office. Musa had been there several times with Ayyub and knew the way well, so finding it was no trouble.

The conversation was brief, consisting of little more than a discussion of payment. Musa did not care about that, so Professor Emuddin merely asked a few token questions before gladly accepting him as a member of the expedition. He then summoned the other participants to the office so they could go over the preparations once more.

Singh, my two senior fellow students, and two other instructors from the project team all arrived. Counting everyone, there were eight members in total. Under Professor Emuddin’s direction, each person’s duties and the items they needed to bring were assigned with perfect clarity.

I was the only woman on the team, so naturally everyone took extra care of me. Musa was a graduate student in petroleum geology, but because his undergraduate degree had been in business, the professor still regarded him merely as a translator with “no technical responsibilities.” As a result, his duties were considerably lighter as well.

In this way, Musa and I quite clearly became the team’s “vulnerable minority,” separated from the others by an invisible barrier.

As Professor Emuddin read through the list of supplies, I noticed that the amount of food remained unchanged when he reached that section, so I pointed it out at once.

“Professor, we’ve just added another person to the team. You’ve forgotten one additional portion. And although most of our food only needs to be opened and eaten, we’ll cook from time to time. You’ve also left out a set of tableware.”

“Oh, right. I forgot to add a halal portion of food. But as for the tableware…” Professor Emuddin glanced at me and said nothing more. Instead, he looked at Musa and asked, “None of us are Muslim. Should we prepare a separate set of tableware for you?”

Musa smiled calmly and answered lightly, “No need.”

I was slightly taken aback. After a long moment, I finally understood.

Until then, I had remembered only that Muslims did not eat pork, while unconsciously downplaying the other implications. His question suddenly brought a flood of half-remembered facts into my mind: that devout Muslims had to bring livestock to a mosque and have an imam slaughter it personally; that Muslims could not share tableware with people of another faith…

And Musa…

I remembered the day during Ramadan when I had fainted from hunger. Musa had come to my hotel room to bring me food for breaking the fast. I had stubbornly insisted on cooking Chinese dishes for him to try, even placing food directly into his bowl…

When I saw the frown between his brows, I had assumed that he disliked the food or had grown disgusted with me. Only now did I belatedly realize that I had unknowingly violated his religious precepts.

Regret, shame, and a sweet, secret delight rose together in my heart. He could have told me outright, but he had been afraid of spoiling my happiness. Instead, he had simply lowered his head and silently finished everything.

If someone swallowed food they did not want to eat for another person’s sake, did that not signify indulgence and tenderness?

Thinking this, I could hardly conceal my joy. Taking small, quick steps, I slowly approached him. I opened my mouth, just about to say something, when I suddenly felt a sharp gaze sweep fiercely across me.

It was Singh.

In his eyes were warning, helplessness, sympathy, and a sorrow born of shared understanding.

I remembered Singh once telling me that he had fallen in love with a Muslim girl—and that it had not been a happy story.

My steps abruptly froze. Even if my own feelings had only just begun to awaken, there was no guarantee that they were anything worth celebrating. So I drew back my foot, lowered my head, and obediently stood aside once more, saying nothing.