Peaceful Departure Intended

Hearing that cry, everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed toward the source of the sound, with Mousa leading the charge.

It was a sand dune with a relatively steep slope. Lying at the bottom was Senior Brother Ricky, his face and clothes caked in dust, and—resting squarely on top of him—was the surveying equipment.

The sand was normally fine and soft, meaning a tumble down the slope would have been harmless. However, along with Ricky, the heavy instrument had rolled down, gaining momentum from gravity before crashing right into him, which explained the agonizing howl.

The men strode down the slope and helped Ricky to his feet. Professor Aydin, more concerned about whether the equipment was damaged, sternly reprimanded Ricky, "You were perfectly fine. What on earth possessed you to go running over to this slope and let the instrument tumble down with you?"

Ricky waved a hand dismissively, "Just messing around. I thought this steep slope looked neat, but I slipped before I knew it."

Senior Brother Ricky had always had a penchant for thrills and novelty. Professor Aydin was somewhat annoyed, but everyone was drenched in sweat and needed to pack up and head back before noon, so he let the matter drop. Instead, he beckoned Singh over and instructed him in a deep, serious voice, "You are steady and reliable. From now on, stick close to Ricky and don't let him wander off into trouble."

"Understood," Singh agreed immediately.

The days that followed were largely uneventful. Due to severe dehydration from working in the desert, everyone felt utterly exhausted upon returning from the surveying area each day. Sometimes, when I saw Mousa, I wanted to say a few words to him, but I never knew where to begin. Coupled with Singh’s intimidating presence nearby, our interactions became even scarcer.

Yet, for some reason, even as spoken words grew sparser, our tacit understanding seemed to deepen.

In the past, catching sight of Mousa would send my heart fluttering with nervous excitement and bashfulness. But ever since I inadvertently glimpsed the drawings in his notebook that night and realized he harbored feelings for me as well, the turbulent waves in my heart settled into gentle, shimmering ripples. When we met, a simple exchange of glances was enough; without a single word, it felt as though countless swirling thoughts had settled into something grounded, resolute, and mutually understood.

Even though nothing was ever said. Even though we remained silent.

The desert was monotonous, and the work was monotonous, too. Every day, we scheduled our labor for the dawn and the dusk, avoiding the searing heat of midday. The yellow sands stretched endlessly, vast and boundless. Immersed in that setting, tasting the salt of our own sweat day after day, time itself seemed to grow sticky and sluggish. I once thought those days would simply repeat themselves in an endless loop, never anticipating the earth-shattering changes that were about to unfold.

This peaceful and uneventful status quo came to an end on the very last day.

The work was completed without a hitch, and aside from Ricky’s tumble, not a single accident occurred. Everyone was ecstatic, cheerfully loading all the equipment onto the trucks and preparing to return home.

At Professor Aydin's suggestion, Singh rode in the same truck as Senior Brother Ricky. The professor himself, wishing to discuss the surveying results with two young instructors alongside a senior student primarily responsible for data recording, took seats in the four-seater off-road vehicle. That left Mousa and me to naturally board the final truck.

Throughout our weeks in the desert, this was the first time Mousa and I found ourselves alone in a truck together. Although we had often shared the back seat of the off-road vehicle before, the presence of others in the front always robbed us of the casual freedom to speak our minds completely.

"Such a disconcerting, deathly stillness," I remarked. The boundless expanse of the desert resembled a yellow ocean—majestic and solemn, entirely out of tune with the buoyant joy bubbling inside me at that moment. Giggling, I turned to look at Mousa’s handsome profile and, struck by a sudden whim, blurted out, "How about you sing me a song? A Middle Eastern song, one of your favorites."