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You are Najma Viper.
You belong to the Viper family, who belong to the Asim family. You live with your parents and your older brother named Jamil Viper, all of whom also belong to the Asim family.
You are eleven years old. Jamil is thirteen, two years your elder.
The two of you are currently home alone, your parents staying late to finish their duties to the Asim family. This is your normal; most nights, they are not home until past midnight, when you are meant to be in bed.
It is 11:13 at night. You are supposed to be in bed, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.
What you do have to worry about is Jamil, though. He is in his room, and you assume he is sleeping, but if he comes out and sees you idly scrolling on your phone on the couch, he will tell your parents. Ever since he has gotten his own room, he holes himself up inside of it whenever he has free time and seems irritated whenever you go in to ask him something.
You are unsure if your brother likes you.
The front door swings open, and your heart stops as you quickly move to hide your phone under your body. Yet, when two pairs of stormy gray eyes lock, you realize it is not your parents returning home early.
“Jamil?”
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Why aren’t you?” you counter. “What were you doing out so late?”
“It’s none of your business,” he snaps tersely. “Go to bed.” He begins storming off in the direction of his room but stops, whipping his head around to glare at you. “And don’t tell Mama and Baba.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” You regret the words the second they are out of your mouth as his gaze narrows venomously. Yet, being in his presence fills you with irritation, so you tack on, “You’re obviously sneaking around.”
“Should I tell them you were on your phone when you were supposed to be sleeping?” He makes a grab at it, and you smack his hand away. “What are you doing up so late?”
Silence falls over both of you, both countenances holding equally baleful stares. “Fine,” you say. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Fine,” he agrees. “Go to bed.”
You go to the bathroom to brush your teeth, but instead of going to your room, you follow the faint light gleaming from the living room you were formerly sitting in and find Jamil sitting on his phone, sipping at a bottle of water. The clock reads 11:28.
“Aren’t you going to bed?” you ask. It does not hold any of the confrontational tone of the previous interaction.
He clicks off his phone, turning on the couch to face you. “Hey, Najma.”
Your brows furrow. “What?”
“Did you hear what happened to Nizar?”
“Nizar?” One of your cousins; also a Viper. You have heard whispers of his name around the estate but did not manage to pick up any details. “I know something happened, but I don’t know what.”
“Okay.” He stands, brushing past you in the direction of his room.
“Okay?” you echo. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”
He is quiet for a moment, seemingly contemplating whether or not to tell you before saying, “He ran away.”
“Ah.” You never interacted with him much, but he seemed nice enough. “What a shame.”
“Is it, though?”
“What do you mean?”
Jamil eyes you oddly, and you shrink under the feeling of scrutinization. Why is he looking at you like that, like the meaning of his statement should have been obvious?
After what seems to be an eternity, he shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Goodnight, Najma.”
Slipping into his room, he shuts his door behind him, effectively ending whatever moment was going on between the two of you there.
Again, you wonder if your brother likes you.
You lay on your side, unable to fall asleep—likely because of the blue light from your phone—and fluttered your eyelids shut when you heard the familiar click of your parents opening the door to check if you were asleep.
It would only be in the following years, when you and Jamil were both older, that you would realize what he meant.
You are Najma Viper.
You belong to the Viper family, who belong to the Asim family. You live with your parents and your older brother named Jamil Viper, all of whom also belong to the Asim family.
You are twelve years old. Jamil is fourteen, two years your elder.
The two of you are currently with Kalim Al-Asim, the heir of the Asim fortune and Jamil’s charge. Lately, you have taken to following around the two after finishing your duties. Master Kalim seems to enjoy your presence, always greeting you with a large smile. Jamil, not so much.
It is 6:31 in the evening. You are supposed to head home after finishing your work, but what your parents don’t know won’t hurt them.
“Yeah!” Kalim cheers, capturing Jamil’s last stones in mancala. “I won again! I’ve gotten better, haven’t I, Jamil?”
Kalim always chooses the aquamarine gemstones, and Jamil always chooses garnet. You know Jamil has purposely lost—you overheard your parents reprimanding him for outperforming Kalim in their last examination—but applaud anyway, and Jamil wears a defeated smile.
“You have. I’m very impressed.”
It scares you how easily the lie slips through his teeth.
The sounds of a child babbling float through the air, and Kalim jumps to his feet, saying, “You guys stay here for a sec!” before dashing to the door where a Viper servant has just entered holding an Asim toddler. You aren’t sure which one, but you have a feeling you should learn. You and Jamil remain seated at the table, as per the direct orders of the Asim heir, and watch him take the toddler from the servant.
“It’s funny,” Jamil murmurs under his breath, so inaudible you almost do not catch it.
But you do. “What’s funny?”
“That child has more freedom than we ever will in our lives.”
The statement is spoken with such nonchalance, as if it isn’t the most treasonous thing ever, and you whip your head over to your brother with disbelief. “What?”
Jamil stares at you challengingly. “Am I wrong?”
“I mean—” Arguing with Jamil is hard. Not bickering, but arguing. An intellectual argument requiring points further than ‘you’re stupid’ and ‘I’m telling Mama’. “—Naturally, the Asims are higher than us in terms of status, but we have it good, too.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Why, though?”
“Because the Asims were one of the primary families who bolstered the economy of the Scalding Sands, and it’s thanks to them that our family has everything we have.” You list off the facts you have been taught from childhood—the facts Jamil should know. You turn to him accusingly. “We should be grateful for everything we have.”
“Built off the backs of servitude.” he scoffs, expression distasteful.
“Jamil!”
“What?” His gaze slides from the scene of Kalim now twirling his little sister in the air to you. “When was the last time an Asim bathed by themself, or cooked a meal, or dressed themself, or did anything like that? Don’t you think that’s kind of embarrassing?”
You gape at him, eyes wide as saucers and mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “That’s—”
“—Imagine where the Vipers could be if the Asims didn’t keep us in servitude. Why does everyone keep saying that we would be homeless on the streets without them? Are we so stupid that we can’t figure out how to be functioning members of society, so we have to rely on them?”
Once he starts, he does not stop, and you are filled with a chilling feeling. Disbelief and disgust swirl in your gut, and he stares at you expectantly, like he expects you to agree with him.
“Jamil…” You hate his disapproval more than even your parents, but as they have instilled in you (and Jamil, but clearly he is forgetting everything he has been taught), you know right from wrong and will not compromise your beliefs. “I don’t agree with that.”
“Najma, just think,” he says fervently, voice still low to avoid being overheard. “Why is it a crime for us to not want to be servants for the rest of our lives?”
The conversation is abruptly cut off as Kalim returns, the servant whisking away the little Asim girl. Yet, as the two boys start another round of mancala, a single thought plagues your mind.
Your brother, the crown jewel of the Viper family, is going bad.
You are Najma Viper.
You are a part of the Viper family, who work for the Asim family. You live with your parents and your older brother named Jamil Viper, all of whom also work for the Asim family.
You are thirteen years old. Jamil is fifteen, two years your elder.
The two of you are currently gaping at a black envelope with a raven crest stamped in purple wax, sealing it shut. On the back of it, in shiny golden ink, reads Jamil’s name. It stands out amongst the rest of the letters concealed in various shades of off-white.
It is 9:02 at night. The two of you are not supposed to open any mail without giving it to your parents first, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.
Jamil tentatively opens the letter, and out unfolds a letter, parchment an equally dark shade of ebony with gold lettering and an extravagant signature at the bottom, the raven logo stamped next to it.
“You have been invited to attend Night Raven College,” Jamil murmurs, eyes slightly widened with disbelief. He silently mouths as he reads the rest of the letter, and your eyes scan the rest of the page alongside him. “If you choose to enroll, you will be picked up via carriage on August 31.”
“Are you going to accept?” You have a feeling you know what the answer will be.
As expected, he nods. “I want to, at least.”
There is no guarantee Jamil will be allowed to go. Still, you find a small part of you hoping he is permitted. Going will give Jamil the freedom he so desperately desires. You still fail to understand why he is struggling so much against a decided fate that isn’t even that bad, but Jamil is a good brother and you want him to be happy.
He seals the letter with magic, burying it back under the pile of letters once more.
“I hope you get to go,” you decide to verbalize.
He looks at you with an almost unreadable expression, but you have gotten better at reading him over the past few years. He has something he wants to say and is mentally debating whether or not to say it.
“Are you happy, Najma?”
The question catches you off guard, and your eyebrows knit together. “Huh?”
“Are you happy here?”
When you look into your brother’s eyes, you know it is a genuine question. You nod. “I think so.”
He sighs before giving you a rueful smile and ruffling your hair. “Take care of Mama and Baba when I’m gone.”
Your eyes widen, and your lips settle into a frown, but he goes to the sanctuary of his room and shuts the door.
You are Najma Viper.
You are a part of the Viper family, who work for the Asim family. You live with your parents and your older brother named Jamil Viper, all of whom also work for the Asim family.
You are fourteen years old. Jamil is sixteen, two years your elder.
The two of you are currently in two separate locations. You are with your cousin, Yara, eating breakfast. You wonder what Jamil is doing at Night Raven College. His absence is sorely missed by everyone, but most of all, Kalim Al-Asim.
It is 8:02 in the morning. You are supposed to start working at eight o’clock sharp, but what the people who care about your productivity—mostly your parents—don’t know won’t hurt them.
“Hey,” you say, lingering on the word as you contemplate whether or not asking the question in your head is a good idea. Yara is a year older than you, sweet as candy, and as devoted to the Asim family as all Vipers are meant to be. You would likely be like her, if not for Jamil’s influence. In his absence, she is the closest thing you have to a sibling.
She tilts her head curiously. “What’s up?”
“Have you ever dreamed of becoming something other than a servant?”
You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth at the concerned expression on her face. If Jamil were here, he would nod his head, maybe even smile as he recounts his dreams of becoming a dancer, or an accountant, or a scientist—there is no specific passion, but all of them are beyond servitude.
“Have you, Najma?” The question is pointed, almost accusatory, but Yara is kind and seems more worried than irate. It makes a confusing feeling of bitterness well up inside of you.
“No,” you answer quickly. Yara is not a safe person. “I was just curious.”
“I get it,” she says, but no, she doesn’t, because how could she? “We just have to remember how much the Asims have done for us and be grateful for that. It's an honor to serve them.”
You numbly nod, rising to clean up and head to work. Yet, as has been the norm since Jamil planted these thoughts into your head, your mind swims with doubt all day. Why can’t you be whatever you want when you grow up? Why were you born to serve, when you want so much more? Why are people like Nizar, who ran away three years ago, demonized?
There is no objectively logical answer you can come up with, but you cannot change the thoughts so deeply ingrained into your brain so simply.
So after midnight, after your parents have checked that you are still in bed, you pull out your phone.
r u awake :✨
🐍: why are you?
wanna talk :✨
Jamil is calling you not even a second later, and you feel a surge of gratefulness for your brother.
“Hey, Jamil.”
“Najma.”
“Are you busy? You’re an hour behind, but it’s still late there.”
“I was just doing some homework.” A brief pause. You wish you could see your brother to assess his body language and expressions. “What’s the matter?”
You hesitate. Why did you want to talk? “I’ve… been thinking a lot, especially since you’ve been gone.”
He is silent, urging you to continue, but you don’t know what words you want to say. Since Jamil’s absence, you feel as though you have aged several years, responsibilities upon responsibilities being dumped on your shoulders now that he is not here to take the brunt of them.
“Am I spoiled?” you ask.
A quiet puff of laughter escapes him. “That depends on who you’re comparing yourself to.”
“You.”
“Absolutely.”
“Kalim.”
“You know my thoughts on that.”
“Mother and Father.”
Jamil goes silent, and you wonder if you have said something wrong. “I don’t think…”
He falls silent. “You don’t think what?”
With a deep breath, he finishes his sentence. “I don’t think they should’ve had kids.”
The sentiment hangs heavy in the air. You love your parents, and you are certain that Jamil does, as well. But you also understand that the world is not black and white, as you were taught to believe. “Elaborate.”
“I don’t think I could have kids in good conscience and condemn them to this fate.”
You sigh, and you think about that question he asked you last year, after receiving his invitation to Night Raven College. Knowing that your answer has changed terrifies you because regardless of happiness, your future remains the same.
“I don’t like this,” you whisper.
“Elaborate,” he replies, a mirror of your earlier response.
“I…” You trail off, trying to soften your words. “I wish you just let me happily be a servant here. Instead of making me think all these things—making me doubt everything we’ve been taught.”
“Would you be happy, though? Or would you just be used to being unhappy?”
As always, Jamil knows how to intellectually challenge you in the most grating ways. You huff. “It’s easier to direct my anger at you, so the former.”
He laughs, and despite the statement you made only a second ago, you are glad Jamil has forced your brain to undergo intense reconstruction, because the outcome of that cognitive dissonance is being able to have conversations like this.
“I was talking to Yara earlier today,” you tell him. “I hope she doesn’t think too deeply about what I asked her.”
“What did you say?” His voice already held that familiar scolding tone.
“I asked her if she had ever dreamed about being anything other than a servant,” you say meekly, and quickly jumping to your own defense, you continue, “She’s not gonna snitch! I framed it as just a question. It’s not like I’m gonna ask Mama and Baba about it, or do something super obviously dumb.”
“Najma…” Jamil sighs, and you see him rubbing his temples in your mind’s eye. “Don’t talk about any of this to Yara. It’s dangerous.”
“I know, but that’s why I wanted to ask.” You move the phone to your other ear, wedging it between your shoulder. “It’s hard being the only person in the estate who thinks like this now that you’re gone. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
“How do you think I felt for the entirety of your middle school years?” he deadpans before sighing, and after a small bout of silence, he speaks, “I know you’re still working things out, but I’m proud of you, Najma.”
You go rigid, feeling your cheeks heat up and your lips involuntarily begin curling into a smile. “Shut up.”
“You should be getting to bed, now,” he chides, and when you look at the time, your eyes widen. “So should I.”
“Goodnight, Jamil.”
“Night.”
You are Najma Viper.
You are a part of the Viper family, who are servants of the Asim family. You live with your parents and your older brother named Jamil Viper, all of whom are also servants of the Asim family.
You are fifteen years old. Jamil is seventeen, two years your elder.
The two of you are currently wandering the streets of Silk City during the Camel Bazaar, accompanied by an odd group of students Jamil insists are not his friends from Night Raven College.
It is 4:43 in the afternoon. You are supposed to help with preparations once you have relayed the message of the seating change for the fireworks show to Jamil, but no one will know if you take a bit of extra time simply enjoying the city with your brother and his entourage—what they don’t know won’t hurt them.
Jamil was less than pleased to see you, which you figured made sense. The collision of friends and family was always awkward, and you were hellbent on embarrassing him in front of them, so it was only natural he didn’t want you there.
Eventually, he warms up to your presence, and it is quite nice helping him guide the group throughout the bazaar. He grumbles whenever you make him buy you something, but he does it anyway.
“Nizar came back,” you murmur to him as you chew a piece of bread with jam.
The only acknowledgment he gives you is his eyes sliding over to you. You continue, “They’re confining him for half the time he was gone since he came back of his own volition.”
A scoff escapes Jamil, but he says nothing. “I wish he stayed away,” you say after taking another bite. “Who would come back?”
“Nizar, apparently.” He dabs at his mouth with a tissue. “Anything else happen while I was away?”
You mull through everything in your head before listing, “Omar was executed for trying to poison Master Asim. He was really dumb with it, he got caught slipping something into his drink. There was some drama with his fourth wife because she was sleeping with another guy, but it’s all blown over now. Uh, Yara accidentally snitched on me to her parents and I got in pretty big trouble, but it’s all fine now. I think that’s everything?”
Jamil goes rigid. “What did you do?” Damn, of course he's going to interrogate you.
“I told her I wished I could have a day of just doing whatever I want.”
His jaw sets, and you thank every deity above that his glare is not directed at you. “What did they do to you?”
Your voice fails you. For good reason, you think. You know you can’t keep anything from Jamil, but you still want to try.
“Najma.” His eyes bore into you, hand resting on your shoulder. You glance over at the group, blissfully unaware and chatting as they devour the large loaf of bread. “Tell me. Now.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t experienced,” you mumble. “There’s nothing either of us can do about it.”
“Najma.”
You cram another chunk of bread in your mouth, and he watches you with an impatient look. You take your time chewing, and when you swallow, you attempt to sound mock cheery as you say, “Got my first lashing!”
His hand, seated on your shoulder this entire time, squeezes tight. “Where?”
When you hold out your palms, he takes them, eyelashes fluttering as he stares down at the mostly healed marks. His thumb runs over them, cool against the damaged flesh, and when he finally looks up, it is with a glare. “Najma, you need to be more careful.”
“I know, I know.”
“Najma, I’m serious.” He crosses his arms. “I don’t want you talking to Yara anymore, okay?”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” It slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, even if you wholeheartedly agree with him. "We're cousins. I'll talk to her if I want."
“Najma!” His raised voice draws looks of slight worry from his classmates, but he waves them off, lowering his voice once more and switching to speaking in Arabic. “For once in your life, please listen to me. Watch yourself. I’m not here to protect you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, crossing your arms as well. “I know. I’ll only talk to her if I need to, and I’ll call you whenever I wanna complain about anything.”
“That’s all I ask,” he sighs, rubbing his temples before equipping a smile. “Let’s join the rest of the group.”
You trudge after him, and when Trey asks if everything is okay, you both respond, “Fine” at the same time in the same, dull tone.
The fireworks go spectacularly, and that night, the four members of your family are reunited around the dinner table eating a dinner you cooked. Since Jamil left, you took up making meals, since your parents always came back tired and made subtle comments about how useful your youthful vim and vigor must be until you got the hint. Jamil jokingly pretends it is disgusting, and you kick him under the table, laughter and warmth filling the atmosphere as he recites anecdotes from school about a trio of mermen who keep bothering him, tense basketball games with high stakes, and endless other stories.
Your parents watch him with stars in their eyes, and you feel a bit bitter, but Jamil is the crown jewel of the Viper family—not to mention your dear brother—so you suck it up and join them in fawning over him.
Later in the year, when you hear about the seven overblots that had occurred at Night Raven College, you hardly bat an eye when they start showering you with praise.
You are Najma Viper.
You are a part of the Viper family, who are servants of the Asim family. You live with your parents and your older brother named Jamil Viper, all of whom are also servants of the Asim family.
You are sixteen years old. Jamil is eighteen, two years your elder.
The two of you are sitting in Jamil’s room, lounging together in silence. He and Kalim are home for winter break, a luxury they did not indulge in the previous year because of your brother’s stupidity, but he is here now. That is what matters.
It is 12:01 at night. Your parents have not stopped being skittish around Jamil since finding out about his overblot. They disowned him in front of Master Asim to spare their family, proving your philosophy that what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Finding out about this hurt them immeasurably, and it is only because of Kalim’s begging that Jamil is still with you.
Every time you see Kalim, you thank him, though there is a weary guilt in his eyes. He has grown.
One thing you hate is seeing your parents mistreat their son, so you stick with Jamil as much as possible to avoid them. You hate the abundance of praise they dole out to you like they used to with Jamil, and if you are with your brother, they avoid both of you.
“Hey, Najma.”
You look up from your phone. His eyes flit to the window, then the door. Checking.
“I think I’m going to run away in the future.”
Your heart stops.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says with a sore smile. “What are your thoughts?”
What you want to say doesn’t come out of you, because you could never make Jamil feel bad for wanting the freedom you so desperately yearn for, as well. You don’t want to encourage him. You want to tell him to stay here at the estate with the rest of your family.
But more than yourself, you know that Jamil needs freedom.
You want it, but Jamil needs it.
Giving him a strained smile, you reply, “If it’ll make you happy.”
His lips press into a thin line as he reads your expression, and you know that he can tell everything you are thinking from your face.
“It will,” he agrees at last. “It will make me happy, being rid of this place.”
The two of you fall into silence once again, and when the lump in your throat fades, you ask, “What about Mama and Baba?”
He sighs deeply. “I intend to send money to them while I am away.” He massages his fingers, squeezing away the hand pain he mentioned having to you once, then never again. “I’m still angry at them, but I don’t want to abandon them.”
“You’re a better man than me,” you muse. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. They literally disowned you and kicked you out for a week to avoid getting punished for you overblotting.”
“Yes, well…” He shrugs, as though it doesn’t matter. “I want them to know I still love them.”
You hum in response, and after a beat, you ask, “What about Kalim?”
“What about him?” There is a sharpness to his response, and when you simply raise an eyebrow, he sighs. “...He knows.”
Your eyes widen, and a soft puff of laughter escapes your brother. “We have a pact. I’m going to graduate first, but likely after a year or so, I will run away. When he becomes head, I will return to the estate, and depending on how I feel at the time, I will either become his adviser, or he will remove the bounty from my head if I wish to keep traveling.”
“Wow.” You feel a pang in your chest. “You’ve really thought this out, already.” It hurts, just a little, realizing that Kalim knew about all of this before you. You thought you and Jamil were the closest to each other.
Perhaps it was silly of you to think that.
“Yeah,” he hums, a small smile appearing on his face. “I’m going to be free.”
He looks so heartened, it makes the embittered feelings in your heart melt away.
You are Najma Viper.
You are a part of the Viper family, who are servants of the Asim family. You live with your parents and your older brother named Jamil Viper, all of whom are also servants of the Asim family.
You are seventeen years old. Jamil is nineteen, two years your elder.
The two of you are posing for a picture, your parents poised stiffly behind the two of you. Your brother has finally graduated from Night Raven College and is finally going to return to his duties at the Asim estate fully.
It is 2:54 in the afternoon. Once the picture is taken, Kalim seems to spawn out of nowhere, grabbing Jamil in a much too casual fashion for his father’s liking, judging by how he clicks his tongue, but Jamil smiles politely as a picture of the two of them is taken.
Kalim’s eyes lock with yours, and he beckons you into the picture. Hesitantly, you join, smiling wide for the camera. A wave of melancholy washes over you; the three of you are the only ones aware of Jamil’s plan to leave. You wonder if that is why Kalim called you to take a picture with just the two of them.
This time, next year, Jamil will likely be gone.
What they don’t know won’t hurt them. You have been telling yourself this your whole life, and you know it is true. Knowing Jamil is leaving makes you feel sick, even if you know he will be happy. Knowing hurts.
You cannot wallow in the thoughts, however, because a tall boy with teal hair grabs the two boys from behind and squeezes them tight, cackling as they squirm. He is also wearing the graduation robes the two are dressed in, so you assume he is one of their friends. Jamil doesn’t talk about friends practically ever, but they seem close.
Another boy identical to the one hugging Kalim and Jamil appears, and he lets them go. Behind them is a shorter boy with silvery hair and glasses—you wonder if this is the ‘Azul’ that Jamil will occasionally mention, whining about how annoying he is. You think Jamil might like him.
Jamil addresses the boy as Azul, confirming your suspicions. You can’t make heads or tails of their conversation, but it ends with a handshake, then Azul slipping a piece of paper into Jamil’s hands before departing, taking the two tall boys with him.
When Jamil opens the paper, a soft smile graces his lips.
Yep, he definitely likes him.
A sudden thought enters your mind: Is Jamil going to run away to Azul?
“They’re cute together,” a voice suddenly whispers in your ear, and you turn to see Kalim standing beside you with a smile. “I hope they have fun with each other when… you know.”
You catch a bitter edge to his words, and as he looks at Jamil longingly, you wonder if there is a deeper layer to his feelings. If Jamil has unwittingly found himself in the middle of a love triangle.
Messy.
“You know, Najma,” Kalim continues, voice still quiet, “If you ever wanna talk, you can come find me. I’d be happy to talk to you.”
When you turn to him, he wears his usual smile, and you grin as you ask, “Is that a request?”
“Probably,” he chuckles, sighing while wearing that smile that never seems to leave his face. “You’re nicer than Jamil, anyway. Maybe I’ll like hanging around you more than him.”
It is such an odd thing to hear from the heir’s lips, the lips that have never done anything but sing Jamil’s praises since they could form words. But you nod, and it seems like a weight is lifted off his shoulders as his smile returns to full brightness and he rejoins Jamil, who is now talking to a beastman with fluffy blond hair.
Immediately after returning to the Asim estate with the two newly graduated boys, there is a massive graduation party for Kalim that you are endlessly grateful to have been exempt from helping prepare for since you were attending the ceremony. It is even more of the whole shebang than usual, and you feel sorry for your poor brother, who is put to work the minute he is seen. He shrugs you off when you ask him if he is okay or if he wants you to take on any of his responsibilities. As always, Jamil is a diligent worker, but you still pitch in and help him whenever you can.
That night, Kalim tells your parents he needs you and Jamil for something. They would not hesitate to disown their child for the Asims, so this is no problem, even if they had planned a special graduation dinner for their son. They thank him for being such a kind and charitable master and are off on their merry way.
The three of you simply hang out in his room in your nightclothes, eating snacks, making jokes, teasing Jamil about Azul (he insists he doesn’t like him, but you and Kalim both know better than to believe him), and gossiping about rumors floating around the estate until you all fall asleep.
Moments like these occur more and more often over the next year. You cherish them; it likely is the last you will experience them.
You are Najma Viper.
You are a part of the Viper family, who are servants of the Asim family. You live with your parents, who are also servants of the Asim family.
You are eighteen years old.
You sit with Kalim in his study, helping him read through batches of papers that you have no idea what they detail, and neither does he, but together, you make it work. He struggles to read them, so you read aloud to him, and he knows what to make of them, so he does whatever they dictate once you relay that to him. You are the only one he trusts with this task.
It is 8:11 in the evening. Kalim sighs deeply, slouching back in his chair, indicating he is done for the day. You begin tidying up the papers, and he remains sprawled out before springing into action helping you collect and organize them.
When you are done, he fills both of the glasses that another servant had brought in earlier with tea. You test it, and when you discern it is not poisonous, you both drink.
“I miss him.”
A sigh escapes you. You don’t want to talk about him.
Kalim, however, clearly does. “It’s so weird that someone can mean so much to you, and then they just leave.”
Don’t you know it.
“I never let myself think about it too much before, but I’ve never really lived without him.” His voice has a dreamy drawl to it, words breathy and slurred in the way he only speaks when his guard is fully down. When his gaze shifts to you, his eyes are shiny. “I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.”
“It’s fine,” you say shortly. “I’m fine. He’s happy. Things are a little tougher, but everything’s fine.”
Truthfully, it is very much not fine. You thought you and Jamil were close. You thought he told you everything. You thought you would know when he was going to run away so you could mentally prepare for it, and you thought he would keep in contact with you because, well, circling back to how you thought you were close.
And you thought all these things because he told you he would. He reassured you with his silver tongue, comforting you with saccharine, false assurances.
The fucking snake.
When he left, you had no idea. “See you tomorrow,” he said. Tomorrow rolled around, and a messily scrawled note was left in his room in place of him.
“Take care of Mama and Baba,” he told you in it. The last line was “I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better Viper.”
You cried.
Your parents hounded you for the next week, asking if you knew. You cried harder, profusely denying it. Kalim holed himself up in his room for that terrible first week after the initial shock, but when you two talked about it, you found a sick sense of comfort knowing he hadn’t told Kalim he was leaving, either.
“Are you sure everything’s fine?” Kalim asks as you begin tidying up the tea set, and the way he peers at you reminds you of the way Jamil used to read you so effortlessly. “You can talk to me, you know.”
After a second of returning his stare with an odd expression, you break. “I’m pissed at him. How could he just leave like that? Without telling either of us? And now he’s—he’s not in contact with me at all! Like I get why he doesn’t wanna talk to you, no offense, but I’m his sister! I’m in the same situation as he is! He’s the whole reason I’m unhappy with being a servant!”
Kalim nods understandingly, and you freeze, realizing that you swore to only share your feelings of bitterness toward the situation with Jamil. Did he force you and Kalim to become close over the past year so you would both have someone to talk to in his absence? So you have one more person to share the weight of the world with?
The thought makes you want to cry, so you push it away. Jamil isn’t that considerate.
That’s a lie. He is. He absolutely is.
“I hate him,” you whisper, voice cracking as you fall into your chair and bury your face in your hands. “He could’ve at least told me if he didn’t wanna stay in touch, instead of lying about it.”
An odd silence hung in the air; normally Kalim would have said something by now.
“HULLO!”
Both you and Kalim jump backward at the sight of a parrot flying through the open window and perching on the desk. “HULLO! DELIVERY! MASTER! DELIVERY!”
Your eyes widen at the sight of a letter tied to its leg, and you all but tear it off the animal. Kalim’s hand is on your shoulder as you open it, both of your eyes rapidly scanning the page.
Najma and Kalim,
I assume it is one of you two or both of you reading this because this ink should not be visible to anyone else. I hope you are doing well and that my disappearance did not cause you too much trouble. I apologize for departing so suddenly; it was truly a spur-of-the-moment decision involving a certain octopus and the Coral Sea. It’s a beautiful nation.
Azul and I are dating now. The bastard keeps trying to rope me into working for him. It was insufferable, being around him practically 24/7, but he showed me the most stunning locations underwater, so I cannot complain too much. I thought I would be rid of him after graduating, but he’s not half bad. Don’t tell him I said that, though, or he’ll get even more full of himself.
How are Mama and Baba? Have they disowned me once again? I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but please don’t give them any news about me. Or anyone else, for that matter, but I’m unsure who else you would tell.
…I hope none of you are getting punished because of me.
Anyway, back to my whereabouts. The Coral Sea was nice, but I’m back on land, now. In the Sunshine Lands, to be specific. That is where I bought this parrot. His name is Cassio. He already knows a few words, but I taught him a new one. I’m sure you can guess what it is.
I want to apologize again. You two are well within your rights to not forgive me, and knowing Najma, you probably won’t. I will continue to send updates nevertheless.
This has been quite the journey so far. There are so many places I want to visit and things I want to do. For now, though, for the first time in my life, I think I’m truly happy.
I hope you are happy, too. Both of you.
Sincerely,
Jamil Viper
Tears drip onto it, blurring the ink. Whether they are from you or Kalim, you are unsure, because you keep reading the lettering over and over again.
“He’s okay,” Kalim whispers, wearing a bittersweet smile. “He’s happy.”
“Glad he knows I’m still pissed at him,” you scoff, though you cannot help but smile as well. “Idiot…”
You fold the note after a few more minutes of gawking at it and hand it to Kalim. “It’ll be safer with you.”
He wipes his tears before nodding, taking the paper gently, almost reverently. “Thanks, Najma.”
“HULLO!”
Both of you turn to the crimson parrot, who squawks another greeting when your eyes land on it. “What do we do with his fuckass parrot?”
“Cassio,” Kalim supplies with a laugh, pulling out a paper and pushing it to you. “And I think he’s waiting for a response.”
You wrinkle your nose, pettily eyeing the paper. “I don’t wanna write to him. Why don’t you?”
“I think I should probably give him a bit of freedom not hearing from me for a bit.” He laughs again, and it sounds a little hollow, but you smile, pleasantly surprised by his consideration.
“Fine. I’ll write a response. But only a short one.”
You pick up a pen, press it against the paper, and berate the shit out of your brother, signing off with a heart next to your name. Kalim enchants it the same way Jamil enchanted his, you tie it to the parrot’s leg, and it flies away.
“I can’t believe he actually taught his parrot to say ‘master’,” you say wryly, watching as it flies off into the sunset. “I always thought he was joking.”
The two of you depart, and you head back to your house. When you get home, your mother asks if you have heard anything from Jamil—despite disowning him to Master Asim’s face, she anxiously asks after him daily. Your father is a bit tougher, but you can tell he is also listening to hear news about his son.
“Nothing, like usual,” you say, recalling witnessing Jamil lie to Kalim during a mancala game. It scared you how easily he lied then, but this lie rolls so easily off your tongue now.
After all, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.