Page 39 of Under the Arabian Sky

I did trust him.

Over the course of the past two days, Tariq’s companionship had proven to be more than just interesting and enjoyable. He had, from the get-go, demonstrated himself to be a kind, compassionate, knowledgeable, trustworthy gentleman. Add to that the fact that he was driven, confident and handsome as hell, and there was no denying that I was quickly developing feelings for the man… feelings I hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

Yes… the more time I spent with Tariq, the more the walls of my tired old fort crumbled, little by little.

CHAPTER15

Lost.

Despite the fact that Tariq knew exactly where he was going, lost was how I felt… but not in a bad way.

No, I felt lost in the best way possible.

After three hours of driving, the desert landscape we came across was like nothing else I’d seen before.

The road disappeared.

The dunes reached for the sun.

And the horizon seemed to run away from us, journeying as far as she could in her quest to touch the bright blue sky.

As civilisation fell away behind us and the burnt orange dunes of the Sharqiya Sands opened up before us, transporting us to a world beyond this one, I felt myself letting go of everything I was, everything I am, everything I knew. The desert unfolded before us, the dunes like the pages in a book of secrets that was forever re-writing itself.

There in Tariq’s Jeep— as I sat beside a man who seemed to be doing everything right if he wanted to capture my heart like a wounded falcon— I felt utterly, completely, wonderfully lost.

We neared the peak of a dune, and he stopped the Jeep.

He shut down the engine, then shouldered his car door open so I did the same, plucking my camera out of the daypack on the backseat and putting the strap of it over my neck.

He walked ahead of me to the crest of the dune, his kandura and ghutra billowing gently in a soft breeze.

I had to stop myself from trembling as I looked at him, this prince of the desert, in so perfect a pose I snatched up my camera and snapped half a dozen pictures of him before he had a chance to turn around and catch me out.

“Arthur! Come and see this!” he called over his shoulder.

My feet sank up to my ankles, but I managed to climb to the top of the dune… at which point the entire world fell at my feet, so much so I might as well have been standing on the top of Mount Everest, only surrounded by sand instead of snow.

“Take it in,” Tariq said. “Just take a deep breath and take it all in. This land is endless. This land is timeless. This land is alive and ever-changing. It is a shipless ocean, each dune forever shifting, forever moving like a wave carrying more grains of sand than stars in the heavens. So many men look up to find their god, their religion. Me? I look to the desert. This is where my spirit lives. This sand— and this sand alone— will guide me to where I need to go. It will always light the way and show me the man I need to be.”

He looked at me. Then, without so much as asking, he took me by the hand. “Sit with me.”

I didn’t question him. I did exactly as he asked. Together the two of us lowered ourselves and sat cross-legged on the sand. He released my hand and said, “You know the science of sand, but have you ever experienced the spirituality of sand?”

In this beautiful, breath-taking, faraway place, it felt unnecessary— almost inappropriate— to respond with words. In the golden glow of the desert, I simply shook my head.

He held up both hands and I did the same.

“Take your right hand and place it on the ground beside you, your palm upon the sand.”

I did as he said, and instantly I felt my body draw upon the warmth of the desert.

“Take your left hand and do the same on your left side. Now… close your eyes and feel the energy of the desert. The positive energy flows in through your right hand… and all the negative energy within you flows out through the left. Can you feel it passing through you? Can you feel the desert cleansing your soul?”

Perhaps it was the sun.

Perhaps it was the desert breeze gently brushing against my skin.

Perhaps it was the melodic tone of Tariq’s voice, his accent, the wisdom I so desperately wanted to hear in his words;

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