Page 58 of Under the Arabian Sky

In years past, I thought that sense of reluctance would be because of my fear of flying… but right now, it was coming from a fear of leaving Tariq alone in a storm.

The flight attendant scanned my boarding pass and said, “Please hurry, sir. You’re the last to board. We need to get this plane in the air immediately before its grounded.”

I did what I was told.

I allowed myself to be shuffled on board the plane.

I found my seat and shoved my suitcase in the overhead compartment.

I buckled my seatbelt as the pilot announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, our apologies for the hasty departure but we need to beat this storm. It’s looking like one of the biggest sandstorms Oman has seen in quite some time so I suggest you ensure your safety belt is fastened low and tight across your lap.”

With aping, the seatbelt sign flashed above my head.

I glanced out the window, and in the distance I caught sight of a giant sand cloud filling the horizon.

“Tariq,” I whispered, as though my heart needed to hear his name out loud before—

I suddenly unbuckled my belt.

I stood from my seat.

A flight attendant hurried down the aisle to stop me. “Sir, I need you to take your seat and—”

“I can’t. I have to get off this plane. You have to stop the plane! Now!”

“Sir, you need to sit down. We’re preparing to pull away from the gate.”

“No, please. I need to go. Somebody needs me.”

“Sir…”

“Please let me off. You don’t understand. I’ve already lost one person I love to a storm… I can’t lose another. Please… please let me go.”

The flight attendant looked out the window to see the boarding bridge was still connected to the plane. She called to one of her colleagues— “Tell the pilot we need to let a passenger off. Hurry!”

I smiled, my relief only momentary as the gravity of the impending storm continued to weigh heavier and heavier upon my heart. “Thank you.Shukrun jaziilan. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said, helping me with my suitcase. “Just hurry. You do not want to be out in a storm like this.”

CHAPTER20

I managedto grab one of the few remaining taxis leaving the terminal before they all fled like frightened mice. I gave him Tariq’s address and he sped through the streets as the entire city of Muscat began to hunker down, every door and window shut tight, every storefront closed, and every marketplace now completely abandoned.

When I reached Tariq’s home, I paid the driver and thanked him, then grabbed my suitcase and raced up to the front door, the sky turning red above me as though the apocalypse itself was coming.

Zahra answered the door and almost burst into tears when she saw me.

“Oh Arthur, you’re back.” She hugged me tight and said, “Praise Allah you’re back.”

“Is Tariq here? Is he safe?”

Zahra shook her head. “About an hour or so ago he took Huda to return Mahir’s falcon to the wild. He was still angry about last night. I told him the weather might turn, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s all right,” said Tariq’s father, limping to the doorway with his walking stick. “I will find him. I will take Habibi, and we will bring our son back.”

“You cannot go,” Zahra snapped at him. “You can barely walk, let alone find our son in a sandstorm.”

“I can though,” I said, the words sounding more desperate than courageous. “I can find him. I can bring him home.”

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