But just a year later, Zahrah woke in the middle of the night, hand resting on her belly. The stars above her window blinked as if in recognition. Something stirred inside her — something familiar, yet unlike before.
Dr. Mary, now more family than friend, examined her.
Her smile was slow and stunned. "Zahrah… it's not just one child this time. It's triplets."
Zahrah didn't speak at first. She simply laughed — tears brimming, heart pounding.
"Of course it is," she whispered, her voice steady.
Because nothing in her life had ever arrived alone.
It came in threes.
In trials, in love, in miracles.
And now again — in the promise of life.
And in the years that followed, Zahrah and Aydin's home echoed with laughter, music, tiny footsteps, and bedtime stories told beneath starlight.
They were blessed — not once, not twice — but again and again, until one day, they found themselves surrounded by twelve children. Each one unique. Each one a story. Each one a miracle born from a life that had once known only pain and silence.
There was always a mess to clean, a song being sung, or a wild animal curled at someone's feet. There were scraped knees, birthday cakes, sleepless nights, and morning cuddles tangled beneath woolen blankets.
And through it all, Zahrah never forgot who she was — not a queen, not a warrior, not a legend.
Just a woman. A mother. A healer. A dreamer.
Aydin would look at her sometimes, lost in thought, and say, "The world only knows half of who you are."
She'd smile, kiss his forehead, and reply, "The rest is for you and our children to discover."
And so they lived — not in the pages of history, but in the hearts of those they touched. Quietly, gracefully, joyfully.
In a house filled with flowers and little shoes and paint on the walls.
Where peace was not just a treaty, but a way of life.
Where love was not declared — but shown, in the simplest of ways.
The end.
Or maybe…
just the beginning.