Layla entered quietly, wearing an olive-colored robe. Her hair was neatly tied back, her eyes swollen with exhaustion—and longing. The moment she saw "Aisha" turn toward her, her face lit up.
"O Allah… you're finally awake," she murmured, holding back tears as she sat beside the bed and grasped Ruqayyah's hand.
Ruqayyah forced a gentle smile.
"I'm sorry for worrying you…"
Layla let out a small, bitter laugh.
"Worried? Goodness, Aisha… even someone who's usually very sarcastic suddenly stood outside your house—twice."
"Who?" Ruqayyah asked reflexively, then instantly regretted it.
Layla raised an eyebrow and grinned mischievously.
"Guess. Tall. Sarcastic. Always carrying philosophy books—and you always lose your temper debating him."
Ruqayyah pretended not to understand.
Layla sighed.
"He never said a word. But I saw it myself. When Maryam said you hadn't woken up… he went silent. His fists clenched. Then he left before entering. Twice. Just stood at the gate… then disappeared."
Ruqayyah fell silent.
Whoever that man was—Faris, surely—didn't know that the one lying here was not Aisha.
And if he did know… would he still come to that gate?
Layla squeezed her hand gently.
"You know, the physicians say people in deep sleep can sometimes hear. So I told you everything. Every day. Including about that young man… and how he worried about you in silence."
"Thank you…" Ruqayyah whispered sincerely.
Layla studied her closely.
"You're a little different, Aisha. But… I'm glad you're back."
Suddenly, a deep voice echoed from the slightly open window—heard by Ruqayyah alone, resonating within her heart:
"You have returned, traveler of destiny. Remember our message: only one book will accompany you—the book of light that never ends. Within it, every step you take is recorded… and a new page awaits."
Ruqayyah stiffened.
There was no one there.
But she knew.
It was the Guardian of Light.
The book… the only object from the world between worlds that followed them.
---
Indonesia, 2024 — Aisha's New World
Cold air brushed her skin, sharp like an autumn night, blowing from a white box mounted on the wall.
Aisha—now in Ruqayyah's body— tried to sit up, only to bump her arm against a clear barrier beside the bed. Her eyes widened.
"By the honor of the Commander of the Faithful… is this a demon's spear?"
Ruqayyah's mother sat beside her, holding a softly glowing object. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Ruqayyah? You're awake?"
The language sounded strange, yet Aisha could understand it. Memories of the White Realm surfaced—the glowing book, the angel's words.
She touched the book. Luminous words appeared:
"Day One in the new world. Live while remembering Allah."
Aisha inhaled deeply.
"Very well… this is my trial. This world… is filled with peculiar devices."
Exploring the Modern World
Seated in a wheelchair, Aisha's eyes sparkled as she tried pushing it herself.
"SubhanAllah… it is like a seated camel, yet far more obedient. But why do these wheels not eat hay?" she muttered.
She opened a tall white cabinet. Cold mist spilled out.
"This is… a sorcerer's cupboard? Snow inside? May I enter and become a woman of ice?"
Her father quickly stopped her.
"That's a refrigerator. Not a secret cave."
Aisha dutifully wrote in the mystical book:
"Large white cabinet stores snow. Do not enter. Modern humans do not bathe in snow—unless wishing to become ice cream."
Phones, Remotes, and Other Mysteries
Suddenly, a tring-tring sound rang out.
"Na'udzubillah! What jinn sings like that?!"
Her mother laughed.
"That's a phone, dear."
Aisha stared at the flat object as if it were a royal relic.
"It speaks… and sends letters? This jinn is remarkably intelligent," she whispered in awe.
She then spotted the air conditioner remote.
"This small object… controls the wind?"
Asta shook his head.
"That's an AC remote."
Aisha wrote again:
"Flat object controls other objects. Must be cautious when pressing its symbols."
From the kitchen came the sound of water. Aisha turned a metal handle—and water flowed instantly. She gasped, then laughed softly.
"A metal well? And water appears without effort? MashaAllah… this modern world is full of subtle magic!"
--
Hospital Consultation Room
Father: "Doctor, since waking up, Ruqayyah has changed. She's… strange."
Mother: "Ordinary things shock her. Even how she calls her brother is different."
Doctor: "This may be post-traumatic disorientation, identity disturbance, or regression. However… there is something I cannot explain."
He looked at them seriously.
"It is as if… this child awakened with a different soul. Beyond medical logic."
Aisha smiled faintly as she wrote in the glowing book.
For her, every object was a riddle, every sound a mystery—and this modern world had become her first battlefield.
"MashaAllah… humans of this era live among countless tiny enchantments. I must learn quickly… before they decide I am the strange one."
--
Somewhere Beyond Baghdad — a stone chamber wrapped in darkness
Torchlight flickered between wooden pillars. Several men sat cross-legged, their postures calm—but their eyes were not. They burned with calculation, with resentment carefully sharpened.
One of them—tall, draped in dark crimson robes—grinned as he stared at the floor.
"It's been a month," he said coldly. "And Al-Fadl's daughter still hasn't awakened. One strike. One message."
"She never saw it coming," added a man in a black turban. "I like your style, Malian. Quiet—but devastating."
A third man, thick-bearded and tattooed, slowly slammed his fist into his palm.
"That was still too gentle for my taste. A young girl. They deserve far worse."
The tension thickened—until a voice from a high-backed chair cut through the air.
"Enough."
Silence fell instantly.
"We are not child butchers," the voice continued. "We send warnings. Not bloodshed. This was never about the Vizier's daughter. It was about unsettling their sense of safety."
No one dared to interrupt.
"You have played your part. But do not celebrate yet. This… is only the beginning."
The lone torch in the chamber flickered once—then went out.
--
At the same place, moments later
The desert wind carried the scent of dust and metal. In the distance, horses slowed to a halt.
Faris ibn Yahya dismounted first.
His cloak was black, his face half-veiled. Behind him moved two men almost without sound: Halim, a tracker who blended into shadows, and Rashid, a former battlefield soldier whose body looked forged from steel.
Halim raised a hand—signal to halt.
"Cart tracks," he whispered. "Old—but clear. They lead to that structure."
Rashid drew a long dagger, moonlight glinting along its edge.
"A door that low is meant for those who don't want to be seen. A hideout for men who avoid the sky."
Faris studied the windowless stone building. The earth around it was churned, marked by many passing feet.
"I had the same suspicion," Faris said quietly.
"They're the reason Vizier Al-Fadl's daughter has been unconscious for a month."
"Yes," Rashid replied.
"Poor girl," Halim murmured.
"They didn't stop with the Vizier's family," Halim continued. "Three poor households in the eastern quarters were attacked the same way. This isn't a warning… it's terror."
Faris's voice dropped.
"Then tonight," he growled,
"it ends."
Inside the dark building
The men inside had no idea what approached them. They were still discussing their next target—an elderly scholar known for openly condemning oppression.
Malian leaned back, sharpening his blade.
"Baghdad is afraid now. We've already—"