by Aisha Saeed
“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember much.”
“Doesn’t mean you miss them any less, I’m sure.”
She was right about that.
“So, all of this”—she gestured to the room—“the palace and the grounds. This entire kingdom. It’s all yours?”
“Yes. I don’t have any family left in the world.”
Jasmine’s eyes brimmed with tears. Aladdin cleared his throat.
“I’m never wanting for company, though,” he said quickly. This was true; after all, Abu was like family. And now he had the carpet, and Genie. “And I have so many responsibilities—I’m too busy to think much about it.”
“Does that make you the king of Ababwa, if you are the sole heir?”
“Oh, right. Well. I’m the ruler, so I’m effectively the king,” he said, improvising. “But I can’t be officially king until my twenty-fifth birthday. So until then I’m a prince.” He flinched as the words left his mouth. He knew it was unavoidable, but he hated lying to her.
“When you lose your parent, there’s a part of you that remains missing,” Jasmine said. “It doesn’t go away. You just learn how to live with it.”
Aladdin nodded. He knew just what she meant. “I was only a few years old when my father died. I have almost no memories of him except some fuzzy recollections. But I was about seven years old when my mother died from a lengthy illness. I remember her more than my father, but with each passing day, when I close my eyes and think of her, the memories fade a bit more. I hate that. I have some memories, but they’re not enough.” He blinked. He’d never said so much about all of this to anyone. Jasmine was so easy to talk to. The way she listened—it was a new feeling. He liked it.
“Memories have a way of losing their edges as time passes.”
“What was she like, your mother?” Aladdin asked.
“She was lovely,” Jasmine said. “She was from Shirabad, which she ruled long before she met my father. She traveled back and forth all the time. Sometimes I went with her.”
“So she let you travel.”
“Oh, yes. She wasn’t anything like my father. He’s so afraid to lose me, he won’t let me live. I was supposed to become a ruler like her. I’d linger in her quarters for hours listening as she met with her advisors and brokered peace agreements between nations. She let me observe and absorb it all because I was meant to follow in her footsteps. I never met anyone who was as natural a leader as she was. If she knew the way I was living now, she would be livid.”
“She sounds amazing,” Aladdin said.
“She was. But I guess it’s not her leadership I miss most. It’s all the rest of it. The things that wouldn’t matter to anyone else except for me. Like how she tucked me in at night with my favorite lullaby. The way she held my hand until I was asleep. The sound of her laughter. But even then…” Her eyes grew misty. “Even with all of these memories, I want more. Memories can’t replace the person you miss.”
Aladdin thought of his mother. Even when she was alive they’d still been poor. But despite all they didn’t have, having one another had always felt like enough. Even now, he could remember his mother’s deep brown eyes, so dark they looked black if you didn’t pay close enough attention.
He gazed around the room, and then his eyes landed on a pair of golden-framed portraits at the far end. They hung adjacent to where Jasmine and Aladdin sat in the dining room. He straightened, blinking. It couldn’t be. His eyes were playing tricks on him. But there they were, against the gold-papered walls: two floor-to-ceiling oil portraits. And the people in those portraits looked like his mother and father.
He walked toward the portraits as though in a trance. Jasmine followed close behind. She didn’t say a word. Face to face now, there was no doubt about who those people in the frames were. His mother wore a taffeta and lace sage-green blouse. Her hair was wrapped in a bun and she wore a diamond tiara. His father held a staff in his hand and peered down at them with sparkling green eyes—it was almost as though he were truly looking at them. Aladdin remembered his father’s eyes. When so much had faded from his memories of the man, he’d remembered that much. Now he saw that his father had the same brown skin and square jawline as Aladdin’s own.
He knew his parents had probably never worn clothing like this, but beneath the royal garb, he felt the warmth of their smiles, which seemed truer than anything in the world.
“You have her eyes,” Jasmine said. “And his smile.”
Aladdin nodded, unable to speak.
“You okay?” Jasmine asked gently.
“It’s just that I haven’t seen their faces in some time.” He turned to Jasmine. “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if your mother had still been a part of it?”
“All the time.”
Until Aladdin had met Jasmine, he’d assumed people who lived in palaces, with every material thing they could ever desire at their fingertips, did not want for anything. But all the gold and riches in the world could not bring back Jasmine’s mother or his own parents. Jasmine had so many memories of her mother. Far more memories than he had of his own parents. Did it hurt less to have fewer memories? Did the loss not sting as deep? Or did it not make a difference at all, because whether the memories of those you’d lost were many or few, it didn’t change how much you loved them?
“Wish I could have met them,” Jasmine said.
“Me too,” said Aladdin. Jasmine looked up at him, and then, she reached out, took his hand in hers, and squeezed it gently. Just like that, Aladdin’s heart felt a bit less heavy. He knew their actual stations in life were worlds apart, but even with the different lives they had led, she understood him like no one else ever had. The past could not be undone. But when he looked down at her hand in his, and then into her beautiful wide brown eyes—for the first time in a long while, he thought seriously about the future. It was still unwritten. Normally all the uncertainty of that would fill him with anxiety, but right now, hand in hand with Princess Jasmine, the endless possibilities ahead felt like a wonderful thing indeed.
JASMINE AND ALI stepped through the wide glass doors that overlooked the grand sitting room and into the main courtyard of the palace. In contrast to the rest of the opulent palace, this courtyard was a breath of fresh air—simple and elegant. The walls were graced with murals of flowers and butterflies and birds designed intricately out of geometric shapes; flowers in pastel pots dotted the perimeter and trailed onto a wide-open pathway that looked like it led into the sprawling gardens and grounds of the palace.
“Now, this is nice,” she said. “This might be my favorite spot in your home! From what I’ve seen so far, that is.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Ali ran his hands along a wall of tiles layered into the image of a soaring white sparrow. “This is my favorite also. I designed it myself not too long ago.”
Jasmine felt bad that she hadn’t found much to compliment about the rest of his home. But the truth was that it was all so incredibly over the top. She was all for a nice flight of stairs, but was there really a place in any palace for four jewel-encrusted staircases? And those enormous minarets surrounding the building—why would someone go through all the trouble and put people at risk getting those things so high up like that? Surely it was also a hazard for the birds that flew about the kingdom. And then there was that ridiculous portrait of Ali grinning down upon any passerby from the foyer as though he just might leap out of the frame and wrestle them. Why would anyone commission a painting like that of themselves, much less hang it up as the first image guests saw when they entered the palace? She looked at the man next to her now; she couldn’t imagine him ever posing as pompously as that.
She knew her mother would have chided her for her uncharitable thoughts. “Be careful not to judge others simply because their worldview is different from your own,” she had often reminded Jasmine. “Others have not lived your life, just as you have not lived theirs.”
Jasmine knew her mother
was right about this. For starters, Jasmine had never lived a life where a magic carpet could whisk her from island to city to country to continent in a matter of seconds. Even now she could scarcely believe all the things she’d seen. And the truth was that as over-the-top as this palace might have been, Ali himself was anything but. He was down to earth and kind and warm. He spoke to everyone he met, regardless of their occupation or social standing, without a trace of affectation or pretense. It was no wonder they’d lined the streets to greet him with so much adoration when the two of them had arrived. She couldn’t hold it against him that his ancestors had taste that didn’t exactly align with contemporary palace standards, could she? She knew what it was like to have to live with the choices others had made. And as for the smug, smiling portrait—well, no one was perfect.
“Do we have time for a stroll through the palace grounds?” she asked him. “They extend quite far into the distance, it looks like.”
“Absolutely,” Ali told her. “And there’s something I want to show you out there that I just know you’re going to love.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“Can’t tell you. It’s a surprise!”
“No, no,” she protested. “There’s something you should know about me. I really don’t like surprises.”
“All right, fair enough.” He laughed. “Why don’t we go ahead and head over there right now, in that case?”
Just then, a door flew open and slammed behind them. Heavy footsteps approached. Ali gripped Jasmine’s hand and swiveled to see who it was. Upon finding that it was Omar hurrying over to them, he relaxed, his grip loosening.
She studied him curiously. Who had Ali thought was approaching them? And why did he appear so tense? She’d noticed the same look pass across his face when they’d walked up to the palace guards earlier—he had grabbed her hand then, too, and looked as though he were preparing to bolt at any second.
“Pardon me, Your Highness,” Omar apologized to Jasmine before turning to Ali. “Prince Ali, I have come to remind you about your meeting today. It starts in just about five minutes.”
“What meeting?” Ali asked him.
“The constituency council meeting you have every month with your people, my prince. Everyone is so excited you are back in time for this month’s open forum. People do rely on your advice so very much, and they’ve missed it lately what with your being away so much with all your travels.”
“Oh, right,” Ali said. “The constituency council. I had forgotten all about that.”
“You have an open forum with your subjects every month?” Jasmine asked. “Anyone can come and talk to you there?”
“I love helping people out and knowing what the issues may be in Ababwa.” Ali nodded. “I think it’s important for people who are charged with ruling a kingdom to listen to their subjects and give whatever advice to their troubles that they can offer, but…” He turned to Omar. “The thing is that I’m only here for a quick trip to show Jasmine the kingdom. I can reschedule the meeting for when I return next time. Would that be all right?”
“Of course, I will send them away and postpone it. Whatever you would like.” Omar hesitated. “But my prince, allow me to be so bold as to ask you to reconsider. They’ve been lining up outside the meeting room since they heard of your return. They are so eager to see you.”
“Well…” Ali sighed.
“It’s entirely your decision, Prince Ali. I can send them away if you would like. I am sure they will understand.”
“Don’t hold off on having this meeting on my account,” Jasmine said at once.
“Are you sure?” Ali asked her.
“Work comes first, and this is such important work. To listen to your subjects in this way—it must make such a difference.”
Ali studied her for a moment. “Want to join me?”
“I’d love to.” She nodded. “Gives me a chance to learn how this whole thing works.”
“Not to learn.” Ali shook his head. “I mean, would you be willing to sit alongside me and help advise? Two heads are better than one, right?”
“You want my help with advising your people?” Jasmine asked.
“Only if you want to,” Prince Ali quickly hurried to add. “If you’d rather rest or take in the gardens while I finish that meeting, I understand.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that no one has ever asked me to be part of any serious decision-making before. I…I would be honored, of course,” she finally said. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for being so understanding about this and for offering to share your insights.” He turned to Omar. “Can we get her an extra seat next to mine?”
“Of course,” Omar said. “I will arrange for it at once. And, oh!” He paused, reaching into a satchel by his side. “I almost forgot—your bag.”
Ali frowned at the gray pouch lined with gold thread that Omar proffered now. Ali looked at it but did not move to take it.
“Your satchel, sir,” Omar said, his hand still outstretched. “I forgot to give it to you when you first arrived. But I know you like to have it with you in case it becomes necessary.”
Ali took the bag from him and opened it. Jasmine saw a glint of gold from within and heard the sound of metal clinking.
“Thanks for remembering.” Ali looked relieved. “I’m all mixed up today, aren’t I?” He quickly tied the pouch to a loop on his waist. He turned to Jasmine now. “Shall we head over to advise the people?” Ali offered his arm to her.
“Let’s.” Jasmine took his arm. “So,” she said as they walked toward the palace, “tell me a little about this surprise.”
“Can’t do that. It won’t be a surprise then.”
“Oh, come on, at least a hint?”
“Nope. Sorry. It will spoil the fun.”
“Fun? The suspense is unbearable!” she protested.
“Well, now I have to keep it under wraps.” Ali laughed. “The suspense will make the discovery all the more exciting.”
“Fine.” Jasmine rolled her eyes. “I can wait.”
Arm in arm, they headed back to the palace. They were both so taken by the courtyard’s murals and potted plants, and with one another, that neither of them noticed him—the man peering through the wrought iron gates just on the other side of the courtyard. And neither of them saw this stranger carefully watch them returning to the palace, his eyes narrow. His expression darkening.
THE ADVISORY HALL—that’s what Omar had called it when they walked in—was not so much a hall as practically a palace in its own right. A freestanding white brick building, it sat just off to the side of the courtyard. Inside, the walls were a cool gray, and paintings of the kingdom of Ababwa with its sloping green hills and images of the town square they’d passed by earlier were encased in silver and gold frames, hanging at even intervals all around them. Aladdin took in the cliffside gardens and butterflies in one painting and the lagoon in the other. Genie had indeed created a most enchanting place.
The two of them sat atop a raised stage on matching plush chairs with tall gold backings. The magic carpet lay at their feet, resting and still. To their right was a wooden podium and a carpet runner that snaked all the way to the oak doors at the far end of the room. Aladdin could hear conversations from outside, and though he could not make out what they were saying, he could tell from the frenetic energy that Omar was right—the people on the other side of that door were eager to meet with him.
He understood why Genie had come up with this meeting idea. Aladdin had told him he wanted to be a source of advice and comfort to the people in his kingdom. And while Aladdin appreciated this attention to detail, glancing over at Jasmine now, he hoped she couldn’t tell just how anxious he felt. It was one thing to want to help people with their problems but another thing to actually do it. What if he couldn’t? He had no experience in such things. It didn’t matter that they weren’t real people, because Jasmine believed them to be so. Whatever advice he gave for their imagined challenges
and troubles would reflect upon whether he possessed leadership qualities. His words would matter to Jasmine. He had to get it right.
“Are you ready, Prince Ali?” Omar asked. He stood by the front door and held on to its brass handle.
Aladdin nodded. There was no use in putting off the inevitable. He risked a quick glance at Jasmine, hoping she couldn’t sense his nerves. But she was looking ahead eagerly.
Aladdin turned back to see Omar had opened the door. The line began right at the front of the door and stretched out of his field of vision.
“How many people are there?” Aladdin managed to ask.
“Not many,” Omar assured him. “I’d say about fifty. Not more than that.”
“Oh,” Aladdin said weakly. “That’s all?”
A woman approached the podium first and looked down at the ground as she spoke. A brown shawl was draped around her shoulders. “Prince Ali, I come here today with grave worry in my heart. My father is ill.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aladdin said. “What is his ailment?”
“Headaches,” she said. “They’re so bad he can’t work or eat properly. The local apothecary in the town square has managed to find a concoction that works quite well, but the herbs are precious and two gold coins each week is more than we can afford.”
The woman looked so familiar, Aladdin thought. The rings of exhaustion that circled her eyes made her look much like a tired neighbor he’d known when he was younger. She, too, had cared for a family member who suffered from migraines. She’d spent her days working and her nights tending to her sick father.
“I was wondering if there’s work you may need done at the palace,” the woman continued. “I am a good seamstress and I clean very well. Cook, too. I’d be ever so grateful for the opportunity.”
Aladdin admired the woman’s sense of pride. His own mother had been the same way.
“I appreciate your offer of help, but we have everything covered here,” Aladdin told her, thinking of the line of servants he’d met upon their arrival. “However…” He reached into the satchel attached to his belt, buried within the folds of his clothing, and pulled out some coins that he offered to Omar. He was careful not to disturb the lamp, which had also been tucked into the satchel. He presumed Genie had sent it along in case of emergencies, but it made him a little nervous to have it here in Ababwa. He didn’t want to disturb it or let Jasmine or anyone else see it.
