The young bride he had carried moments ago was gone.
Before him was an old woman—skin wrinkled, lips trembling, hair thin and gray where the powder had cracked away.
Omar’s breathing became shallow and fast. He pressed his back against the wall as if trying to escape. His eyes darted to the door.
“No… no, no. This is not you,” he whispered. “This can’t be you.”
He tried to move toward the door, his body shaking, but his legs were weak from the fall. Still, fear pushed him onward. He reached for the handle.
Nadiraa crawled across the room and clutched at his leg. Her voice broke under the weight of tears.
“Please, Omar, don’t go. Don’t leave me. I can explain. I can explain.”
But Omar’s face showed nothing but horror.
The woman he thought was young, beautiful, untouched by time, now looked older than his own mother.
“How? How is this possible?” he cried, his voice trembling. “What are you?”
She shook her head, still holding him tightly.
“I’m still me. I am Nadiraa. Please don’t look at me like that.”
Her tears dripped onto the floor, and with each tear, more of her mask dissolved. Her true self was appearing—the self she had hidden for decades.
Omar’s hand shook on the door handle. His chest rose and fell quickly. His eyes filled with fear.
But Nadiraa clung to him, her voice cracking.
“Please listen to me before you run. I beg you, Omar. I am still the woman you loved. I am still Nadiraa.”
Omar turned his face away, but her tears and trembling voice forced him to pause.
He sat back down on the floor, clutching his head, whispering, “This cannot be real. You were young. So young and beautiful.”
Nadiraa’s hand trembled as she wiped her wet cheeks, though the gesture only revealed more of her true self—deep lines, loose skin, the marks of a century lived.
She took a deep breath, her voice heavy with pain.
“It started when I was thirty-five,” she said softly. “I was engaged once. I thought I had found love, but he left me for a younger woman.”
Her voice cracked.
“My heart broke, Omar. It shattered me. I could not eat. I could not sleep. I thought I would die.”
“One night, I wandered outside the city, crying like a fool. That is when I met her—an old woman. A witch. She looked into my eyes and said she knew my pain. She offered me a powder. A powder that would keep my youth so no man would ever leave me again.”
Omar’s lips parted in shock. He could not speak.
Nadiraa continued.
“I was foolish. I took it. And from that day, all the men I dated grew old. They died. I dated them to know what it felt like to be loved… and to watch them die before me. And I let it happen.”
Her voice dropped lower.
“But when you came, I loved only you.”
She looked at him with tears streaming down her face.
“The rule of the powder is this: I must never cry for anyone, no matter what. All the men I was with died, but I stayed the same.”
She touched her cracked cheek.
“Until now.”
She leaned closer, her voice breaking into a whisper.
“Do you understand now, Omar? I could not stop. I could not be alone. The powder became my life. Without it, I am nothing. Without it… this is who I am.”
Omar stared at her in disbelief.
“You are not twenty-five?”
She nodded slowly, tears spilling again.
“I am one hundred years old.”
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