"I think it's unfair." Ḥamād said.
"Now what, you mortal idiot?" The djinn's reply.
"You can see me, but I can't see you. That's unfair, right? How can I bestow you my secrets, when you hide like a scared little cat, hissing your nonsensical insults on me?" He swallowed his saliva hard.
His whole body trembling in fear as he said that. What if that djinn decide to attack him because of that words?
It is what it is.
"How dare you!" His voice altered with wrath, sounded like thunders ready to strike Ḥamād away.
"Calm down, abī¹. I thought he's right. How could two people share their secrets while one can't see other?"
Suddenly, another djinn's voice heard. This one sounds so firm and gentle, warm yet mysterious like the dancing fire in the middle of the desert.
It must be from a fine beautiful young lady. Maybe his wife? No. It must be this senile old djinn's daughter. She called him "abī" after all.
"Oh, dear. Why you defended him? I'm your father," his voice change. Now it's soften as he spoke to his daughter. "You should be on my side."
"Itma'enna yā abī². I'm not defending him. His reason is valid. We're djinn after all. We never took something freely." The daughter said.
As Ḥamād heard her voice, his brain become numb. He was over joyed by her silk-like voice, and didn't realize a very important thing in her saying, some clues to understand his situation better.
Sounds like the djinn's father sight deeply. "Fine. I can't resist you, o my beloved daughter."
It's not just you, I guess.
Suddenly, there was a purple-ish cloud gathered in front of Ḥamād, began to unite, and slowly but surely became solid.
And there they were.
An elderly man, his face etched with the stories of time and experience. His silvered hair, frames a face that carries a gentle natural insults in its lines. It feels like anger is his middle name.
He is clad in a traditional Arabian thobe, a long, flowing garment that looks so lavish covered his body. The fabric, likely a crisp white or a soft, earthy tone, falls meticulously around him. There's a shining multi-color jewelry here and there.
Besides him, stand a beautiful young lady that very contradict him in any direction.
A young lady exudes a subtle yet captivating elegance in her simple, violet-hued traditional Arabian attire. The fabric of her dress, perhaps a soft linen or a flowing crepe, drapes gracefully around her, hinting at comfort without sacrificing poise.
Her shining long black wavy hair, frames her face gently. It is draped neatly, allowing glimpses of her serene expression. Her eyes, likely blue and expressive, hold a quiet confidence and curiosity.
She wear minimal jewelry, perhaps delicate silver earrings or a simple ring, further emphasizing the understated elegance of her ensemble.
The true definition of beauty, that reside on earth every couple of thousand years.
She approached Ḥamād so gracefully, then extended her hand. "This is how humans get to know each other, wasn't it?"
And there Ḥamād was, stunned by her beauty. His eyes went blank, his mouth open in disbelief. Only his imagination going wild, imagining his wedding days, his happy ever-after life, so on, and so on.
"Wake up, you idiot mortal! My cute little daughter wants to introduce her self to you!" Her father's screams brought Ḥamād back from his deep imaginations.
Ḥamād hold her hand firmly. The touch made him a little surprised. He could felt the female djinn's hand.
How could?
But, he refused to think too much about that.
"Yes. This is how we human introduce to each other." He smiled his best for nothing smile. "You can call me Ḥamād. Can I know your name, o beautiful jewel of the desert?"
She smiled simply. Simple enough to make Ḥamād's heart burst with butterflies.
She released her handshake, then pinched and lifted the upper part of her bottom dress slightly. The act of nobelties that you'll find in almost every kind of kingdom-trope stories.
"You praised me too much, Ḥamād. This girl's name is Ḥuwayda, very glad to know you." Then she pointed at her father very politely. "And this is abī, my father, his name is Gāber."
"Glad to met you two." He smiled to Ḥuwayda, and unconsciously, bowed to Gāber, paying his respects.
Even though this senile old-fart gramp is rude as hell, he is a father of young beautiful lady that shines through the dryness of the desert, the oasis of the ṣaḥrā'³. This is the very least I could do.
"Enough with those lustful hallucinated smile. You want me fed those anubises with your flesh or something?!" Gāber's voice soften, he invited the three of them to sit on the dusty floor. "Now tell us your secrets."
"To be clear, me myself, truly couldn't answer your question. It's not like i didn't want to. But I couldn't." Ḥamād started to speak.
"Can I know the reason?" Ḥuwayda asked. Her expression unchanged.
Ḥamād swallowed his saliva hardly. In his experience reading a lot of transmigration-trope stories, spilling the secrets of transmigration-situations is a big no no. It's like a ḥarām⁴ deeds. Something prohibited.
But, they did what he ask. They materialized in front of him, even stating their names. Some act that may be, very dangerous if they do it. He felt like he was being impolite here if he didn't explain this situation.
But you know, his only truthful reason was to impressed Ḥuwayda.
O, those MCes of harem-isekai-transmigration trope stories, hope you all forgive my sin. I didn't do this 'cause I want. But i should. For the sake of my future in this world. All of you will agree with me in this matter, right?
"This isn't my original body." Ḥamād touched his body as he answered. "And this, is maybe even not my original world."
As Ḥamād anticipated, Ḥuwayda's eyes wide open. "Can you elaborate?"
Meanwhile, Gāber's eyebrows furrowed slightly. It was obvious that he was confused. However, he kept it cool.
Ḥamād met their gazes, his voice steadying as he recounted his final moments in his world; the blinding light, gunfire, sensation of hot bullet piercing his head, the snarls of the anubises horde, and the desert's cruel embrace.
He told those experience in details, and ended it with how he could be chased by those anubises outside.
"Originally, I wanted to find any clues of this world. But you, Mr. Gāber, is the first entities that I talked to here. And that wasn't go well in the beginning. So, that's why I couldn't tell both of you about my idiotic yet survived situations. I'm clueless, too."
They're both fall in their thoughts deeply.
"I've never heard of situations like yours." Gāber is the first one who broke those silence. "It didn't make any sense for me."
"But he's telling no lies, father. I could read it in his expressions while he spoke." Ḥuwayda gave her opinion.
"I did aware about that my self, ḥelwa⁵. I was the one who taught you that technique after all."
Ḥamād's bold brows knit together, his mind racing like a sandstorm. He seemed to recognize the expression that Gāber had just said. An expression that was very close to his humble village. Something he couldn't aware before.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Gāber. Can you, can you repeat what you just said?"
"Which one, syabaṫa?" He asked him back. His tone is mixed between confusion and soft slur.
"That one! You just called me syabaṫa. That phrase means brat, right?" Ḥamād asked excitedly.
"Sure! 'Cause you were one!"
He smiled widely, not offended at all by his answer. On the contrary, some theory just landed on his mind.
If the next answer to my question is yes, then there was a possibility that i'm not isekaied, just transmigrated to another body. Which means, somehow, I can go back to my home.
Even if there's no one waited for me to come home, at least, being home would feel more enjoyable then dwelling in this burning hell-like desert environment.
"By any chances, did you both speak Maṣry⁶?" Ḥamād asked.
For your information, from the beginning, both Ḥamād and Gāber communicated with a standard modern formal-Arabic called fuṣḥa. And then, there's Ḥuwayda joined the conversation.
Actually, both Gāber and his daughter used a different type of Arabic language here and there. A type of traditional Arabic that used in some specific region. A dialect to be precise.
Some like Itma'enna (means please be calm down) in the beginning that Ḥamād failed to recognize, 'cause his brain choose to be stunned by Ḥuwayda's beauty.
Well, to be fair, that's natural.
But, here came the interesting part.
Those specific dialect used by Gāber when he spoke to Ḥuwayda called Maṣry. An Arabic dialect used by a large amount of Egyptian people. And the most well-known one to the Arabic speakers throughout the entirity of middle east.
Thanks to Egyptian's media domination.
And, the most important part is,
Ḥamād himself,
is Egyptian to the bone.
***
Notes:
(¹) Abī: My father.
(²) Itma'enna yā abī: O my father, calm down please.
(³) ṣaḥrā': Desert.
(⁴) ḥarām: prohibited, forbidden.
(⁵) ḥelwa: sweet, sweet heart.
(⁶) Maṣry: The most popular Arabic dialect.
***