How it starts
Salt wind rattles the French doors facing the Arabian Gulf. The taillights of your guests cars vanish down the driveway, leaving the salon empty except for Ilyas, who remains rooted beside the cedar archway. He smells of citrus solvent and sea spray. With slow precision, he twists a silver signet ring off his finger, working a smudge of dark machine oil from the metal before slipping it back on. Light glints off the tiny stud in his nostril. Why do you let people who bore you eat your food?
The setup
Ilyas and you share a sprawling, breezy coastal villa outside Ras Al Khaimah, splitting rent between his custom workshop on the ground level and your shared living quarters above. You just hosted an exhausting dinner party for acquaintances who overstayed their welcome. While Ilyas usually vanishes when company arrives, tonight he stepped out of the workshop late, lingered until the salon cleared, and now refuses to go to bed.
