My family stood beside Patriarch Kanda and his family in an elevated section above the hall, granting us a sweeping view of the noble North African Badilites gathered below.
Patriarch Kanda stepped forward, his presence commanding attention.
"Hello and welcome. May peace, mercy, and the blessings of God be upon you," he began, his voice carrying through the vast hall. "I speak to you today as your Patriarch.
Once, you were a lost people, severed from your father, King Benda, and from the greater Badila lineage. You, sons and daughters of Mukendi, made North Africa your home, rising to dominate its lands as the rest of Badila watched from afar. And just as our father, King Benda, would have been proud, you have impressed all of Badila.
As a descendant of Beleshayi, Mukendi's elder brother, and as the Patriarch of Badila, I stand before you today to formally recognize, acknowledge, and legitimize the Badilite status of the North African Badilites. Welcome back to the family. You are no longer lost—because we have found you."
A wave of emotion swept through the hall. Cheers erupted, and tears welled in the eyes of the elders. Some wept openly, overcome by the weight of this long-awaited moment. We had hoped for this day for generations, and at last, it had arrived.
My family and that of Patriarch Kanda descended the stairs to join the celebration. Moroccan tea was poured into delicate glasses, the warm aroma mingling with the joy in the air.
As the festivities carried on, the younger crowd eventually drifted outside. I followed them, drawn by the lively chatter. At the center of attention stood Maria. Boys and girls alike surrounded her, their fascination evident.
For once, I was relieved. Had it not been for Maria, I would have been the one in the spotlight.
"Whoa, she's the prettiest girl I've ever seen," one of the boys marveled.
"Is she Moroccan? American? No... maybe Chinese?" another speculated, shaking his head in confusion. "But she looks mostly Moroccan."
Maria chuckled, a mysterious glint in her eyes. "You humans only see what you want to see."
I wondered what she meant by that.
"Are you single by any chance?" someone dared to ask.
"None of your business."
"Are you also a daughter of Patriarch Kanda?" a girl chimed in. "You don't look anything like Princess Benesha."
I noticed Maria's expression darken. She was clearly growing uncomfortable, so I decided to intervene.
"I think you guys are overwhelming her," I said. "Why all the questions? Are you detectives?"
"You must be jealous," one of the girls smirked. "Now that you're not the prettiest girl anymore."
"That's not a nice thing to say," Sansula interjected, frowning.
The girl blushed. "Oh! I'm sorry! I'm Halima from Algeria, by the way."
"And I'm Layla from Libya!"
"I'm Rayhana from Tunisia!"
"And I'm Hajar from Egypt!"
"You're embarrassing me, Hajar!"
I turned toward the voice—Latifa, the eldest daughter of the Egyptian Badilite Patriarch. Her family lived in Belgium but had traveled to Morocco for the ceremony.
Sansula, now surrounded by eager introductions, looked increasingly uncomfortable. I didn't miss the way the girls' eyes lingered on him. It was no secret—they all wanted to marry him. As the future Badila Patriarch, he was a coveted match.
Meanwhile, I gently grabbed Maria by the wrist and led her away from the group. We wandered into the palace gardens, where the cool night air provided a much-needed reprieve.
"I figured you needed some fresh air after all those questions," I said.
She didn't respond. Her gaze was distant.
"Are you okay? You seem... down."
She exhaled softly. "I feel lonely."
I frowned. "Lonely? But... everyone here is fascinated by you."
"No one wants me," she murmured. "Despite my perfection."
That statement caught me off guard. It sounded incredibly arrogant—but something in her tone told me she wasn't boasting. She truly believed it.
"Do you see any flaw in my appearance, personality, or intelligence?" she continued. "There is none. And yet... no one wants me. I don't understand."
I studied her, perplexed. From my perspective, she was deeply desired. Any man would be honored to have her. So why did she feel unwanted?
"Did something happen?" I asked gently.
Maria turned to me. "If you were betting on a horse race, which horse would you bet on?"
"The fastest one," I answered.
She nodded. "Precisely. But I wasn't chosen, despite being the best. I don't get it."
I hesitated. "I'm sorry, but... I still don't understand what you're saying."
Her voice softened. "Humans idolize perfection, but they don't desire it. Shouldn't you desire what you idolize?"
I thought about it for a moment. "I don't know... We want perfection in our possessions, in our work, in our relationships—even in life itself. But we don't want to be perfect. And we don't always want others to be, either."
"Why not?" she asked. "Why is perfection intimidating?"
I sighed. "Because when you're faced with perfection, you can't help but feel... inadequate."
She didn't respond. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the horizon, lost in thought.
"Let's go back," I suggested.
"I'd rather be alone." She exhaled. "I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast."
I watched her walk away, her silhouette disappearing into the dimly lit corridors of the palace.
As I returned to the group, I heard Benesha's voice ring out—loud, indignant.
"None of you are allowed to marry my brother!" she declared. "You don't love him. You just want his status."
Layla crossed her arms. "What's wrong with that?"
"I don't like it."
"But that's for him to decide," Hajar pointed out.
Benesha's gaze flickered to me. "Besides, Amira is the most noble among us. How dare you flirt with Sansula in her presence?"
I raised an eyebrow. "I don't mind. He's not my husband or anything."
Benesha scoffed. "If any North African Badilitess has the right to marry my brother, it's you."
I blinked. "I don't even know him."
Her expression hardened. "You don't want to marry the next Patriarch?"
I shrugged. "I wouldn't be opposed to the idea... but I'd need to get to know him first."
Benesha studied me for a moment before turning to her brother. "Sansula! Propose to Amira. Now."
"WHAT?!" Sansula sputtered. "You hate it when girls get near me—now you want me to propose?!"
"Amira doesn't care about status. She's simple yet elegant. She's the one, I can feel it."
Sansula and I exchanged awkward glances. Our faces burned with embarrassment.
"I mean... are you open to getting to know me?" he asked hesitantly.
I hesitated, then nodded. "S-Sure."
A familiar song lyric echoed in my mind—a song about finding your Messiah, your Adam.
Was Sansula the one for me?
Only time would tell. But for now... I wasn't opposed to the idea.