Rasheed sat beside me asking gentle questions about my life, my work, my health. He was still the kind, attentive man I remembered, but there was a new confidence about him, a sense of power that hadn’t been there before.
“You never married?” he asked at one point.
I shook my head.
“Came close a few times, but…” I shrugged. “Quincy always came first. He needed stability, and I thought bringing another man into our lives would complicate things.”
Something flickered across Rasheed’s face, but he didn’t comment.
As we pulled through ornate gates and up a winding driveway, my breath caught in my throat. His home was a palace, all white marble and graceful arches with fountains and gardens that looked like something from a fairy tale.
This wasn’t just wealth.
This was royalty.
“Rasheed,” I said slowly. “What exactly do you do now?”
He smiled. And for a moment, he looked exactly like the shy student I’d once known.
“I’m what you might call a shake, though the title means less than it used to. What matters is that I have the resources to help you, and more importantly, I want to.”
As we stepped out of the car, servants appeared to assist us. They treated me with the same respect they showed Rasheed despite my disheveled appearance.
He spoke to them in rapid Arabic and within moments a woman was leading me toward what she indicated was my room.
“Rest,” Rashid said gently. “Eat. Tomorrow well begin making arrangements for your return home. And Gretchen…”
He paused, his eyes holding mine.
“I’m glad fate brought you back to me, even under these circumstances.”
As I followed the servant through marble hallways lined with priceless art, my mind spun with questions.
What did he mean?
Brought me back to him.
And why did I have the feeling that my encounter with Rasheed was about to change everything?
I woke up in a bed softer than clouds, surrounded by silk curtains and the gentle sound of fountains outside my window.
For a moment, I forgot where I was, forgot everything that had happened. Then reality crashed back and with it the memory of Rashid’s words from the night before.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
“Come in,” I called, pulling the luxurious robe tighter around myself.
A young woman entered, carrying a tray of tea and pastries. She smiled warmly and set the tray on the small table by the window.
“Mr. Rashid asks if you would join him in the garden when you’re ready,” she said in accented English. “There is no rush.”
After she left, I stood at the window looking out at the most beautiful garden I’d ever seen. Palm trees swayed in the morning breeze and colorful flowers bloomed around sparkling pools.
It was like stepping into a dream, except the ache in my chest reminded me this wasn’t a fairy tale.
I’d spent the night thinking about Rasheed, trying to piece together memories from 40 years ago. We’d known each other for about 6 months during his rotation at the hospital where I worked.
He’d been so young, so far from home, struggling with his studies and the English language. I’d helped him with his medical terminology and he’d helped me with what at the time I thought was just friendship.
But looking back now, I could see the signs I’d been too overwhelmed to notice then.
The way he’d light up when he saw me in the cafeteria. How he’d always save me a seat. The little gifts he’d bring.
A flower from the hospital garden. A candy bar when he noticed I’d skipped lunch again. The way he’d look at me when he thought I wasn’t watching.
I’d been so focused on survival, on taking care of Quincy and keeping our heads above water that I’d missed what was right in front of me.
After bathing and dressing in the beautiful clothes that had mysteriously appeared in my size, I made my way to the garden.
Rasheed was sitting at a small table under a pergola covered in flowering vines. He stood when he saw me, and I was struck again by how different he looked from the young man I’d known.
“You look rested,” he said, pulling out a chair for me. “Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I have in months,” I admitted. “Rashid, this is also incredible. Your home, your everything. I can hardly believe it’s real.”
He poured tea from an ornate silver service.
“It is real, though I sometimes have trouble believing it myself. When I left Chicago in 1985, I had nothing but my medical degree and a broken heart.”
My hand froze halfway to my teacup.
“A broken heart?”
He was quiet for a long moment, staring into his tea as if it held answers to questions I didn’t even know to ask.
“I was in love with you, Gretchen. Completely, utterly in love. I had been from almost the moment we met.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
“Rasheed, I had no idea.”