The Za'atar Fields
"Reem returns to her family's za'atar farm in the West Bank and finds her childhood sweetheart Nasir waiting—older, wiser, and still wanting her."
The Za'atar Fields
The scent hit her before the memories did—sharp, green, unmistakably home. Reem stood at the edge of her family's za'atar fields, watching the wind ripple through acres of wild thyme, and felt twelve years dissolve like morning mist.
"Ahlan, ya Reem."
She turned. The boy she'd left behind was gone—in his place stood a man, broad-shouldered and sun-bronzed, dirt beneath his fingernails and silver at his temples.
"Nasir."
"Tawwalti." You were gone a long time. His voice was deeper than she remembered, rougher. "Twelve years. You didn't write."
"I didn't know what to say."
"A lot has changed." He gestured at the fields. "I've been managing the farm for your grandmother. She said you were coming."
"She didn't mention you."
His smile was wry. "She wouldn't."
They fell into working together like no time had passed. Reem remembered the rhythms—harvesting before the heat, bundling the fragrant leaves, spreading them to dry in the stone shed. Nasir worked beside her, their bodies moving in unconscious harmony.
"Why did you really leave?" he asked one afternoon, the question he'd earned the right to ask.
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of this." She gestured at the land, at him. "Of wanting something so badly I couldn't bear to lose it."
"So you left before I could leave you."
"Something like that."
Nasir set down his bundle, turning to face her. "I wasn't going to leave, Reem. I was going to ask you to marry me. I had the ring. Your grandmother helped me pick it."
The revelation knocked the breath from her lungs. "Nasir—"
"It doesn't matter now. We were kids. Life happened." He reached out, brushing a leaf from her hair. "But you're here now. And I need to know—are you staying or just visiting?"
That night, unable to sleep, Reem walked to the fields. The moon hung heavy and full, painting the za'atar silver. She found Nasir there, sitting on the stone wall where they'd shared their first kiss at fifteen.
"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, sitting beside him.
"Never can when the moon's this full." He was close enough that she felt his warmth. "Tell me about your life in Toronto. Your job, your apartment, the man your grandmother mentioned."
"There's no man. Not anymore." She laughed bitterly. "He said I was always looking for something he couldn't give."
"What were you looking for?"
"This." The word came out before she could stop it. "The smell of za'atar drying. Stars you can actually see. Someone who knows my grandmother's stories."
"Someone?"
"You, Nasir." She turned to face him. "I was looking for you in every man I met."
His hand cupped her face—calloused, gentle. "Ya Allah, Reem."
"I was a fool to leave."
"Yes." His lips brushed hers, feather-light. "But you came back."
They made love there among the za'atar, the fragrant plants cushioning their bodies, the moon their only witness. Nasir undressed her reverently, kissing each new inch of skin.
"Helwa," he breathed against her stomach. "Inti helwa zay el za'atar—mish btinsa." You're beautiful like za'atar—unforgettable.
"Nasir—please—"
"Please what, habibi?"
"I need to feel you. It's been twelve years."
"Then we take our time." His hand slid between her thighs. "I'm not letting you forget me again."
He brought her to the edge with fingers and tongue, then filled her with aching slowness. Reem cried out against the night sky, her hands fisting in the wild thyme, as Nasir moved inside her with the patience of a farmer and the passion of a lover.
"Aktar," she begged. "Aouwi."
He gave her everything—every thrust carrying the weight of lost years, every kiss a reclamation. When they finally fell together, the night itself seemed to shudder.
"Marry me," Nasir said afterward, her head on his chest, the za'atar crushed beneath them releasing its perfume.
"That's insane. We just—"
"We've lost twelve years. I'm not losing another day." He tilted her face up. "I still have the ring. It's been sitting in my dresser, waiting. Just like me."
"Nasir—"
"Say yes. Stay here, help me run the farm. Have babies who know where za'atar comes from." His eyes were wet. "Give me the life we should have had."
Reem thought of Toronto—her career, her apartment, her carefully constructed independence. Then she looked at Nasir, at the fields that had been in her family for generations, at the life that had been waiting for her to come home.
"Na'am," she whispered. "Alf marra na'am." A thousand times yes.
Nasir kissed her, and the za'atar fields bore witness—as they had for generations, as they would for generations to come.
Some things, Reem realized, were worth returning for.