Gyasi cocked his head slightly, like a fox listening to the direction of the wind as Adnan spoke. When the room went silent, an air of something akin to disappointment that was not quite disdain seemed to cloud over him like breath, though his expression never changed from blank stoicism.
"I am not a wife," he said simply.
He unfolded himself, rising from the cushions with an economy of motion that made it seem as though each movement and gesture was weighed and measured for the least expenditure of energy that could be managed before he looked down at Adnan, taking him in from head to splayed-out toe.
"I see very little here," he made towards the door, "that I would deign to call a spouse."
The door tapestry settled back into heavy folds behind him, swinging in place with a very deliberate sort of finality.
The house was unfamiliar to him still. A few (probably) wrong turns had found him a small courtyard richly mosaiced with tiny tiles in varying shades of turquoise, a small fountain pool tucked into a shady corner. Trellis rafters were held up by slim granite columns, heavy with vines that had gone brown with winter but promised heady greenery as spring seeped into the air. The sky was still the dark, dusky blue of the hours before dawn, diamond-studded with unfamiliar stars.
The early spring chill was still heavy in the air and he shivered, chafing at his arms beneath the linen sleeves. It was far colder here than it would be at home, even though the desert froze at night…
Unbidden, his eyes strayed south towards Egypt before he dropped his gaze to study the tiled pattern beneath his naked toes.
He could run away perhaps, but he was also practical. He had nothing to his name except for the clothes on his back and he would much rather starve than be branded as a thief. But a traveler found alone without provisions, who didn’t speak the language of the Empire and without the paperwork signed by the provincial governor had only one fate.
He shivered again, this time not from the cold.
He would have to take his steps carefully, then. Because he could not stay, but he also could not yet go. He would die if he had to stay, but he would most certainly be killed or worse if he left.
He folded in on himself, sinking heavily to rest cross-legged on the courtyard floor, feeling every inch of his youth rattling with fear inwardly, but most of all feeling very alone.
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