By a window looking at the sea, I planned to jump into the rocks to drown in the sea. I had no idea what to do. The Sultan came for his prize. I did not look or talk to him, not understanding his language. He stood entranced by my beauty. Slowly he sat beside me. He pressed me to his chest, “Your lips are sweet.” I looked out the window at the sea, not speaking. I did not know his language.
He bowed and left me.
Again the next day and for weeks, he visited. “Has the maiden spoken?” He asked the servant girl. “No!”
The Sultan ordered lunch of foods I did not know. He ate and fed me. I did not resist.
“Silent maiden, your face is like the full moon or sun shining on a clear day. I thank Allah for bringing you.”
He stood; always, he drew me near and kissed my lips. I remained silent, looking down with sadness. I used my silence to entice, and my youth and beauty profited me.
“Your lips are like honey.”
For one full year, I did not speak. A silent, mysterious young concubine, dressed in silks and gold, played on Sultan’s pride and his skills to seduce. I controlled the intimacy: his love grew. My silence enticed empowerment. I manipulated the control of my submission.
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