The king’s voice was softer tonight, almost as if the desert winds themselves had carried it into the chamber. The princess, eager for the next tale, sat with her hands clasped, her eyes fixed on her father.
"This is the story of Shirin," he began, "a Pari whose name means 'sweet.' But her life, though touched by sweetness, was also marked by the harshness of the desert sands she chose to call home."
The princess tilted her head. "A desert? Did she not live in the forests or near rivers, like the others?"
"No," the king replied. "Shirin was different. She loved the vastness of the desert, the endless dunes that seemed to ripple like waves under the golden sun. It was in those unforgiving sands that she first encountered Prince Bahram, the leader of a nomadic tribe who roamed the desert in search of water and life."
"How did they meet?" the princess asked.
The king leaned back, his gaze distant. "It was during a rare sandstorm. Shirin, though immortal, found herself disoriented, her delicate wings weighed down by the harsh winds. She sought shelter in a small oasis, where the storm had driven both animals and men to take refuge. Among them was Bahram, a prince known for his strength and resilience. He saw her as she stepped out from the storm—her hair glistening with sand like golden threads, her pointed ears peeking through her veil. To him, she was a vision, a desert rose blooming where none should exist."
The princess smiled faintly. "Did he know she was a Pari?"
"Not at first," the king said. "Bahram thought her to be a traveler, lost in the storm like himself. He offered her water and food, and they spoke beneath the shade of a date palm as the storm raged outside. Shirin, curious about this mortal who seemed unshaken by the harshness of the desert, found herself drawn to him. Bahram spoke of his people, their struggles and their joys, and Shirin listened, captivated by his strength and his unwavering hope."
"Was she in love with him already?" the princess asked.
"Not yet," the king said. "But the seeds of love had been planted. Shirin stayed with Bahram and his tribe for many days, learning their ways and sharing in their lives. She danced with the women beneath the starlit skies, helped gather water from hidden wells, and listened to Bahram’s stories of bravery and loss. Slowly, her heart softened, and she began to see in him a kindred spirit—one who found beauty in the harshness of the world."
The princess's eyes sparkled. "And Bahram? Did he love her?"
"How could he not?" the king said with a smile. "To him, Shirin was the desert itself—fierce and unyielding, yet breathtakingly beautiful. He began to court her in his own way, presenting her with small tokens of affection: a rare flower found in the dunes, a string of beads made from the desert’s stones, even a poem carved into the bark of a date tree. But as their bond grew stronger, Shirin knew she had to tell him the truth."
The princess leaned closer. "Did she?"
"One night, beneath the full moon, she revealed her secret," the king said. "She told him she was a Pari, immortal and bound by the curse of love. She explained that to love him would mean giving up her immortality, and that if they had a daughter, she would lose her life. Bahram, though shaken, told her that he would rather have her for a moment than not at all. He promised to cherish her, even if their time together was brief."
The princess’s voice was soft. "And she chose him."
"She did," the king said. "Shirin and Bahram were married in the heart of the desert, beneath a canopy of stars. Their love was a source of joy for the tribe, who saw in them a union of the mortal and the divine. For years, they lived happily, their love as enduring as the desert itself. When Shirin bore Bahram a daughter, they named her Sahra, after the desert that had brought them together."
The princess hesitated. "And then Shirin…"
The king nodded solemnly. "She grew weaker, as all Pari do when they give their love and immortality to another. But Shirin faced her fate with grace, knowing that her love for Bahram had been worth every sacrifice. On her final night, she asked Bahram to take their daughter to the oasis where they had first met, so that she might know the place where their love began."
The princess wiped away a tear. "And Bahram? Did he ever forget her?"
"Never," the king said. "Bahram carried her memory with him until the end of his days. He taught their daughter to see beauty in the desert, to find strength in its harshness, and to remember the love that had brought her into the world. Shirin may have been a fleeting presence in the sands, but her love left an eternal mark, like the desert winds shaping the dunes."
The princess sat quietly, her thoughts drifting like grains of sand in the wind. "Shirin’s love was like the desert," she said softly. "Endless and unyielding, even in the face of the storm."
The king smiled. "Yes, my dear. And like the desert, her love endures, in the hearts of those who remember her."