Desert Stars – Part 2: Sunrise Over the Dunes

Adam woke her before dawn, a hand on her shoulder and a cup of hot tea in the other. The tent was cold, the sand outside silver under a sky still full of stars.

"Come," he whispered. "The dune is waiting."

They climbed in silence, barefoot in the cold sand, their breath clouding in the air. The dune was steep and treacherous, the surface shifting beneath their feet, and by the time they reached the top, Julia's calves were burning and her heart was thumping in her ears.

They sat side by side on the crest, wrapped in blankets, and waited.

The sky changed slowly. First a thin line of rose along the eastern horizon, then gold, then a blaze of orange that spread across the dunes like spilled paint. The sand below them turned from grey to copper to a deep, glowing red. Somewhere far away, a single camel bell rang.

Julia let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"Worth it?" asked Adam, quietly.

"Yes," she said. "Every single grain."

He smiled, and then was silent for a long time, watching the light spread across the desert.

"Can I ask you something?" Julia said, at last.

"Yes."

"Why do you stay here? You said you're tired of fixing other people's problems. Why not leave?"

Adam was quiet. The wind moved softly over the crest, lifting the fine sand into little golden ribbons.

"Because the desert is the only place I've never been asked to be anything but myself," he said. "In the town, people want me to be the guide who knows the best hotels, the one who finds them rugs at good prices, the one who doesn't complain. Out here, I can just be a man who likes sunrises and bad camels."

"That sounds lonely, sometimes."

"It was," said Adam. "Until last week, when a very determined English woman climbed onto the wrong camel and refused to let me forget her."

Julia laughed, and felt the sound echo over the dunes.

"Is that what I am?" she asked.

"You're the first person in a long time who has made me want to be somewhere other than here," said Adam, turning to look at her. "And I've been trying to decide whether that's terrifying or wonderful."

"Both," said Julia softly. "I think it's both."

They watched the sun clear the horizon, a fierce, bright disc that turned the whole desert to fire. The heat began to rise almost at once, shimmering over the sand.

"Can I ask you something?" said Adam.

"Yes."

"Would you like to come back here, next spring, when the wind is softer and the dunes are full of flowers? Not as a tourist. As someone who wants to know what the desert is like in every season."

Julia's breath caught. She thought of her flat in London, the job she had quit in July, the friends who had asked her if she was all right.

"Yes," she said, her voice steady. "But I'd like to ask you something back."

"Anything."

"Would you come to London, in the winter, and show me the places you've never seen? The rain, and the bad tea, and the cold bridges. Just to see what you're like when the sun isn't shining."

Adam laughed, low and delighted. "Yes," he said. "But only if you promise to teach me how to make a proper cup of tea."

"Deal," said Julia, and leaned in. "Can I kiss you now? On top of the dune, with the whole desert watching?"

"Yes," said Adam, his voice rough with emotion. "And if you want me to stop, I'll stop, and we'll race each other down the dune like children."

She kissed him, slowly, the sun warm on their faces and the wind whispering over the sand. His hand came up to cradle her cheek, and she felt the rough, familiar warmth of him, steady and sure.

When they parted, both of them were laughing softly, breathless and sunburnt.

"Green?" asked Adam.

"Green," said Julia. "Very green. Now let's go down before the camels start complaining."

"They've been complaining since the sun came up," said Adam, grinning, and held out his hand.