The distinct sounds of Arab music drifted through the air as a cool evening breeze blew across the desert that evening. The lights from the Bedouin camp sparkled in the distance as the little bulbs slowly flickered to life and came on to dot the desert landscape. Darkness slowly descended over the emirate.
Yasmeen had been into the desert a number of times – this was her get away, her safe haven from the madness that had become her life. Yet, a palpable fear surged through her body that evening. Her mind was reeling from a million thoughts that came crashing down like waves breaking on a rocky coast. She was confused, disillusioned and extremely nervous.
In the distance, Dubai’s high rises and iconic structures rose out of the horizon of the desert sands to paint the imposing skyline of this Middle-Eastern Shangri-La. She was in the centre of the modern world, sandwiched between a past that threatened to destroy her and a future gleaming with opportunity.
Yasmeen slowly rose, dusting the sand off her and crushing out the cigarette butt that had begun to stain her fingers. She had to trace her steps back to the camp. It was late and people would soon begin to worry about her. She wiped her tear stained cheeks with the back of her hand, smoothed back her hair and began descending the dunes. Her Arabian Nights story had gone all wrong, but now was not the time to regret. There were too many people around: none of whom recognized or cared about the lost look in her eyes.