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“Strange,” he murmurs. “What’s strange?” “It’s just . . .” He pushes his hair back. “You’re not like the jinni in the stories and songs. That jinni was a monster. You seem . . . different.” Then he turns and begins trudging up the next dune, wrapping his cloak around him to keep the wind from tearing at it. I stand still a moment longer, watching him. “Zahra.” He pauses and looks over his shoulder. “What?” “My name,” I stammer. “I mean . . . one of them. You can call me Zahra.” He turns around fully, his grin as wide and as bright as the moon. “I’m Aladdin.” — Jessica Khoury
Strange,” he murmurs.
“What’s strange?”
“It’s just . . .” He pushes his hair back. “You’re not like the jinni in the stories and songs. That jinni was a monster. You seem . . . different.”
Then he turns and begins trudging up the next dune, wrapping his cloak around him to keep the wind from tearing at it.
I stand still a moment longer, watching him. “Zahra.”
He pauses and looks over his shoulder. “What?”
“My name,” I stammer. “I mean . . . one of them. You can call me Zahra.”
He turns around fully, his grin as wide and as bright as the moon. “I’m Aladdin.