They were both smiling. The boy spoke next.
‘I am Naseeb, and this is my sister, Qismah. We have been sent to help you find what you seek.’
I inched towards the other side of the bed, then carefully slipped outside.
‘Maybe they’ll disappear when I wash my face,’
I mumbled to myself.
The morning air was crisp, and the water was icy cold against my skin. As I washed for the dawn prayer, the chill jolted me fully awake.
Today, I was to collect my money from the shopkeeper, Abu Mansoor.
Was that what the children thought I needed help with?
I decided to pray beneath the grapevines, hoping that if I stayed outside long enough, my visitors might grow tired of waiting and leave.
Despite my unease, I was keen to try my luck. I handed a coin to the mysterious woman, while Naseeb selected a fishing net and slowly lowered it into the water.
‘Catch the big one!’ I urged. ‘Naseeb! The big one!’ But, when he finally pulled the net out, I saw the smallest fish in the tank was flapping around inside it.
The young woman smiled and congratulated me. ‘Mabrook!’ she said.
She dropped the fish into a glass bowl and handed it to me. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ I asked with contempt. She raised her eyebrows and said nothing. I glanced at the boy. ‘Didn’t I tell you to catch the biggest fish? What a blundering Naseeb you are.’
I thrust the bowl into his hands and marched ahead through Azha’s city gates.
In my fury, I stomped on the ground as if to stomp Naseeb and his sister away.
When I turned to check if they were still following me, I was shocked: the boy was now limping. Was it because of what I had said? I feared he would fall and smash the fishbowl, so I took it back from him.
We followed the crowd, passing through the palace gates and down a tree-lined avenue to a grand courtyard.
We gathered at the foot of a wide stone staircase that led up to the palace. Its gleaming steps seemed to welcome us like a radiant smile.
A man clad in a crimson robe stood at the top of the stairs and called out, ‘People of Azha! Approach!’
As he spoke, side doors were thrown open. Palace attendants poured out, pushing carts laden with colourful garments.
‘Come and receive what your qismah will bring you,’ the man proclaimed.
Like a glowing white butterfly, Qismah joyfully skipped to one of the carts.
In a cloud of frustration, I left the palace grounds and stormed towards Abu Mansoor’s shop. The fastest way was through the Square of Wonders –a place teeming with strange beasts, peculiar people and mouth-watering foods from far and wide.
I usually passed through the square quickly. I never had much time for such pleasures.
But today, a magnificent fig tree caught my eye, one I was certain hadn’t been there before. Curious, I went to have a closer look – and realised value of my very existence. just how unusual the tree was. What I had watchful, unblinking – as if weighing the thought were figs were, in fact, purple velvet sacks sunlight. Lying eerily still, it gazed at me hanging from the branches. On the largest branch sat itself, its cascading golden scales glistened like liquid a creature that took my breath away. Coiled tightly around
A serpent
I had ever seen or heard of. unlike any
Shakoor’s voice shattered my trance. ‘Come on, my boy, take a deep breath.’ He was speaking who looked exactly like Naseeb.
to a boy
The child stood poised, an arrow nocked in his bow. He was aiming at one of the velvet sacks.
Abu Mansoor greeted me with a broad smile. ‘Good news!’ he announced.
‘Three of your honey jars have sold since your last visit.’
He pressed a leather pouch of coins into my hands.
My mind was still trapped by the serpent and its tree. Yet I couldn’t be happy.
relieved that he didn’t ask me who my companions were –
I thanked Abu Mansoor, or was I the only one who could see them?
I turned to the children as I prepared to leave.
Qismah was sitting on a large embroidered cushion.
But the boy was gone. ‘Naseeb!’ I exclaimed.
‘Where did he go?’ Qismah did not answer. She was still in tears.
The two black spots lingering on her cheeks made me feel ashamed. Being rid of one of the children should have relieved me, but, in truth, I was beginning to feel responsible for them.
I ran out of the shop, calling, ‘Naseeb! Naseeb, where are you?’
But the only answer was a meow from a cat. I hurried back to the Square of Wonders, but he was not there.
Just then the Mu’athin’s voice rose up, calling people to prayer, drowning out all other sounds.
Was it midday already?
I went to Jama’a Al-Rahma to perform the Dhuhr prayer. Could Naseeb be there? But he was nowhere to be seen. It was hopeless.
When the prayer was over, I called Naseeb’s name again and again in the courtyard outside.
But only the crows on the lampposts echoed my cries.
A figure approached us –it was Shakoor.
‘Salam Adam!
What a fine robe you are wearing!
May you wear it for many years in good health.’
‘Thank you,’
I said looking over his shoulder, my eyes still searching for Naseeb.
‘Oh what splendid luck!’ said my neighbour,
‘Not only is your robe the colour of prosperity, but I also see you caught the smallest fish!’
I stared at him, fearing that he had gone mad.
‘You can have it,’ I offered.
‘It’s of no use to me.’
It was Shakoor’s turn to look concerned.
‘Don’t you know that only the small ones lay eggs?’
That confirmed it, the poor man had lost his mind.
‘The eggs of this fish wouldn’t even satisfy a mouse!’
As the day neared its end, I gave up my search and reluctantly headed home.
The sky seemed to be melting in a blaze of fire, slowly darkening as flocks of birds made their way back to their trees for the night.
Up a h ead, there was a slow
I saw an old woman in rags, trembling and leaning heavily on her stick. Without a second thought, I removed my new robe and gently draped it over her frail shoulders. I took some coins out of Abu Mansoor’s sack and placed them into her gnarled hand.
She looked up at me with weary, grateful eyes. ‘May your qismah be glorious, my son, and your naseeb grand,’ she said softly.
I glanced at Qismah. Her eyes were full of joy. I watched in wonder as the two black marks on her cheeks faded away. For the first time in many moons, my heart felt truly happy. moving figure. As we drew nearer,
When I woke up the next morning, I knew that Qismah and Naseeb were gone. Had our day together been just a dream? But, as before, I sensed there was something else in my room. And it wasn’t the cat. I looked over to the fishbowl! It was still there, but now it seemed to glow from within.
I got up to investigate. Gently, I lowered my hand into the water, feeling along the bottom of the bowl. My fingers closed onto something small and round.
Slowly, I drew it out and placed it in the palm of my hand.
Inthat moment, the world seemed to f a de away and everything became clear…
Now I understood why this was a wondrous small fish; and why Shakoor was horrified when I said that its egg wouldn’t fill a mouse’s belly.
Only a mad person would eat the little treasure that now rested so beautifully in my palm.
Will you believe me when I tell you what it was?
About the author
Halla bint Khalid is a Riyadh-based visual artist and storyteller, with an approach in her work that is both rich in culture and deeply personal. Born in Saudi Arabia in 1971, she studied business at university, learning her art skills on her own and through private lessons. Halla’s first solo exhibition was in Riyadh, in 1991, and her first international solo show was at MoMA Tbilisi, in 2019.
Halla turned to children’s books at a time when she could not freely create her artwork. Since 1997, she has written and illustrated 18 titles for children in both Arabic and English, setting up her own publishing house. One of her books has also been published in Spain, in both Spanish and Catalan. She regularly visits schools to read and speak with children about social awareness and independent thinking. In 2020, Halla became the co-owner alongside fellow artist Abdulnasser Gharem of Gharem Studios, a progressive arts platform.
https://www.hallabintkhalid.com/
This edition © Kulturalis Ltd, 2026
Text and Illustrations © Halla bint Khalid, 2026
First published in 2026 by Kulturalis Ltd 14 Old Queen Street, London SW1H 9HP, United Kingdom www.kulturalis.com
ISBN 978-1-83636-042-1
Text and Illustrations
Halla bint Khalid (www.hallabintkhalid.com)
Designer Morcos Key (www.morcoskey.com)
Editor Rachel Cooke
Produced by Kulturalis Ltd
Reproduction by Opero, Verona
Printed and bound in Turkey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author and publisher.
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