Jasmine looked at Ali. He looked heartbroken by the boy’s plight.
She could do worse, she knew, than spending a lifetime with a person like Ali—who cared not just for her, but for all his people, including those who had the least.
THE SKY was ablaze with violet, pink, and navy blue streaks trailing above like a painted canvas. Aladdin felt a tinge of sadness. Soon the darkness would overtake all the light around them and coat the sky completely.
“It’s getting dark,” Jasmine observed. “Are you sure it’s not getting too late?”
“We still have some time to explore, if you’re okay with that.”
“More than okay.” Jasmine smiled.
Aladdin remembered the restaurant he’d asked Genie to re-create for him in Ababwa, his favorite hole-in-the-wall back in Agrabah. They couldn’t leave without trying it—it was one of the few things in this kingdom that contained a part of who he truly was.
“Care for a bite at one of my favorite dessert shops?” asked Aladdin. “There’s a great place I love that shouldn’t be too far from here.”
“If it’s a favorite of yours, how can I say no?”
“You won’t regret it,” he promised. “They make the best sweets and teas you’ve ever had.”
Had it not been for the familiar scent of Bilal’s sweet cheese pastries wafting through the shop window, Aladdin would never have been able to find the place. The version of the café that Genie had created for Ababwa was unrecognizable. Stepping inside, Aladdin took in the charming open-air restaurant with cushioned floor seating, low wooden tables, and glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling above. Aladdin tried to keep from laughing. He’d have to let Genie know next time he saw him that he’d done an incredible job indeed.
The store owner walked over and welcomed them. He looked like the same one from back in Agrabah, but instead of the grease- and flour-spattered apron and perpetual frown the man back home always wore, this Bilal had starched cream clothing and grinned from ear to ear. It was a most peculiar sight.
“Please sit anywhere you’d like,” the man said, gesturing to the tables. “Shall I bring the usual desserts along with a menu?”
“Sounds great.” Aladdin settled down across from Jasmine on a red cushioned seat by a large open window overlooking the street outside. Music wafted over to them now from somewhere in the distance.
“Oh, wow,” Jasmine said when the owner returned carrying an oversized wooden tray filled to the edges with small porcelain plates of food. There was indeed every plump pastry, chocolate, and kunafa Aladdin had ever seen at the original spot back home piled onto the tray, along with a pot of tea and Aladdin’s favorite lemon drink. Unlike in Agrabah, where the desserts were served on napkins and the teas and juices handed to customers in drab metal tins, here the tea was steeped in rose-pink pots with cups and saucers set before them. Aladdin’s tall, cool glass of lemonade was handed to him in a crystal glass.
“There’s no way I can eat all of this,” Jasmine said, taking in the feast before them.
“We can give it our best shot?” Aladdin grinned.
Jasmine ate a forkful of honey-glazed pastry. “Now this is what I call dessert.”
A group of children danced past them just outside the shop. The eldest of the bunch beat drums, and the rest skipped along the walkway. They didn’t notice Jasmine and Aladdin watching, immersed as they were in one another and the music. The kids were truly and fully happy. And right now, sitting across from Jasmine, that was how Aladdin felt, too. Ababwa was not perfect, that much was certain—what with that man who’d come to see him in tattered clothing, and Jamaal, who wandered the streets alone—but at least here Aladdin could do something about what was wrong instead of simply simmering at the injustice of it all. If there was a problem in Ababwa, he could fix it. Maybe the land wasn’t technically real, but did that matter? It was real right now.
And then there was Jasmine. He gazed at her now. She was kind, warm, wise, and fiercely intelligent. And even if she didn’t love surprises, she loved exploring and adventures just as he did. He glanced down at her hand, resting just inches from his own, and clasped his hand over hers. The warmth sent a shot of lightning to his heart. There was no denying that Jasmine was absolutely perfect for him, and it didn’t matter if he’d known her for a few minutes or for a lifetime. He realized in this moment…that he loved her.
And there was also no denying that she was a princess. And once they left Ababwa, he would no longer have a kingdom.
Heaviness settled over his heart as the sky turned darker outside. Their time here was nearing its end.
But did it have to?
Maybe, just maybe, she’d take a chance on him. On them. He’d joked about it earlier, but maybe he could tell her now exactly how he felt—and ask her to stay with him here. After all, Ababwa would remain the kingdom it appeared to be so long as they both stayed. All he had to do was figure out a way to bring Abu here, and to get Raja for Jasmine, and everything would be all set. He was about to say just this when Jasmine spoke.
“I can’t stop thinking about that poor boy,” Jasmine said. “Can you imagine what it’s like to not only lose your parents but also have no one at all to watch out for you?”
So there it was. Aladdin’s throat tightened. He didn’t need to imagine how Jamaal felt, because he was that boy. Sure, Genie had given Jamaal green eyes instead of Aladdin’s dark brown, but Aladdin recognized himself in the boy all the same.
And he couldn’t tell Jasmine.
As honest as she was with him, he couldn’t be honest with her. Not fully.
“How are you finding everything?” The shop owner approached them now. His hands were clasped in front of him.
“Fantastic,” Jasmine told him. “The honey-glazed pastry was my favorite.”
“I can prepare another for you if you’d like.”
“Oh.” Jasmine glanced at Aladdin. “I probably shouldn’t….”
“Well, it’s not every day you come to Ababwa, is it?” the shop owner insisted.
Jasmine thanked the man and Aladdin watched the chipper shop owner head back toward the kitchen. Just then, he caught sight of another man inside the shop. And the glint of a bag, fluttering in the air. The man hurried out of the restaurant. Where had he come from? Aladdin wondered. But then his blood went cold as he took a closer look at the satchel the man gripped in his hands. The gray cloth. The gold string. It was the same one filled with coins—and, more importantly, the lamp—that Aladdin had worn at his waist.
“Hey!” Aladdin jumped up in an instant.
“What’s wrong?” Jasmine asked.
But Aladdin had already leapt out of the open window, giving full chase.
“Stop!” Aladdin shouted after the man.
But the man hurried on at a quick pace. Aladdin ran as fast as he could until he caught up. He yanked the man roughly by the arm. If the man had the lamp, all of this—Ababwa, Ali—could be undone in a matter of seconds.
