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Salim first sees her dancing on the oasis's shore, her arms flowing while the rain curves in sheets around her. It directs, as per her fluid motions, into metal containers he transmuted. Even the water replenishing the oasis's dwindling supply hums with her power.
At once, he knows who she is. The town has been abuzz with talk of a magician visiting to end the drought. They say she’s from the other side of the mountains, where the valley is lush from precipitation. He has been looking forward to not only her aid, but also the chance to talk with a like-minded professional about his research.
Every theory he's ever had sinks into the sand. He can only watch, transfixed, as she becomes one with the air.
Her, her, her, Flamel whispers, slurred together nonsensically. His tug was what pulled Salim here in the first place.
"Yes," Salim says. "She's certainly... She."
At the sound of his voice, the woman turns, and he can't distinguish the rain from his sweat. What did they call her, again? It always takes the strangest patterns and associations for him to remember names.
"Oh, er, hello there," Salim says.
Before she can answer, a lavender snake emerges from her sleeve, and Flamel wiggles so insistently that Salim has to let him slide down his arm.
She!
The woman meets Salim's eyes, stunned, before breaking into laughter. His mouth strains at the edges.
"It seems we have a play date to arrange," she says. "I must focus on my spells. Where can I call upon you?"
By the time he returns home, his drenched clothes weigh him down, but his steps feel light.
For all that the townsfolk venerate the magician who dances in the rain, Aisha is more sensible than Salim. It is difficult to listen to his heart hammering in his chest when she speaks with such clarity, each step a logical outcome of the last. Hearing of his hometown through her eyes breathes both new light and new structure to it.
On Salim’s floor, Chimes and Flamel sniff each other, bump snouts, and give each other parts of mice. He hears Flamel's animated half of their conversation and Aisha laughing at Chime's replies. His heart calms like a missing piece has slotted into place.
"Let's give them some privacy," Aisha says, mischief dancing in her eyes. At once, Salim's heart rate picks back up.
He shows her around his workspace, demonstrating models he's constructed, which to his honor seem to impress her. In return, she invites him to watch her work, so long as he does not break her concentration.
His own concentration is another matter. Everyone loves rain in a desert town, but Aisha seems to not only survive, but come alive in it. She carries with her a breeze that stirs the sands.
As the days pass, the town begins to refresh, and Aisha must move on. Yes, alone; yes, she will be safe. She can summon bubbles stronger than any shield and scimitars made of ice, much as she hates the need. He can believe it.
Though the drought has ended, his mouth is dry. "Flamel will miss you. I mean, I’ll miss Chimes. I mean—"
"We will miss both of you as well," she says. "I'll come back around."
To stop from counting the days, he throws himself into his work. He finds himself sketching Chimes instead of his diagrams. It doesn't help that Flamel mopes directly into his mind. Salim hurts for him; it's not as if there are many who can understand his companion. He can sympathize, with how few magic users there are in town.
Her visits become the highlight of his months. They are not the whirlwinds he anticipates; the pair sits in his house, sharing news while watching their companions flirt. She writes while he paints. She helps with his research, and he looks over her manuscripts. They read quietly. A peace pervades him that has been absent all his life without him knowing.
By the oasis where they met, she pulls him in to sway with the date palms. Droplets of rainwater slip between their lips. He marvels at her boldness in a public space, but most of all he marvels at the softness of her mouth.
Like the weather, she comes and goes. “I will miss the sun,” she always says, so after many months, he goes with her.
They learn of a city built on a cliff, where canals and waterfalls drain into an endless sea. During their visit, Aisha smiles so brightly that Salim designs a house. It's in Vesuvia that they create something none of Salim's inventions will ever surpass.
Their collective tears while holding their baby could fill an oasis. They call him a name he will later replace, which they should have predicted from the stars in his eyes. Aisha bathes him almost ritualistically, peace emanating from her in waves.
To their distress, he grows large enough to climb onto the roof when it rains. They coax him down to dance in the streets, where he giggles while he jumps from puddle to puddle, squelching in the mud. Even though he is young and has yet to manage a spell, the puddles seem to boost his bounce.
Later, a fit of sneezing overcomes him, and suddenly Aisha does not love the rain. While she keeps him occupied inside, she looks at the clouds wistfully, like friends whose time has come.
Just as Salim fails to follow the warnings he gives their child about magic's limitations, Aisha cannot always resist the urge to go out in storms. Eventually, even she comes down with a cold. Their child is the one to look out the window, chanting, "Bad rain! Bad rain! Make Mom better!" before he wriggles under the covers with her. It does not stop him from skipping at the waves’ edge the next time they play at the shore.
One day, after carefully reading one of his parents' books, he announces, "My name is Asra." With more evident nerves, he points to the page that describes it, and Salim knows he will grow to love the stars as much as he loves water.