Roya took her mother's hand and stepped into the noisy market. A vendor called out, 'Sweet dates! Fresh and sweet!' A rooster strutted across the stone path and pecked at a dropped orange slice.
She reached both hands out to touch the colorful spices — crushed red peppers, golden saffron, bright yellow turmeric. Her mother squeezed her fingers. 'Everywhere smells different,' Roya whispered. The orange cat rubbed against her ankle and purred loudly.
A stack of painted wooden bowls wobbled on a high shelf. Roya lunged forward to steady them before they tumbled. The shopkeeper clapped once. 'Thank you, small hands!' His words made her cheeks flush pink as the bowls gleamed warm orange in the sun.
They passed a carpet shop where an old man hummed while he swept. Roya dragged her fingers over a raised pattern of tiny birds. Suddenly the wind burst through the doorway, sending a cascade of silk scarves drifting to the ground like falling leaves.
Roya picked up a turquoise scarf that matched the mosque dome and held it against the bright sky. Her mother called her name. Roya ran down the dusty path with the scarf fluttering behind her like a flag.
At the end of the street, the mosque rose with its shining blue dome glowing against the sun. Roya stopped dead, her mouth open. The call to prayer drifted down the road like a warm voice wrapping around everything.
Roya entered the cool shaded hallway and lay down on an empty prayer rug, pressing her palms flat against the thick wool. The echo of the prayer bounced softly off the tiled walls.
An older woman nearby offered Roya a small wrapped date. Roya accepted with both hands and a wide smile. They sat together in the quiet as sunlight streamed through the arched windows and the turquoise dome gleamed above them.
