In the heart of the desert,

where the sky meets the sand in a breathless embrace

Arthur stood at the edge of an ancient path,

stones warm from centuries of sun.
A voice from nowhere and everywhere called to him:
“To receive the rarest gift, you must first recall what was freely given.”
He climbed a tower built of light and memory.
With each step, a moment returned.
The first: a stranger handing him a jug of water,

cool and sweet, when he was lost in a dry valley.
The second: a child, laughing,sharing the last piece of honeyed bread.
The third: a friend’s steady hand when fear had left him speechless.
The tower had no peak.
Only a chamber bathed in stillness.
No gold, no prize—just a single question carved in stone:
What have others done for you that you did not deserve, and yet they gave anyway?
Arthur sat in silence.
He did not rush to answer.
He simply remembered.
He wept.
And as the tears hit the marble floor,
they shimmered and rose, forming a shape in the air:
a single chocolate-dipped pistachio,
dusty green and rich with warmth.
The flavor carried the laughter of shared meals,

the hush of quiet kindness,

the power of unspoken thanks.
He took it into his hands, and the tower faded.
He was back beneath the date palms,
the wind cool on his face.
The trial was complete.
He would carry the taste with him always.