At the same moment, in ninth-century Baghdad, Ruqayyah sat quietly in the back garden of al-Fadl's residence. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow across the manicured courtyard. Birds chirped softly from the branches above, and the gentle breeze carried the faint, sweet scent of roses mingled with the earthy aroma of freshly watered soil.
Behind her, Salma worked patiently, weaving Ruqayyah's long hair into a tight, precise braid. Each movement was careful, almost meditative, the fingers gliding over strands as if threading time itself.
"Aisha… you've carried yourself with a rare calm these past few months," Salma said softly, her voice measured and almost cautious, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace of the garden.
Ruqayyah allowed herself a faint smile, the kind that barely lifted the corners of her lips. Before she could respond, the sudden chime of the Nadhir system startled her.
[Ding! Host, there is an incoming video call from the Qadhar system. Do you wish to accept?]
Her breath caught. "Heh… you mean a video call… with Aisha—from the twenty-first century?" she whispered.
[Yes, Host.]
"Then—answer it!" Ruqayyah ordered softly, her voice barely rising above the rustle of the garden.
The call connected instantly. A translucent screen unfolded in the air, hovering just in front of her. On it, Aisha's anxious face filled the display, eyes wide, hair slightly tousled as if she had just dashed across a classroom. Ruqayyah herself appeared in the other pane, calm and composed, yet the sight of herself through another century felt strange and unreal.
"Ruqayyah, please help me!" Aisha cried. "I don't understand anything. They're asking about quadratic equations… what am I supposed to do?"
Ruqayyah blinked, momentarily mesmerized by the floating screen and the surreal overlap of centuries. "This… is far more advanced than anything I have ever seen," she murmured.
Aisha's panic surged. Her hands shook as she nearly knocked over a pen. Ruqayyah's calm, in contrast, almost irritated her.
"Heh, Ruqayyah!" Aisha snapped.
Ruqayyah shook herself from the daze. "Mmm… calm down, Aisha. Quadratic equations… they are not so different from what al-Khwarizmi taught. Their form is ax² + bx + c = 0. You need only find the value of x that restores balance. The letters are merely symbols—like numbers written in Arabic script. Do not fear them."
Aisha's eyes widened, her panic easing only slightly. But then, something behind Ruqayyah caught her attention.
Her breath hitched.
Her eyes trembled, glassy with emotion. "…Mother."
Ruqayyah turned subtly, sensing the sudden tension, but the moment was fleeting. A sharp bell sounded in the distant classroom.
"Three minutes remaining!" the teacher's voice rang.
Aisha jolted back to reality. She lowered her gaze, gripping her pen with renewed focus. Each stroke of ink now steadier than before, guided by Ruqayyah's calm instructions. Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes—not from fear, but from the joy of glimpsing her mother again, even if only for a heartbeat.
The screen blinked and vanished.
Aisha nearly shouted in protest. "Heh—don't cut it off yet!"
[Host. Because this was an inter-century call, its duration is limited and subject to charges. Your savings have been deducted by IDR 400,000.]
Aisha stared at the floating notice, stunned. "Heh… you're really sly," she muttered, exasperation mixing with awe.
But there was no time to dwell on it. She bent over her paper, rereading the problem, tracing her fingers along the margins as if feeling her way through centuries of knowledge. She lifted her pen, heart hammering. This had to be right.
When she finally stood and walked toward the teacher's desk, each step felt unbearably heavy, weighted with responsibility and fear. She prayed silently. Please… let me get this right.
The teacher examined her work with deliberate care, brows knitting as he scanned her answers. Then, slowly, he gave a nod.
"Correct," he confirmed. Relief and disbelief mingled in Aisha's heart.
Time passed in quiet diligence. Eventually, the students returned to the dormitory. Bela waited eagerly, curiosity bright in her eyes.
"Come on," she urged. "Let's study math together in the library. I don't understand anything at all. You can teach me!"
Aisha lowered her gaze, face pale, before glancing up sharply. "Bela, honestly… my experience with arithmetic is no better than yours. Forcing me to teach you now would waste time—and probably make you suffer more than just staring at numbers ever could. Are you sure you want to take that risk?"
Bela frowned. "Seriously? But you're good at math, aren't you?"
Aisha's expression tightened as Saleh's task and the weight of the system's mission pressed on her mind. Then, after a pause, she made a decision. "What if… we study together—from the basics?"
"From the basics?" Bela echoed, startled.
Aisha nodded, voice firm. "It's been a long time since we truly reviewed the fundamentals. Maybe we've forgotten them. So… let's start over."
Bela considered this, a slow smile spreading. "…Alright. Let's study in the computer lab."
After tidying their materials, they obtained permission from the supervisor, explaining that they were preparing for an upcoming math competition. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, they walked to the lab, the air rich with the scent of cooling stone and ink.
The laboratory was unusually quiet. Rows of screens glowed softly in the dim evening light, most unused. Only a few students remained, bent over their work in silence.
Aisha and Bela sat side by side. A math video played, its narrator explaining numbers, operations, and simple equations with deliberate clarity. At first, Bela leaned forward, chin resting in her hand, eyes locked on the screen. Aisha nodded along, recalling the methods Ruqayyah would have used, translating them across centuries of understanding.
Minutes passed. Then more minutes. The gentle monotony of the video eventually lulled them into a trance. Bela's head tilted to the side, eyes closing. Her breathing evened. Aisha resisted longer, but her body finally surrendered. Both fell asleep, upright in their chairs, facing the glowing screen as the narrator continued obliviously.
BAM!
A heavy thud jolted them awake. Bela nearly toppled from her chair, hands clutching the edge of the desk. Aisha flinched, heart racing.
Nisa stood before them, arms crossed, barely holding back laughter. "Wow," she said flatly, voice teasing. "Startled? Sorry."
She placed two books and pens on the desk, tapping them lightly. "This is how you actually study," she said. "Not just watching videos. You write. You try. You solve problems."
She chuckled softly. "Sleeping doesn't count as studying, you know."
Bela rubbed her eyes, embarrassed. "We were studying very seriously… I think."
Aisha straightened, brushing off her fatigue. "Yes. We were… deeply focused."
Nisa raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? Were you?"
With a decisive motion, she pulled out a chair and sat across from them. "Now open your books. Start from the basics: numbers, operations. No skipping steps."
Aisha and Bela exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. Then they bent over their pens, writing, calculating, and learning with renewed purpose—this time, truly studying.