📌 Previously in Chapter 34:
Zayd stunned the people of Baghdad by winning the grand poetry duel against Fahad ibn Qays, reciting both tender and fierce verses, including one that echoed the spirit of Kazi Nazrul Islam. His name began spreading not just as a young merchant—but a man of words, wit, and mystery.
📍 Scene: Zayd's Shopfront – Morning
The wide wooden doors of Zayd's newly leased shop in the heart of Baghdad were open, sunlight pouring over polished stone floors. The sign above the shop read simply: "Nimr Caravans", in sleek Kufic script.
Zayd, dressed in a fresh dark brown tunic with copper threading, sat reclining on a thick rug, enjoying a rare cup of honeyed tea. His eagle, Nimr, rested on a stand beside him, calmly preening its wings.
Zayd exhaled slowly, letting the city's sounds wash over him — the clatter of pots, a muezzin's call from afar, the laughter of children. For the first time in months, he wasn't chasing clues, building prototypes, or arguing with guilds.
ZAYD (softly to himself):
"I almost forgot how it feels to do… nothing."
But peace rarely lasted long.
📍 Scene Change: Street Outside the Shop – Moments Later
A dust cloud approached from the road. Twelve gleaming carriages came rolling down the stone path, pulled by sturdy horses. At the front rode a familiar face with a crooked smile and a sunburnt forehead — Qadir.
QADIR (calling out):
"Hide your tea, merchant prince! The workers have returned!"
Zayd stood up, brows raised.
ZAYD:
"Twelve? That's… more than I expected."
Qadir jumped down, wiping sweat from his brow, grinning ear to ear.
QADIR:
"We hired more blacksmiths. Paid 'em well. Fed 'em better. They worked like donkeys in heat to finish these!"
Zayd couldn't help but laugh.
ZAYD:
"You've done well, truly."
He walked slowly along the line of carriages, each one polished, painted with elegant motifs, with leather-padded interiors and smooth wheelwork. No two were identical — a detail Zayd had insisted on.
ZAYD (thoughtfully):
"They look beautiful… but beauty doesn't sell alone."
QADIR:
"So, what's the price? Like last time? Five hundred gold per cart?"
ZAYD (shaking his head):
"No. We'll price them at four hundred gold coins each."
Qadir blinked.
QADIR:
"Wait… lower price? Brother, did you fall on your head in your sleep?"
ZAYD (calmly):
"The first sale was during an auction. It was rare, unknown, unseen. That price was a burst of curiosity. But now we're opening a shop, not a stage. Consistency will build trust — not shocks."
QADIR (scratching his head):
"So you're telling me… we sell more, not louder?"
ZAYD:
"Exactly. And soon, when nobles and traders see our carts rolling across Baghdad and Basra, they'll come to us… not for novelty — but for comfort, design, and reputation."
QADIR (grinning):
"You speak like a philosopher. But I'm still gonna tell people you're giving a discount because you lost a poetry duel!"
ZAYD (smirking):
"They'll only believe that if I lose the next one."
They both laughed, the mood light and full of promise.
📍 Closing Narration
Twelve carriages now stood in the shop's courtyard — symbols of vision, craft, and determination. But more importantly, they marked the beginning of Zayd's true business journey.
He had money. He had a product. He had a shop.
Now… it was time to conquer the city — one sale at a time.
End of Chapter 35