My name is Ghada. I’m 23 years old—a girl from Algeria, born into a conservative and modest family. I’m the eldest of my siblings, yet I never truly lived with them. From the moment I was born, I was raised in my grandmother’s house on my father’s side, surrounded by my aunts, who felt more like sisters. Life in that house was strict and cold—not cruel, but empty of tenderness.

When I turned 15, my parents and siblings moved to their own home, but I stayed behind. No one forced me. It just happened. I remained with my grandmother’s family, growing up in a house where encouragement was rare, where kind words were absent, where no one ever told me, “You can do it,” or “We believe in you.” And that silence shaped me. Or maybe... broke me.

I was spoiled in material things, yes—but I was starving emotionally. I failed at school, I failed in love. Or maybe I failed to understand what love even was. I clung to any sweet word, any boy who said, “I love you,” only to end up shattered. Yet still, I saw myself as beautiful: soft hair, brown eyes, pale skin, a slender frame. But beauty didn’t protect me from pain. In a world that punishes the soft-hearted, it meant nothing.

All I ever wanted was to escape my reality—to marry a man who loved me, protected me, lifted me up. Someone kind, someone wealthy, someone who would treat me like a queen. One night, out of quiet desperation, I downloaded a matchmaking app that connected Arabs with foreigners... and I searched.

Message after message. Profile after profile. Until his name appeared: Anwar.

A Tunisian man, 47 years old, calm in his words, gentle in his tone. He didn’t shower me with compliments, but there was respect in his voice. He called me “dear.” He listened. He didn’t judge. Slowly, without realizing it, I started to care.

He was handsome in Ghada’s eyes. His skin was dark, his features mature. He wasn’t the man girls dream of on magazine covers—but to me, he was everything. I didn’t even have a proper phone to see him clearly, my camera was blurry, my speaker barely worked. Still, he didn’t laugh at my broken device. He didn’t make me feel small.

Instead, he said, “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll send you a better phone. You deserve the best.” And in that moment, I felt... seen. Loved. Worthy.

That’s how it began.

What I didn’t know then was that meeting Anwar would change everything. That my life wouldn’t just shift—it would unravel. That dreams would start haunting me. That my body and soul would begin to react to something unseen. That perhaps... fate was playing a much bigger game.

This story is not just about love. It’s about longing. About the silence that raises a girl. About the kind of magic no one speaks of. About healing, heartbreak, and the quiet wars we fight alone.

This is the story of Ghada.

And it’s only the beginning.

I never knew that a simple white napkin would mark the beginning of my end.


It was supposed to be a day of joy — my engagement.


There was music, dancing, laughter… everyone was celebrating.


But deep inside, I felt something was off.


Strange looks. A cold breeze. And then — the napkin disappeared.


Since then, I started to feel heavy, tired, and lost.


His voice became distant, his eyes no longer warm.


I thought it was stress, maybe just overthinking…


A story of love, betrayal, and a curse I never saw coming.


Chapter 1 - the beginning of the end