Important Warning:
This novel is strictly forbidden for young couples on the verge of marriage or those currently engaged; for its words may unravel their union before it even begins. I absolve myself before God of any transformation that may occur in the psyche of the reader, or any lingering obsessions, dark thoughts, or complexes it may instill.
The Dedication:
I dedicate this work, from the depths of my heart, to every traitor on this earth who still roams free, and to every traitor now buried beneath it. And to every pure and loyal soul who will turn to betrayal upon finishing these pages—becoming more beautiful only after they have betrayed.
The Philosophy of Distance
Do not draw too near.
We once thought, before drawing close,
That many a rough fabric was but finest silk.
How many deceivers did we mistake for princes, before we stood too close?
How many beloveds have we adored, only for them to leave us to our sorrows and take flight the moment we approached?
Do not draw too near.
For the things that grow in beauty the further they stay,
Are far greater in number.
The Story: Abdullah's Return
It was March when my friend Abdullah called me, his voice ringing with exultation: "Aboud, my friend, congratulate me!" He had secured a job. He spoke as if he were the happiest man on the planet, and I felt a surge of joy for him as if the victory were my own.
When I asked where, he replied: "At Al-Nashmiya Elementary. The very school where I was a child! Can you believe it? The place where my most beautiful childhood memories live. Today, I return to be a child once more."
Abdullah was an anomaly in his optimism, a dreamer lost in a world of virtue—a living legend of motivation. We celebrated that evening at a restaurant in Amman, sitting by a small fountain. The conversation never strayed from the orbit of his childhood memories within those school walls. I hadn't seen him that radiant in years. Though I tried to end the night early, he was swept away by a tide of nostalgia, oblivious to the theft of time.
The First Day
The next morning, Abdullah headed to work wrapped in hope. He began his day with a childhood habit: reciting the Mu'awwidhat (protective verses) to steady his heart and ward off evil—so that no envious eye might strike him, no anxiety of new beginnings might daunt him, and no hardship or poverty might shame him.
He met his colleagues and rediscovered the place he knew so well. Yet, the passing years had left their mark even on the walls; the school that was once youthful had grown frail. His friends no longer played soccer with empty soda cans in the yard. The cafeteria owner, old Uncle Ghanem—who would feed them even when they forgot their lunch money—was gone, replaced by a stranger. The trees were no longer saplings; they had grown into giants.
Despite the wear and tear, the school's "old age" only added to its dignity. Trees, like humans, grow wiser as they weather life's storms. They bear wrinkles just like ours, and their leaves fall as our hair thins. They even become more patient with the children who seek them, never wearying of their noise nor striking them with branches, which they have lifted high toward the heavens, far out of reach.
The Encounter
Abdullah was the only male on a predominantly female teaching staff. This amplified his shyness, as he was a man unaccustomed to the company of the "fairer sex." His journey had taken him from conservative religious schools to a university in Saudi Arabia. Interacting with women was a daunting, alien experience.
He would answer their questions with his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. Some laughed at first; they were used to men who couldn't pull their gaze away until they had scanned every inch of a woman's form. But Abdullah was different. Their confusion soon turned to respect when they learned of his conservative upbringing, honoring a sense of "manly modesty" rarely found in this day and age.
His popularity soared. His playful personality and constant laughter made him a favorite among the children. It was rare to see a child crying because they didn't want to go home, yet within two weeks, they were begging to stay with their new teacher.
The Exception: Rowan
His fame grew among parents, and the administration marveled at his creativity. Life was beautiful. His male colleague became a brother, his female colleagues respected him deeply, and the children adored him to the point of madness.
Except for one teacher.
She avoided him. She shunned even his greetings. Yet, he persisted in saying "As-salamu alaykum" every time he passed her, indifferent to whether she replied. After two months, while most colleagues eagerly awaited his witty remarks and cheerful spirit, Rowan remained the outlier.
Sometimes she would murmur a reply; often, she remained silent. Her rebellion, her perceived arrogance, and her coldness caught his attention. She ignited a spark in his heart through the sheer fire of her neglect.
Why did she treat him this way when everyone else sought his company? Why did she look at him as if he were invisible? Why was she immune to his wit, meeting his every word with a wall of silence?