It was a random day—unremarkable on the surface. Her exams had just ended, and she'd decided to return to the library, to rediscover the calm she'd once found there. A quiet place to read, to breathe, to be.
That afternoon, she was seated in the café, Rumi's poetry open in front of her. She hadn't expected it to hurt, but the words struck a little too close to the heart. They reminded her of an old friend she still hadn't quite let go of. Before she knew it, the ache swelled, and she found herself walking to the car, shutting the door behind her just to cry. Silently, like always.
Later, she sat inside by the computer area, waiting for her laptop to charge, when her uncle spotted her. She'd planned to avoid him—he had a way of making a scene—but then, through the glass wall that separated the café from the rest of the library, she saw them. His feet.
He was sitting in the café.
And just like that, the plan changed.
Despite her better judgment, she suggested they sit in the café instead. Partly to see him. Mostly because her uncle's voice was so loud, people had started to stare, and she needed to escape the attention.
She guided her uncle to a table inside. He was sitting right by the main door, back turned to them. The moment she saw him, panic bloomed in her chest. She needed space—an exit. As if on cue, she remembered she'd left her car keys on the table outside. She excused herself, hurried away, and used those few minutes to pull herself together.
When she returned, she made sure to sit with her back to him. Safer that way. He was mid-conversation with his friends, his voice soft but clear. He was talking about being alone, about God—something thoughtful, something deep. And just like that, she was transported. Back to memories of Areej. Back to those long, soul-searching talks about faith and heartbreak and everything in between.
That's when the thought hit her: maybe she needed to approach him. Not for romance, not even for closure, but for connection. Just to know someone like that again. Someone who reminded her of the person she had lost—and, in a strange way, of the God she had drifted away from. Maybe through him, she could find her way back. To peace. To herself.
She barely registered what her uncle was saying. She nodded when he spoke, smiled when she had to. But her mind was elsewhere—straining to catch fragments of the boy's voice, to hear something profound, something grounding. Something that would let her believe again.
In someone. In love. In faith.