Nellie and Naomi

THIS IS HOW LOVE BEGINS

Her stepmother, Ghada, treated her with a cruelty that wounded the soul, offering no kind word, no tender gesture, not even the slightest attempt to embrace her, as she lived on the margins of endless losses. As for her father, Sameh, he was nothing but a pale presence, passing by his daughter like a shadow slipping on a wall, offering her neither protection nor anger nor warmth. That night was not an ordinary night; It was the night something changed inside Naomi, and she was no longer the same. She felt lonely in the small house where she lived alone, a divorced woman in pain. No father, no mother, no embrace, no hand to reach out to her. She wiped her tears with her own hand and didn't wait for anyone to support her. She thought of Anas, but it was just a normal thought just a good young man who took care of her when she needed it. But she didn't think of him much. Naomi went to her room, hugged herself, and fell asleep. But the next day, at exactly one o'clock in the afternoon, there was a gentle knock on the door, as if it came from a distant world. Naomi got up slowly, exhausted, the traces of insomnia and anxiety still clinging to her eyes. She yawned, stretched her arms lazily, and walked with a light, unsteady gait, like someone waking from a deep sleep that hadn't healed their heart. She looked unwell; But she went to the door and opened it to find Anas standing before her. He was holding a bouquet of red roses, a faint smile playing on his lips, a mixture of embarrassment and longing. He said in a soft voice,

Anas :Good evening, Naomi. How are you today?

She took the bouquet from his hands and whispered softly, like a modern girl,

Naomi: Thank you.

She held the flowers up to her face to inhale their fragrance, but froze suddenly when she noticed small tranquilizer tablets hidden among the petals. She looked up at him for a long moment, a look whose meaning even she couldn't quite decipher, before saying quietly,

Naomi: Please come in

She stepped aside, allowing him to enter, and then closed the door behind him.

Anas stood there, flustered, unsure where to sit or how to begin. His nervousness was palpable. Naomi gestured to a chair in the hallway and said,

Naomi: Please, have a seat.

He sat in the living room. Naomi went to her room, carrying a bouquet of roses. She entered the room, stood in front of the mirror, inhaled the scent of the roses again, and removed the tranquilizer pills from among the petals. She set them aside and placed the roses on the table. Her eyes were half-closed, her hair disheveled, and her clothes unsuitable for receiving anyone. She carefully combed her hair and put on simple yet elegant clothes. She sprayed a little perfume on her neck and then went out into the living room, where Anas was sitting, looking somewhat flustered. Naomi sat in the chair opposite him. Anas looked at her with a genuine gaze a look of admiration, or perhaps something a little deeper. He asked her in a low voice,

Anas : What happened last night?" You looked so tired.

She felt as if his voice was gently patting her shoulder. A rare, genuine concern stirred within her, and she told him what Sameh and Ghada had done, and how harsh that night had been. As she spoke, Anas's expression shifted from sharp concern to anger; before he said

Anas: I'm here whenever you need me. You'll find me, and I won't let anyone hurt you, not even Sameh and Ghada.

His words were simple, but they filled her heart like a warm light before he left, leaving behind a comforting silence. Naomi closed the door of the small house and went to the chair, sitting alone. But today, she seemed relieved, as if someone in this world cared for her, worried about her, and tried to protect her. She seemed lost in endless thoughts, thinking about Anas, his care, the way he made her feel valued, important, and protected. Admiration was beginning to gently creep into her heart, which was still in the early stages of love and experiencing its first feelings of care and admiration. She wanted to realize that the attraction towards Anas was slowly and gently growing, and she could no longer deny it.

Naomi felt the weight of the days and seemed burdened by something she couldn't bear, something that weighed heavily on her chest. The house, which seemed smaller with each passing night, felt like a soul searching for shelter.

In the following days, the burden weighed heavily on Naomi, bringing nothing new but endless isolation and pain that reminded her of Sameh's cruelty, Ghada's cold heart, and the grief over her deceased mother. When she remembered Anas, a faint smile would appear on her cheeks, like a cool spring breeze caressing her and easing the burden of her heavy days. She would wake up, eat a little, and remain silent for long periods, then return to her bed, waiting for another day like the last, with nothing new except a sun that rose at its beginning and set at its end, and memories that haunted her, some beautiful but never returned, and some harsh but refusing to leave her. But Anas began to occupy a larger space in her thoughts, and his memory, his stance, and his visit to her seemed to be the most beautiful lately. Every day, unintentionally, his tranquility, his gentle attention, and his presence, which she felt despite his absence, occupied a small part of her thoughts, easing the weight of her silence. One day, around noon or a little after, Sameh rang the doorbell; Naomi opened the door for him, but she wished he hadn't come. He entered the house formally, carrying nothing in his hand, offering no gift, not even a kind word.

He sat for a few minutes, speaking harshly, as if she were a stranger undeserving of either anger or affection. He seemed devoid of any feelings towards his only daughter, and his loyalty to his wife, Ghada, was evident. It was as if he could see her while sitting with Naomi, afraid to utter a kind word to his daughter lest Ghada become angry. He showed her no interest, offered no apology for the nights he left her alone, and then departed as coldly and cruelly as he had arrived, leaving no trace but his absence.

Naomi stood still for a long moment after he left, as if the door he had closed had closed her heart with it. Then she walked with heavy steps toward her room. Her gaze fell upon the bouquet of flowers Anas had brought her days before, now wilted, but their fragrance still lingered. She held them to her nose, inhaling the last vestiges of their warm scent. There was something about that bouquet she clung to, perhaps because it was the only tender touch in her final days. After a few minutes, there was a soft knock on her door. She opened it to find Anas standing there, as if he had arrived just when she needed him most. He entered and sat down, and Naomi was still clutching the wilted flowers in her hand. Her secret was revealed to Anas; he seemed to have noticed her continued affection for him, evident in the flowers she still kept after all those days.

But Naomi began to speak haltingly about Sameh's visit, about the harsh words that had intensified her pain. Anas listened intently; his eyes never left her face, and when he spoke, his voice carried a hint of suppressed anger mixed with palpable tenderness.

With every word Naomi uttered, something new was taking shape between them. It was no longer mere sympathy or friendship, but a closeness, a bond forming like two intertwined threads without their awareness. That day, Anas revealed something he had never shown before: an interest that transcended reason, lingering gazes, a tone of voice overflowing with genuine affection. Naomi reciprocated his feelings; her gaze shifted, and her voice grew warmer each time she spoke his name. Yet, there remained a silent, unspoken barrier between them, a mystery neither dared to breach, as if declaring love before it was complete might spoil the love itself. Their conversation was light and quiet, carefully chosen, but beneath the surface, what transpired between them was far deeper than words could describe.