Chapter 1
Isma. That’s where it all begins.
He lives in a modest house built of red earth, where the morning sun slips through dusty windows and paints the walls with a golden glow. In the yard, a huge mango tree casts its cool shade, a refuge for birds singing the end of the night. Inside, the air still carries the smell of hot coffee and, more faintly, the memory of the father who is gone. His mother, a courageous woman who carries the family on her shoulders, is already busy in the kitchen. His younger sister, Djamila, storms through the house like a whirlwind: fast, loud, unpredictable. The house vibrates with their voices, their laughter, their little arguments—a small, modest home, but full of life.
That morning, routine quickly settles in.
— Isma! You’re going to be late again!
— I’m coming, Mom! Isma replied from his room.
Djamila was already standing at the door, a provocative smile on her lips.
— Love Coach, why can’t you wake up on time? Always late… Is that how you plan to start your day, Coach?
— Djamila, what’s your problem exactly? Whether I wake up early or late… I don’t see the issue.
— And that’s exactly the problem! As a love coach—
Before she could finish, Isma cut her off:
— Djamila, lower your voice a bit, please. Mom could hear us.
— So what? Djamila replied, still smiling teasingly.
— You don’t understand, do you…
— Oh yes, I do. The coach is afraid Mom will find out what her son does, huh?
— Exactly. And by the way, don’t call me “coach” at home anymore. Mom might hear.
— No! And besides, Coach—
— I told you to stop.
— No, Coach!
Djamila ran out laughing as Isma stood up to chase her.
— My dear big brother, the famous love coach!
— Are you trying to sell my image now? Isma replied, not entirely amused.
Djamila stepped closer, the same grin on her face.
— Coach, I don’t understand you…
— What don’t you understand? Isma asked.
— You’re a love coach, but I’ve never seen your girlfriend.
— And what’s your problem? Leave me alone! Isma snapped, offended.
— No, Coach!
At that moment, their mother entered, drying her hands.
— Are you two going to let each other breathe a little?
— Mom, she started it!
— But Mom, it’s the truth, Djamila replied.
— What truth are you talking about? their mother asked.
Isma rushed to stop Djamila from answering, covering her mouth.
— No, Mom, it’s nothing, he whispered into his sister’s ear. Don’t say anything, please.
— No, nothing, Mom. Just that your son has been waking up late lately, Djamila said.
— But he’s your brother, remember.
— Yes, Mom, Djamila replied as she went outside, adding:
— Coach, I’m watching you.
— So?
— You need to rethink what you’re doing, think about yourself before others.
— Djamila, listen… I don’t want to have this discussion with you.
— Are you sure?
— Yes.
— I bet you’re not… I’m fed up with you giving advice to others when you never apply it yourself!
— Mind your own business, Djamila, Isma replied.
— Coach, you’re my big brother, remember. So it is my business!
— Listen… you know I haven’t had time for love. I’m trying to provide for us first. Dad is gone…
— That’s not a good enough reason, big brother. You need to enjoy life while you still can.
Isma suddenly interrupted her:
— Oops, I almost forgot… I have to go right now.
---
The campus is lively. Trees cast cool shadows and students’ voices echo between the buildings. Arriving at the university, Isma headed toward the main building. Eyes sometimes turned toward him, but he barely paid attention. After all, he was only there to help those who truly needed his advice—and to attend his classes.
A student approached timidly, clearly embarrassed.
— Coach… I have a problem… he murmured.
— Calm down. Come here, Isma said, pulling him toward a discreet corner.
Nearly panicking, the student explained his love situation: a girl he had liked for weeks, but who didn’t seem interested. Isma took out his notebook and drew directly from his book Understanding Women.
— First rule, he began, observe her carefully. How does she act when you talk? When she looks at you? Her gestures, her silences… everything matters.
— Uh… okay… the student replied nervously.
— Then, Isma continued, don’t rush anything. Show her you can be attentive, patient, and above all natural. Remember: you’re applying authentic coaching. That’s what I explain in Understanding Women.
The student nodded. Isma corrected his mistakes gently, with humor, guiding him step by step.
Meanwhile, Isma couldn’t help smiling inwardly. He was brilliant for others, able to decode any look, analyze any emotion… but for himself? Seducing a girl, confessing his feelings… he had never dared. And that was exactly what made his role so paradoxical.
— Thank you, Coach… I think I’m starting to understand, the student murmured with a slight smile.
— That’s normal, Isma replied. The rest, you’ll discover on the field. And remember… be yourself.
With a final wink, Isma let him go and resumed his walk, calm.
After helping the student in that discreet corner, Isma continued his usual university routine. Another classmate approached him, red with embarrassment.
— Isma… I think I can’t understand her behavior…
— Come here.
Isma sat on a bench under a tree, took out his notebook, and began explaining calmly, once again going over the techniques from Understanding Women.
— Observe her gestures… her looks… the way she smiles or stays silent. Then react naturally, never force anything. And above all, remember: patience and sincerity are the keys.
The student nodded, mentally noting every detail. Isma guided him, corrected his mistakes with kindness and humor, making him laugh despite the embarrassment.
Meanwhile, Isma felt that familiar stab of inner frustration… All these tips worked for others, but never for him. He had never applied them to seduce a girl himself. He knew it well—it was the paradox of his life.
He stood up and walked away.
As Isma strolled calmly along the university’s main walkway, still lost in thoughts about the advice he had just given, suddenly, at the turn of a corridor, a young woman appeared out of nowhere and they collided hard.
She wasn’t just beautiful—she was formidable.
— Hey! Don’t you watch where you’re going?! she snapped, her eyes sparkling with defiance.
— Sorry! I… I didn’t see you… Isma stammered, surprised.
She crossed her arms, clearly annoyed.
— That’s no excuse. You could be a little more careful!
— Listen… I didn’t mean to… bother you…
— Bother me?! Is that what you call this?! she shot back sarcastically.
Isma felt the tension rise. He had never been spoken to like that, especially not by someone unimpressed by his reputation as a coach.
— Listen… I bumped into you by accident, that’s all!
— By accident?! Always the same excuse, always words to justify your mistakes! She stepped closer, her gaze stern.
Isma straightened up, trying to stay calm.
— Listen… I never meant to offend you…
— And yet… you did! she snapped before turning on her heel.
Isma stood frozen, his heart pounding, torn between embarrassment, irritation… and fascination. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was formidable. And he understood that he had just met a girl who would change the course of his existence and mark him forever.
To be continued…
