Chapter 1
Introduction
We always ask ourselves a question we fail to answer.
Do we choose love?
Or is it love that chooses us?
These questions don’t come from nothing,
nor from an empty heart searching for a feeling.
They come from pain…
from a wound that grows inside us with time,
until we discover, too late, that it’s a wound
that will never find its way to healing
as long as we are alive.
---
Mohamed was sixteen years old.
A strange age…
not a child who can hide in his mother’s arms,
and not a man who knows how to carry himself alone.
Fatherless,
living only with his mother,
Dr. Salwa…
a well-known woman at the medical university,
her reputation always arriving two steps ahead of her wherever she went.
Mohamed was her only son,
and Amer’s son—the man who left far too early,
leaving behind a void that never truly filled.
His mother was always afraid for him.
Afraid he would end up alone.
Afraid he would get hurt.
Afraid the world would swallow him
before he could stand on his own feet.
That’s why,
on many days,
she took him with her to the university.
Against his will.
A place he didn’t like.
A place where he felt like an extra,
unnecessary presence.
Mohamed never mixed with people there.
Not students.
Not professors.
Not even boys his own age.
He would always slip away quietly
and sit beside the university tower.
The tower was tall…
solid…
silent.
And that silence was comforting.
The tower became his only friend.
The only one whose presence he could feel.
The only one who listened without interrupting
or asking pointless questions.
Maybe if someone saw him from afar,
they would think he was weak…
frail…
a broken young man.
But the truth was the opposite.
Mohamed was physically strong,
and his personality was well-liked among his classmates at school—
the only place where he felt like himself,
away from his mother’s control
and from the fear that flooded her life.
And despite all that,
Mohamed wasn’t the type whose eyes wandered easily.
Girls didn’t occupy his thoughts.
Maybe because women and girls were always around him
due to his mother’s work.
Maybe because he grew used to seeing them
without feeling anything new.
---
On the other side,
there was Yasmin.
Twenty-four years old.
Beautiful…
but with a quiet beauty,
one that didn’t scream for attention.
A medical master’s student
at the same university where Mohamed’s mother worked.
Her future was clear before her,
drawn in straight lines:
study, work, success.
Yasmin came from an upper-class family,
a family that truly loved their children.
She held a special place
because she was the only girl
among two brothers.
She was social,
strong,
knew how to talk, laugh,
and command respect.
But despite all that,
she had one weakness.
Her beauty.
It may sound strange,
since most people see beauty as a blessing.
But few think about how it feels for a girl
to hear an inappropriate word every day,
or catch an unnecessary stare,
or receive a filthy comment
said as if it were a rightful privilege.
Yasmin had learned how to deal with it,
but she never learned how to accept it.
She thought her life was safe…
Until the university tower
decided to witness
the very first moment
when all the rules were broken.
---
The day was completely ordinary.
Too ordinary, in fact.
Soft sunlight,
air that wasn’t suffocating,
and the university buzzing with movement as usual.
Mohamed was sitting beside the tower,
his back leaning against the cold stone,
his eyes lost in the sky.
He could hear his mother’s voice from afar—
talking, laughing, explaining something to someone.
And he…
wasn’t hearing a single word.
He felt like he existed in a place that wasn’t his,
and a time that wasn’t his.
He turned his head toward the university yard
and saw students walking in groups,
each one holding a dream in their hand,
convinced they would reach it.
That was when Yasmin appeared.
No dramatic entrance.
No slow walk.
Not even a deliberate attempt to draw attention.
She was just walking normally…
but that normality was enough to make many look.
Mohamed looked—
and without understanding why,
he stopped.
Not with his body…
but with his heart.
He felt something strange,
like remembering a dream
but not being able to recall it fully.
He watched her pass by,
carrying her books,
her hair half tied up,
the rest falling on her shoulder.
He didn’t think, She’s beautiful.
He didn’t think, She’s too old for me.
He didn’t think anything at all.
But his heart skipped a beat
that didn’t belong there.
Yasmin was walking,
fully aware that eyes were watching her.
That feeling had become part of her daily life.
But suddenly,
that feeling changed.
An overly loud laugh.
A misplaced word.
Men’s voices that felt wrong.
She stopped.
A group of young men,
well-known around the university—
the kind whose noise arrives before them,
whose presence always causes unease.
One of them made a comment,
said while laughing,
but it was filthy.
Yasmin didn’t look at him.
Didn’t respond.
She just pulled her books tighter against her chest
and stood still.
That stillness
was defense.
One of them stepped closer.
He didn’t touch her,
but the distance was too small.
Small enough to scare.
…
Mohamed saw the scene
and felt his blood heat in his veins.
His mind told him:
It’s none of your business.
You’re young.
You don’t belong here.
But that voice was buried
under another voice inside him—
stronger,
clearer.
No.
He stood up.
One step.
Then another.
As he moved,
he heard his mother’s voice in his head,
the same sentence she always said
in a fear she tried to hide:
“Stay by my side, Mohamed…
the world isn’t safe.”
He reached them
and said in a low but cutting voice:
“What’s going on?”
The guys looked him up and down.
One of them laughed—
a laugh full of mockery—
and said:
“And who are you, man?”
Mohamed didn’t reply.
He stretched out his hand
and grabbed the first one at random.
The punch came before he thought.
His hand hurt.
A sharp pain
that made his teeth clench.
He heard someone’s breath break,
smelled sweat mixed with fear.
Everything exploded.
Two of them grabbed him.
His back slammed into someone.
Someone cursed loudly.
Mohamed tasted bitterness in his mouth.
Blood.
He didn’t know where it came from,
and it didn’t matter.
He fell.
Then got up.
His heart was pounding—
not in his chest,
but in his ears.
Suddenly,
a heavy blow
to his head.
A dull sound.
White light.
The ground came closer.
As he fell,
he heard his mother’s voice—
unclear,
but with the same tone:
“Mohamed…”
He opened his eyes with difficulty
and saw her.
Yasmin.
She was standing there—
not screaming,
not running.
Just looking at him.
In her eyes,
there was no fear.
No pity.
There was pure astonishment,
as if she were asking silently:
Who are you?
Mohamed smiled—
a faint smile
he didn’t understand himself.
Then…
everything went quiet.
The last thing that reached him
was his mother’s voice calling his name,
with real fear—
unmasked.
And the tower…
remained standing.
Seeing everything.
Silent.
The sound was too loud—
not the sound of the fight,
but the sound of the silence that followed.
The university,
which moments ago was full of movement,
fell suddenly quiet,
as if someone pressed a mute button.
Yasmin stayed where she was.
She didn’t run.
She didn’t scream.
She didn’t do any of the things people usually do in such moments.
She just watched.
Her eyes were fixed on his body
lying on the ground,
as if he were part of the place,
not a human being.
Her heart was beating,
but not fast.
A heavy beat…
steady…
strange.
She felt warmth at the tips of her fingers
as she held her books tighter,
as if paper could somehow steady the world.
The young men moved away.
People gathered.
Someone cursed.
Someone else said,
“Someone call an ambulance!”
And she—
not a word.
Only one question
kept repeating inside her,
buzzing relentlessly:
Why did he do that?
He didn’t know her.
There was no word between them.
Not even a look minutes before.
And yet,
he walked into the fire.
She looked at his face,
his eyes closed,
and saw the blood—
a thin line
running down from his hair.
Blood didn’t scare her.
She had seen plenty in her life.
Hospitals.
Cases.
Pain-filled faces.
But this was different.
This was the blood of someone
who chose.
Suddenly,
she heard a woman’s voice
coming from afar—
a broken voice,
unlike any other:
“Mohamed!”
The name entered her mind
without permission.
Mohamed.
She looked at the woman running toward them
and saw on her face
something rarely seen:
a mother’s fear
that knows it has no cure.
She looked back at him
at the exact moment
he opened his eyes with effort.
Their eyes met.
One second.
But it was enough.
There was no gratitude.
No appreciation.
Not even embarrassment.
There was astonishment.
The astonishment of someone
who discovers that the world
can still surprise them,
even after they thought
they had understood it.
And he…
smiled.
A faint smile,
out of place,
out of time.
She felt her heart make a movement
she couldn’t understand.
Not love.
Not admiration.
Not even sympathy.
Something else.
Something more dangerous.
Before she could understand it,
the ambulance arrived,
people moved,
and the scene was wrapped up
as if what happened
were just an intermission.
But Yasmin knew
that something inside her
had broken.
And that the tower—
the one she had passed a thousand times—
would never again be
just another tower after today.
The ambulance drove away,
its siren cutting through the stillness.
People slowly returned to their movement,
as if what happened
were just a passing scene
in an ordinary day.
Yasmin stood for a few extra seconds,
looking at the spot
where he had stood
before he fell.
The ground was empty,
but the feeling remained.
She gathered her books calmly
and walked away.
As she walked,
she felt that something had changed—
without asking permission,
without offering an explanation.
At the same moment,
Mohamed was being carried on a stretcher,
his mind absent,
his body aching,
but his heart
still clinging
to a look
in which no words were spoken.
And the tower…
remained standing.
It saw the beginning
and stayed silent.
Because it knew
this wasn’t a fight.
Not a coincidence.
This was
the first step
in a story
that would grow
with pain.
End of Chapter One
