Chapter 1: The Newcomer
The girls' high school—or "Zainab’s Fortress," as the city preferred to call it—perched on the edge of change. Outside, the country was swept up in a post-revolutionary storm: slogans were shifting, laws were being rewritten, and new faces were rising to the forefront. Inside the silent walls of the fortress, however, time yawned with boredom, trapped in an era that no longer existed.
On that overcast morning, Mr. Majed arrived at the massive iron gate. His appearance alone felt like a slight dissonance in the scenery; his elegant navy-blue shirt, meticulously ironed, his leather laptop bag that resembled a businessman’s briefcase more than a teacher’s satchel, and most importantly, his thick hair styled in a way that signaled he still belonged to a generation that expected a lot. He was thirty years old, but he looked younger.
He headed straight to the principal’s office. Mrs. Fawzia sat behind an ancient wooden desk, scarred with scratches dating back decades. She was a woman in her late fifties, with a weary face bearing the weight of countless decisions and even heavier . She herself was suspended between the old era that raised her and the new era that forced her to change her tone in morning meetings.
"Welcome, Mr. Majed. Please, have a seat." Her voice was calm, lacking enthusiasm, as if saying: 'I’ve seen many newcomers before you, and they all left.'
Majed sat down, smiling politely, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Thank you, ma'am. I am very excited to start teaching English here. I’ve heard much about the school's academic record."
Fawzia let out a short sigh, resting her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. "The school... it is a prestigious institution, Mr. Majed. And the curriculum, as you know, is constantly changing. But what matters most here is adherence to tradition. We are in a purely female environment. You must be careful about every detail—very careful."
Majed felt a sting of veiled warning. He understood that "tradition" here didn't just mean dress codes or behavior, but a complex web of unspoken relationships and power.
"I understand perfectly, and I will meet your expectations," he said as he received the classroom keys and the schedule. The orientation was over.
As Majed stepped out of the principal’s office, he pushed through the glass door into the main hallway. It was nearly 8:00 AM, and the faint, chaotic noise of arriving students began to filter in. As he tightened his grip on his bag, which suddenly felt heavy, he passed by the teachers' lounge.
The door was partially open, and behind it, he glimpsed them. Three women sat around a round table covered in knitted cloths. They were talking in low voices at first, before a sudden silence fell the moment they felt his shadow passing by.
Hiam was the first to look up. She was the tallest, with a sharp face marked by the wrinkles of experience and constant vigilance—a cold, piercing gaze that judged and examined without mercy. Beside her, Siham looked pale and submissive, watching Majed with wide eyes reflecting curiosity mixed with fear. As for Noura, she sat at an angle, her face half-hidden behind a teacup, but Majed felt her gaze linger on him a second too long, carrying something like bewilderment or... perhaps pity.
This was the first look Majed received in the school. It wasn't the principal’s weary glance, but the gaze of these women, whose sudden silence turned into a faint whisper the moment he walked away.
Majed did not yet know that he had just passed by the "Spinsters' Room," and that those scrutinizing looks were a preemptive welcome to a battlefield that does not appear on any school schedule.
