Chapter 1
Aliha had always believed that people were easy to understand.
Some wanted attention.
Some wanted money.
Some wanted love.
And some simply wanted to be noticed.
She was good at giving people exactly what they wanted.
Until she met him.
The university courtyard was crowded that morning, but one person sat completely untouched by the noise.
A boy.
A book in his hands.
A quietness around him that felt almost strange.
Aliha noticed him because he wasn’t trying to be noticed.
And for some reason, that annoyed her.
She walked past his table and deliberately knocked his pen onto the floor.
It rolled beneath her shoe.
She looked down.
Then at him.
He looked at the pen.
Then at her.
“Sorry.”
She waited.
Nothing.
No anger.
No complaint.
He simply bent down, picked up his pen, and returned to his book.
Aliha frowned.
“That’s it?”
He looked up again.
“For what?”
“For me dropping your pen.”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“It’s only a pen.”
She stared at him.
Most people would have recognized her.
Most people knew who Aliha was.
Her family name opened doors.
Her money ended arguments.
Her attitude usually ended conversations.
But he seemed completely unimpressed.
She walked away.
For the rest of the day, she told herself she had forgotten him.
She hadn’t.
The next morning, she saw him praying in a quiet corner of the university.
For the first time, Aliha stopped without knowing why.
There was something different about the way he prayed.
No audience.
No performance.
Just him.
And his Lord.
She didn’t understand why she kept looking.
Perhaps because she had never understood how someone could find so much peace in something she had never cared about.
He finished, folded his prayer mat, and noticed her standing there.
Their eyes met.
Aliha immediately looked away.
She hated that he had caught her staring.
He didn’t say anything.
He simply walked past her.
And somehow, that silence stayed with her longer than any conversation could have.
That evening, Aliha sat by her bedroom window, staring at the city lights.
She didn’t know his name.
She didn’t know his story.
She didn’t know why his silence irritated her.
But she knew one thing.
She had decided she didn’t like him.
Perhaps because hating him was easier than admitting...
she was curious about him.
