“If the Boy Falls in Love?”

We walked slowly through the corridor. We savored the spring afternoon on our warm skin. I felt a tingling in my head and a lightness in my feet, as though I were walking on air. How beautiful life could suddenly become! I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was like me, his head in a poem and his feet on the ground.

We didn’t need to speak. We walked for minutes as if they were days, and during those minutes I wasn’t anxious about anything, as if I were immune to scandals. It didn’t bother me for the students to see us together, and it didn’t bother me that we were each smiling through the other’s mouth. It didn’t bother me that the chemistry that drew us to each other had started to diffuse and spread, drawing other beings toward it. I felt secure like never before, as if poetry was protecting me from harm, and Isam was poetry.

“You were amazing today.”

I smiled happily. I also felt that what I’d said was nice, and I saw them looking at me wide-eyed, in awe of my words. I saw their fascination and felt unbelievably happy.

“I’m happy.”

“You liked the meeting?”

“I loved every moment.”

“You charmed them, Fatima.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate? I was there and saw everything. I was on the verge of shouting in their faces: ‘Back off! Get away! This girl is mine, I found her first!’”

I laughed deeply. I felt his steps slow; he was drunk from poetry. He leaned against the column to his left and looked at me. Again he looked at me.

“You know you’re annoyingly beautiful?”

“Knock it off.”

“Unforgivably?”

“Stop.”

For a moment things shook and lost their serenity. I started looking around, afraid someone had heard us. Isam laughed, and commented wryly:

“The map folds up on itself.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Just tell me, since you are the map: ‘If the boy falls in love, what is he to do?’”

I picked up where he left off: “‘Hide his love and keep his secret. Obey everything and surrender.’”

“‘And how is he supposed to hide it when the boy is being killed by love, and every day his heart breaks?’”

“‘If he doesn’t have the forbearance to keep his secret, nothing but death can help.’”

His smile widened sadly, and like someone on the verge of death he sang to me: “‘I heard, I obeyed, then I died, so send my greetings to he who did to love forbid!’”