The Agony of the Choice
Days and nights bled into each other as Abdullah wrestled with a decision that seemed impossible. He tried to let reason lead, but his heart constantly interrupted, pleading for the life of a love newly born. There is nothing more soul-crushing than burying the newborn—the one you anticipated with joy, whose every whimper and smile felt like a miracle.
How could Abdullah ask his heart to inter its first love? A love that had arrived unbidden, surged through his veins, and was now ordered to depart just as suddenly. It was a choice between a beloved and a kinsman—two options, both as bitter as gall.
In the end, upbringing triumphed over desire. Abdullah had been raised on the theology of "filial piety," not the "piety of the lover." Despite the blatant injustice of his father's decree—rejecting a girl simply for her poverty—Abdullah chose to obey. He decided to tell Rowan to prepare for the end. He hadn't betrayed her heart, but Fate, it seemed, had turned traitor.
The Execution of a Dream
He called her at night, fearing that if he saw her face, his resolve would crumble. Rowan was devastated. She had already voyaged in her imagination far beyond the wedding dress; she had named their first child, chosen the brand of his diapers, and debated which side of the bed his cradle would occupy. She had even worried if she would love the child more than his father—her "big child."
And now, without warning, the boat had stalled in the middle of the ocean, and Abdullah was ordering her to jump. Her only crime, the reason for her "execution by drowning," was her father's humble carpentry and her life in the Baqa'a refugee camp. She was born a refugee, raised a refugee, and was now being made a refugee of love.
To every reason he gave, she responded with a single, haunting refrain:
"But I love you."
He said: "We must part."
She whispered: "But I love you."
He said: "I am not ready for marriage."
She replied: "But I love you."
He said: "I cannot lose my father's blessing."
She echoed: "But I love you."
In a fit of defensive rage—the kind born of a man breaking his own heart—he shouted: "I don't want you! Is marriage by force? I don't want to get married! Goodbye!" And he hung up.
The Midnight Cry
Sleep was a thief that night, evading Abdullah. His conscience, a relentless jailer, refused to let him rest. He felt a suffocating weight on his chest—the realization that he had committed a grave injustice. His religion commanded obedience to parents, but the same religion forbade the oppression of the weak.
At 5:00 AM, just as exhaustion began to pull him under, his phone chimed. It was Rowan. She hadn't slept either. She sent words written in the ink of her tears—a plea from someone being led to the slaughter without knowing her sin:
"O my executioner, do not kill...
Think a little before you depart.
Ask of me whoever you wish to ask:
Can I live after you? Can I go on alone?
I am the flower that will wither if you leave.
I will struggle to survive, but I shall surely fail.
I will feign dignity, pride, and indifference,
As people do, I will do...
But I know that my death and ruin are the very least of what will happen.
So I beg you, O my executioner, fear God in me... and do not kill."
The Mirror of Hypocrisy
That rainy night washed away the dreams of a girl whose only sin was dreaming while poor. It revealed a deeper, darker truth about a society that masters the art of "saying" but fails the test of "doing."
In my society, you find the wealthy man who preaches humility and brotherhood, yet rejects a daughter-in-law because of her tattered coat. You find the father who smokes while beating his son for doing the same.
You find the "pious" elder who leads the prayer, only to retreat to the shadows of vice once the congregation disperses. You find the "protective" brother who warns his sister against the treachery of men, then locks his door to whisper sweet lies to another man's sister.
We are a society of masks—a public persona of virtue and a private reality of filth. We applaud the rich and trample the poor, using religion as a shield for our prejudices and a weapon for our control. We master the words, but we have forgotten how to live the truth.