Color Your Eyes
I had my guard up from the moment you reached your hand out to shake mine and turned away abruptly after I refused. Very soon after I met you, largely renowned and respected names floated through the air and past my mental grasp as you let it be no secret who your grandparents were. But pride is a disease that fills my heart, and I wouldn't let myself be put in a situation where I was deemed less worthy.
"I'm an Atassi," I responded from the backseat, and I could see your eyes twinkle as you looked away. You were equally impressed. As our little group of friends set out into the desert, lost our way, and wound up back in Riyadh at a quaint little cafe your friends own, I relaxed. I had accidentally happened upon a new, true friend.
During our long talks in the weeks following the day that I met you, it became increasingly apparent to me that you certainly were who you said you were. You had heightened spiritual maturity, blended nicely with a deep knowledge of a wide range of scholarly texts and enhanced by a level of humility. You were who you said you were.
When you stumbled upon this website, you commented that you were missing from the "Love" section.
I explained to you that the "Love" tab is actually a "Tragedy" tab, and you shrugged off my comment and told me that one day, I would write about you.
Almost four days ago you went missing while traveling alone. My stomach hurts and I am frustrated--you should have arrived back in Riyadh two days ago. I still have the last texts from you. I am sick with worry. The worst part is, in order for me to honor the private nature of the information you gave me, I have to tolerate our mutual friends' shrugging off your absence as an extended vacation. Something is wrong.
I can only pray, but what good is the prayer of the sinful when past insights are now blind?