Chapter 18

I didn't speak or interrupt, stunned by what I was hearing and eager to hear more. Faisal continued, saying, "One day, I entered our house and found one of my sisters talking on the phone. I gave her a stern look, one they were used to from me, but because I was in a hurry, I didn't force her to hang up as I usually did. I went upstairs to my room, changed my clothes, and then Ahmad came to ask me a math question, which I answered."

I interrupted him, "So, your relationship with Ahmad was good?" He replied, "Ahmad was the youngest and naturally calm and affectionate—it was hard to refuse his requests."

He continued, "I stayed in my room for about an hour. When I decided to leave and passed through the living room, I found my sister still on the phone. I grabbed the phone from her with all my strength, threw it on the ground, and pulled her by the hair, slapping her face and shouting, 'Who are you talking to?' She didn't answer. I slapped her again, pulled her hair even harder, and shouted, 'Tell me who you're talking to, or I'll kill you!' My mother came running when she heard my shouting. She tried to free my sister from my grip, but she couldn't because of how furious I was. At that moment, I didn't see the fear in my sisters' eyes, nor my mother's tears, nor Ahmad's shock at what he was witnessing. All I wanted was to know who my sister was talking to and how far she had strayed morally.

I continued hitting her, and she kept silent until my mother pushed me away. I lost my balance, and my sister managed to escape to the internal sitting room. I tried to follow her, but my mother stood between us. I didn't stop talking, shouting at my sister, 'Who were you talking to? How far have your morals sunk, you *****?' I didn't leave a single insult unsaid. Then my sister, the victim, shouted back at me, 'You come home for half an hour, and if you stay longer, you look at us with suspicion, and we've stayed silent. You suspect us, and we've stayed silent. But to accuse us, that's something we won't tolerate. And if I were morally corrupt, would I show it in this half-hour when you're around? I have 23 and a half hours to do whatever I want, and you're too preoccupied to notice. Do you think your sisters would sink to such low morals? You're delusional, brother. We are raised by your mother and father, and we won't disgrace them. Even if the atmosphere at home allowed it, an elder brother who is preoccupied only with the vices and pleasures of life would push his sisters toward deviation, but we won't do it.'

All this while, she was gasping for breath between her words, and everyone in the house was in the same state. The final blow came when she said, 'If our father, as a human, died once, we see him die a thousand times a day because of your behavior and neglect.' I stood there, like a statue, not knowing what to do. After that, I couldn't bear the sight of them. It really felt like my father's funeral. I left quickly, looking for someone to help me forget this scene."

"I went to where they gathered, where I could lose myself and forget who I was and what my responsibilities were. As soon as I entered the house where they met, I heard their laughter and smelled the various scents surrounding me. I sat where they were gambling and drinking, just watching. The girl who usually sat beside me came over, trying to charm me with her usual words of longing. At that moment, I couldn't take it anymore and said, 'Faisal, please, is this really you? Please tell me it's just a story you're using to make me jealous.' He replied confidently, 'Mona, give me a chance to finish my story so I can free myself from the weight of the past, and we can live our present and future in peace. Mona, would you accept hearing this story from someone else?' He continued, 'I don't know much about women's gatherings, but this topic will definitely come up one day, so I don't want you to be ignorant of it; I want you to be strong and not feel weak if it's mentioned.' I was convinced by what he said, but deep down, I still felt uneasy.

Faisal's voice came through, 'Mona, should I continue?' I replied, 'As you wish.' Inside, I wished to object to the story continuing, yet at the same time, I wanted to know how it ended. I was afraid my nerves might collapse. What should I do? I felt a fire raging in my chest despite myself. Faisal continued, 'Hold your nerves; there's no need for all this tension. Just think of it as a story.' Then he asked, 'Mona, should I continue?' I replied, 'Continue.'

He picked up where he left off, where that girl was trying to charm him, and he said, 'When I looked at her, I saw my sister. When I looked around, I saw that all the girls there resembled my sisters, and the boys all looked like Ahmad. I saw my brother drinking alcohol, smoking a cigarette that killed his mind and thoughts, and hugging a girl who killed his innocence. As for the girls, they all looked like my sisters. Every face started to resemble my loved ones. I couldn't bear it. I threw the girl's hand off my shoulder and hurried out without looking back, even though I heard them calling me to come back. But my ears started to hear different voices, voices I knew well—my brother Ahmad, my sisters, even my mother's voice echoed in my ears. I ran out as fast as I could from a house that had become a haunted house to me.'

"Midnight came, and I was walking down the road without knowing where to go or who would take me in at such a late hour until I decided to go to my father's company. I had received the keys after his death from my uncle, who thought I would take on the responsibility after my father, but his hopes were dashed. So, my uncle, Abu Thamer, had taken on the company's responsibilities himself. I went to the car dealership, or the showroom, as you would call it. As soon as I entered, strong hands grabbed me and threw me to the ground, saying, 'Who are you?' I told them firmly, 'I'm the owner of this company.' They helped me up and asked for my identification. To my shock, I didn't have it on me—I had left it at home in the chaos of everything that happened. So, there I was, standing in my own property, with no one recognizing me. Before I knew it, I was taken to the police station on charges of attempting to steal my father's company and key, falsely claiming an identity that wasn't mine, and more. It was as if the false accusations I had hurled at my sister had returned to haunt me in a different form. Truly, God may delay, but He never forgets."

I could feel Faisal's sadness deeply, and it broke my heart to hear it in his voice. He continued, "After a series of questions, they called Uncle Abu Thamer, who came and confirmed my identity. He wanted to take me home, but I refused and went to the company instead. I slept in my father's office, trying to regain my self-confidence by surrounding myself with his presence, even if just through his scent, which lingered in the office. Even if it had faded, my spirit still held onto that scent, recalling it over and over. I started talking to the office and the picture, saying, 'Father, I have failed you. I wasn't the son you hoped for.' I promised myself to change and prayed for God to help me. I surrendered to a sleep that wasn't physically comfortable, but it was mentally and emotionally comforting. I continued sleeping in the office for over two months, during which I learned about the company's operations with the help of Uncle Abu Thamer. By God's grace, I was able to take control of the situation. As for my mother, sisters, and brother, I would call Ahmad every day. I decided that I wouldn't return home until I had rid myself of my doubts.

"Even while I was away, I would secretly watch the house, keeping an eye on who came and went, constantly checking the phone to see how long it had been in use. It was an exhausting time. Overcoming my doubts took much longer than getting used to working and leaving that toxic company. After two months, on a Friday afternoon—knowing that my mother valued family meals on Fridays—I made up my mind and went home. I found my mother and the whole family gathered around the dining table. My mother got up and hugged me, saying, 'May God bless you as you have blessed me and brought me peace.' As for the sister who endured my beatings, she left the table despite my mother's objections. But I told my mother to let her go, saying, 'There will come a day when we reconcile; don't rush it.' Ahmad, on the other hand, didn't stop joking to express his happiness, while the other sisters were talking about all the things they thought I had missed, even though I had heard about everything in detail from Ahmad."

I interrupted him with a question, "Faisal, did you get rid of your doubts?" He replied after a long pause, "It wasn't easy. Even after I returned, I kept a close watch on everything around me. I put in a lot of effort to control my anger." I responded, "Wouldn't it have been better to give them love instead of doubt? You would have been at peace instead of being consumed by doubt and causing them pain." He replied playfully, "How would you have taught me to love?" I answered confidently and firmly, "That's your problem. You men think love is reserved for your wives or the women you flirt with. As for your sisters, they are outside the walls of love, treated as if they are clueless about what happens behind a closed door with a constantly busy landline or a mobile phone labeled 'Do Not Touch.'"

He responded, "They will get love from their husbands too," and then added firmly, "Tell me, who told you about closed doors and phones labeled 'Do Not Touch'?" I ignored his sharpness and continued, "And if she doesn't get married, how will she feel loved? And if her husband is emotionally cold and doesn't make her feel loved, how will she find it? Closed doors and phones aren't secrets; all girls talk about their brothers, and nearly everyone has the same observations. I have a clear example right in front of me—Hussam thinks I don't know what's happening around me. Even though Hussam left these things a long time ago, I used to notice a lot about him, and he thought I was unaware. Yet most of the girls he talked to were either at school with me or were in my elementary class."

Faisal responded wearily, "Don't you see you're taking Hawa's side and making me the enemy?" I replied gently, "Faisal, do you think you're my enemy? On the contrary, I wanted to clarify an important point. If a girl doesn't find love at home, she will look for it elsewhere, and the girls you or Hussam got involved with are examples of that. Instead of putting your sister through the torment of doubt and exposing her to the dangers of searching for love in the wrong places, why not give her that love yourself?"

He replied, "Mona, what's wrong?" I responded, "Listen, Faisal. A while ago, I read an article by a writer whose name I can't remember. The article was called 'A Call for a Different Kind of Love,' based on research on issues of honor. It said, in essence, that if every mother got used to hearing words of love from her daughter, telling her how beautiful she is, she wouldn't be swayed when a man tried to seduce her with sweet words. If every brother treated his sister with tenderness and told her things that satisfied the woman within her, she wouldn't feel that a strange man's words were special or worth listening to. The article said that a girl's problem is the emotional dryness at home and the overwhelming flood of attention she faces outside. That's when the imbalance occurs, and she falls into vice. Faisal, is it difficult to tell your sister, 'I love you, dear,' 'You're beautiful,' 'You're the jewel of our home,' and other words that lift her spirits?"

Faisal replied, "Does Hussam tell you these things? To be honest, it's difficult." I responded, "Is Hussam similar to you in his brotherly emotional detachment? Can he say these things?" Faisal laughed, but I interrupted him, saying, "God bless our mother; she showers me with compliments until I feel like a beauty queen, unmatched in beauty. She's been saying these things since I was little, and she only stopped after I got married. Honestly, I wish I could leave you so she could go back to flattering me," I joked, laughing. Faisal replied with a laugh, saying, "Go, may God protect you, and enjoy your mother's compliments. As for me, I'll save mine for my sisters, and there will be no need for marriage." I answered, laughing, "Faisal, don't turn this into a joke. I'm serious about what I'm saying." He replied, "Alright, I'll apply this with our daughters, but I hope their mother won't get upset if I forget to compliment her and replace her with them."

I didn't speak because Faisal is skilled at silencing me. He then said mischievously, "Where is the defender of women's rights, the advocate for a different kind of love?" I responded, "You silenced her with your well-chosen words." All I could hear was his laughter, which made me very happy, knowing he was in a good mood.

I told him, "Faisal, I'm serious about everything I said." He replied, "I believe you, and I'm convinced. But applying it is difficult. Maybe starting young would yield results. But trying to convince someone over twenty of this is challenging." I replied, "But it's not impossible." He agreed, "Definitely not impossible."

Afterward, we talked about his family, his sisters, his relationship with his mother, and how the reconciliation with his sister happened. He told me that she hadn't spoken to him for two years, and he hadn't tried to talk to her either. It wasn't until she got engaged that they reconciled. I said, "What cold-heartedness." He replied, "It's not cold-heartedness, but stubbornness. I see myself as a man who finds it hard to apologize directly, and she sees herself as the wronged one who deserves an apology. Before I could interrupt, he said, "Yes, I was wrong to think that a man shouldn't apologize. But it's in the past now. Believe me, we're all trying to move on, and with God's will, we will." The important thing is that reconciliation happened, and our relationship gradually returned to normal, just like any relationship between a brother and sister."

At that point, I told him, "Faisal, without any preamble, goodbye. I have a thousand things I postponed." He asked, "No preamble? Does that mean I should hang up?" I pleaded, "Trust me, the house is upside down." He replied, "And they want to exhaust my wife when there are only three months left until our wedding?" I pleaded again, "Please, Faisal." He said, "Please, please—I've heard that word from you more than anything else." I responded, "You rascal." Before he could answer, I told him, "Faisal, goodbye, my love." He replied, "For my love, goodbye."

The call ended with Faisal in a completely different mood, and with a shy happiness for me.