Novels by leena mohamad

The weight of the rumors pressed on my chest like a stone as Rami and I stepped out of the lawyer’s office. The air outside was thick with tension, or maybe that was just my own unease settling in. Talk to the employees first, the lawyer had said. It made sense, confront the problem at its root before it spiraled further. Rami's eyes were calm, his usual calm demeanor was back. "We need to call them in now," he said, voice low. "Before this spreads any further." I nodded, my fingers tightening around my phone. One message to the marketing team, marked urgent, and the meeting was set. The replies came quickly, confused, and curious. None of them knew what was coming. Which was good. I'll let them feel the gravity of this. The conference room was too bright when we walked in, the glass walls exposing us, making me feel like we were the ones under scrutiny. The team filed in, murmurs fading as they took their seats. I could see it in their eyes, the sideways glances, the tension in

The café was quiet, the low voices of others talking and frequent clinks of cups the only sounds between us. I studied Rami’s face, the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the table. He had been avoiding this conversation and avoiding me for days and I needed to know why. "How could you believe those lies?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. "And why have you been refusing to talk about it?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair before meeting my eyes. "It’s not as easy as you think, Dema." I waited, my chest tight, as he struggled to find the words. "The first time I heard it, I was passing by the IT department," he began. "Two of the women there were whispering about it. I was furious, I told them to shut up and threatened to fire them if I ever heard it again. They apologized immediately, and I tried to forget it." His grip tightened around his coffee cup. "But then, the next day, my assistant came to me. Said he’d overheard someon

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands like they hold some kind of answer. But they don’t. Nothing makes sense anymore. The silence in the house is suffocating, pressing down on me until I can barely breathe. How did we get here? Rami won’t even look at me. Every time I try to speak, his face darkens, his eyes turn hollow, and I see it,the doubt, the hurt, the anger. He thinks I betrayed him. And no matter how many times I say it’s not true, he doesn’t believe me. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back tears. What else can I do? I’ve tried explaining, pleading, even begging. But the more I push, the further he pulls away. The thought of losing him, sends a sharp pain through my chest. I can’t let this be the end. There has to be a way to fix this. Therapy. The word flickers in my mind. Maybe if we had someone to help us talk, to make him see… But would he even agree? The Rami I knew would’ve listened, would’ve fought for us. But this Rami? This version of him, hardene

The TV screen flickered with scenes from some movie I hadn’t been paying attention to for the last twenty minutes. My fingers twisted in the fabric of the blanket between us, my mind racing. How do I even bring this up? How do I make him believe me? The words burned in my throat until I couldn’t hold them back anymore. "I would never leave you," I blurted out, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. Rami’s head turned toward me, his brow furrowing. "Not for anyone. And definitely not for some employee at your company. I would never cheat on you. Never." His expression tightened, and he looked away. "It’s not me, Dema. Other people are talking." "Then you know it’s not true!" My voice cracked. The weight of his silence pressed down on me, suffocating. He didn’t believe me. He actually thought I could...Tears spilled over before I could stop them. "It’s not true," I choked out. "You have to believe me. Please." He stayed quiet, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on nothing. suffo

I had to talk to Rami. This doubt of his, this fear that I was going to leave him, it didn’t make sense. Where did it even come from? Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but I had decided long ago that this was my family, my home. I wasn’t going anywhere. So why did he think otherwise? I needed answers. Had someone said something to him? Had he seen something, misinterpreted some stray glance or conversation? The uncertainty gnawed at me. If there was a misunderstanding, I had to fix it before it festered. So I cooked his favorite meal spiced lamb with saffron rice, the way his mother used to make it. The familiar rhythms of chopping, stirring, and seasoning calmed me, but my mind kept circling back to the same question: Why does he think I’d leave?The table was set, the food warm. I sat, waiting, my fingers tapping lightly against the wood. The house was quiet except for the sound of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside. Every creak made my breath catch, thinking

I wasn’t expecting anyone at the door that afternoon, least of all an elderly woman with sharp eyes and a voice like dry paper. "You’re Dema, aren’t you?" she said, clutching her handbag like it held secrets. "Rami’s girl?" I nodded, too surprised to correct her—Rami’s wife actually—but before I could speak, she stepped closer. "I was his first nanny. Back when he was just a little thing, all knees and wild curls." Something in her tone made my skin prickle. I let her in. Over bitter tea, she told me about Rami’s mother—how she’d been a model once, the kind who glittered in magazines and left for weeks at a time. "That boy spent more nights with me than her," she muttered. Then she leaned in, the steam from her cup curling between us. "But then—poof—she quit. No warning. Just packed up her lights, came home, and never stepped in front of a camera again." I gripped my cup. "Why?" The nanny’s smile was all teeth. "That’s the question, isn’t it? They said ‘stress,’ but I hear