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overblown—especially since he always took every opportunity to tease her.

He reveled in her annoyed expression and her wide green eyes, which would shift to a captivating, deep shade whenever she was angry; he delighted in that transformation, as if his life’s mission were simply to provoke her...

He exclaimed, raising an eyebrow

: "Why were you so startled? Did you see a ghost?"

"Something even worse."

She blurted it out instinctively, without a second thought. A crude, smug smirk spread across his face—as if she had just whispered words of love or paid him a compliment. She nearly sprang up to slap that repulsive grin right off his face.

Her breathing had steadied, and she had calmed down somewhat, realizing he hadn't actually been able to see what she was doing on her phone.

Crossing her arms beneath her chest—causing her sweater to ride up slightly and reveal a glimpse of her midriff—she demanded

: "What do you want this early in the morning, Nader?"

He cast a lecherous glance at the exposed skin of her midriff. The moment she noticed where his eyes had wandered, she uncrossed her arms and pulled her sweater down to cover as much of her exposed body as possible.

He smiled at her and asked

: "What were you doing on your phone? You looked startled and shut it off the second I walked in."

"What business is it of yours?"

She snapped back with hostility. She wished someone would drag him away; she would surely kill him if he stayed in front of her a moment longer.

But before he could reply, his father—who had just come downstairs—called out his name. He leaned in close before leaving, whispering a sly remark

: "I'll be back for you, sweetheart..."

No sooner had he vanished from her sight than she spat on the ground in disgust;

how she loathed him—and the house because of him. He had soured a mood that, just moments ago, had been perfectly pleasant. His cologne, which permeated the air, felt suffocating. Agitated, she rose, intending to head upstairs until lunchtime.

.. She exited the screen on her phone and restored everything to its original state. Just then, Mourad was coming down from upstairs, fiddling with his own phone; a happy smile played on his lips. Distracted by her phone—which had momentarily frozen—she didn't notice him and collided with something solid.

She nearly fell, but a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into an embrace. She allowed herself a few seconds—one, two, three—to process the fact that she was in his arms. He cleared his throat and helped her steady herself.

She stepped back, nervously toying with her fingernails as her heart pounded violently against her ribs—a reaction to his overwhelming proximity. He offered her a small smile and said

: "Good morning, Rapunzel.

You were so engrossed in your phone, you didn't even notice me."

She returned his smile with a wide one of her own; her eyes widened and sparkled with an immense joy she struggled to conceal—just as they always did whenever she saw him.

That distinctive sparkle—the one that appears only when gazing at the one you love—is a language that defies translation... She replied in a soft voice that escaped her involuntarily:

"Good morning,..."

At that moment, she swallowed the bitter lump that had formed in her throat—triggered by the very word she loathed above all else, even more than Nader himself, and wished she could strike from the alphabet entirely.

Yet, in the end, she forced it out, as if she were expelling bitter gall rather than a mere word

: "Good morning, Uncle Mourad... Oh, it was nothing; I was just doing something and didn't notice."

❈-❈-❈