MasukThe next morning, Adel woke up early as usual, filled with quiet energy and a familiar morning routine. Naomi lay on the bed, observing his face with a warm smile that blended tenderness and concern, her eyes following him with love and care. Adel dressed for the day, then turned to her with a gentle smile and leaned down to kiss her forehead, saying:
Adel: Good morning, my love.
Naomi: Good morning, my darling.
Then Naomi spoke quietly, her voice carrying responsibility:
Evening descended over Paris with deliberate slowness,and the Seine flowed as it always had—indifferent to human sorrow, to their ages, their colors, their identities—a silent witness only to the emotions of lovers along its banks.They sat by the river, Naomi and Adham, close to the water,far from the noise,as if the city itself had decided to grant them more time for farewell,as if time had paused to gift them a few minutes of pure love.They remained silent, watching the trembling reflections of light on the river’s surface.Naomi pulled her coat tighter around her frail body.Then suddenly she spoke, her eyes fixed on the waters of the Seine,without turning toward him:“Adham… I’m not afraid of death.I’m afraid of leaving you.I love you so much.I’m afraid for you after I’m gone—as if I were leaving behind a child, alone after my death.”He nodded in silence.He turned toward her, his gaze taut, his heart racing ahead of his words, and said:“I can’t imagine my life with
Between Treatment and the Postponement of the EndTreatment… or a Delay of DeathOn a cold morning, Naomi entered the hospital feeling as though the air was breathing her in, not the other way around—heavy air, laden with expectations and the weight of illness.The place was not frightening, but it was honest—more honest than one could bear.The corridors were clean, the faces calm, the machines humming in an orderly silence.Everything suggested that miracles were not made here; probabilities were managed.Naomi stood before the glass window of the room, looking outside, and said in a quietly aching voice:“Is this treatment, Adam… or merely a postponement of death?”He did not answer at once.He knew that any word he might offer would be incomplete, or false, or unbearably cruel. He himself felt the burden of expectations circling his mind with every glance at a machine, every look into a doctor’s eyes.He stepped closer, took her hand, and said:“I will hold on to you. I never lear
In the evening, Adham and Naomi stepped out to walk slowly along the street. Walking was not easy for Naomi; exhaustion was clearly visible on her, growing heavier day after day as the illness tightened its grip. Yet she wanted to feel like an ordinary woman—not a patient, not a rare case in a medical file. She insisted on appearing strong, normal.She stopped in front of a shop window. Her reflection appeared in the glass—pale, yet still beautiful, like a moon worn down by illness but refusing to surrender its name as a moon.She suddenly said, “You know, Adham? Here, I feel that I am still alive… truly alive. In our last days in Egypt, I felt as though I had already left life behind. Listening to the doctors—each one whispering in his own way that there was no hope of recovery, that today might be the last day for Mrs. Naomi…”Naomi burst into laughter, mocking what she had heard from the doctors.Adham laughed with her.He stopped, looked at her for a long moment, then said, “You a
Evening descended over Paris with deliberate slowness,and the Seine flowed as it always had—indifferent to human sorrow, to their ages, their colors, their identities—a silent witness only to the emotions of lovers along its banks.They sat by the river, Naomi and Adham, close to the water,far from the noise,as if the city itself had decided to grant them more time for farewell,as if time had paused to gift them a few minutes of pure love.They remained silent, watching the trembling reflections of light on the river’s surface.Naomi pulled her coat tighter around her frail body.Then suddenly she spoke, her eyes fixed on the waters of the Seine,without turning toward him:“Adham… I’m not afraid of death.I’m afraid of leaving you.I love you so much.I’m afraid for you after I’m gone—as if I were leaving behind a child, alone after my death.”He nodded in silence.He turned toward her, his gaze taut, his heart racing ahead of his words, and said:“I can’t imagine my life with
Between Treatment and the Postponement of the EndTreatment… or a Delay of DeathOn a cold morning, Naomi entered the hospital feeling as though the air was breathing her in, not the other way around—heavy air, laden with expectations and the weight of illness.The place was not frightening, but it was honest—more honest than one could bear.The corridors were clean, the faces calm, the machines humming in an orderly silence.Everything suggested that miracles were not made here; probabilities were managed.Naomi stood before the glass window of the room, looking outside, and said in a quietly aching voice:“Is this treatment, Adam… or merely a postponement of death?”He did not answer at once.He knew that any word he might offer would be incomplete, or false, or unbearably cruel. He himself felt the burden of expectations circling his mind with every glance at a machine, every look into a doctor’s eyes.He stepped closer, took her hand, and said:“I will hold on to you. I never lear
A New Morning in Paris — The Doctor Who Makes No Promises of MiraclesMeeting Dr. Laurent DuboisThe white corridor of the Parisian clinic felt longer than it should have—or at least that was how it seemed to Naomi.Her steps were slow, her hand tightly entwined with Adham’s, as if she feared this place might swallow her the moment she let go.They stopped before a glass door bearing a name engraved in calm, restrained letters:Dr. Laurent DuboisThe door opened to a man in his late fifties. His gray hair was neatly arranged, his glasses thin-framed, his features unmarked by false warmth. He did not resemble doctors who sell hope, but rather those who confront truth without embellishment.“Madame Naomi.Monsieur Adham,”he said quietly, extending his hand.Adham shook it. Naomi offered only a faint smile.They entered the office. The doctor sat behind his desk without attempting any comforting pretense.He spoke directly:“I will not promise you a miracle… but I promise you honesty.”







