Since his marriage, Assad had not crossed the threshold of his former apartments.
He had abandoned them to Zeyneb, as one gets rid of a burden too heavy, too burning.
He no longer slept there.
He no longer lived there.
He only passed by sometimes, to save appearances. But in truth… he spent his days — and especially his nights — locked in his office.
An office turned into a refuge.
Or rather… a voluntary prison.
The silence there was heavy, almost sacred.
Only the sigh of a weary fan disturbed the void.
Assad was nothing but a shadow of himself.
The walls, covered with neatly organized files, seemed to ignore the chaos raging within him.
Everything around him was in order.
Everything… except the inside.
An intimate disorder, deep, visceral.
A turmoil that neither logic, nor prayers, nor plans could soothe anymore.
---
He sat down slowly on the leather couch, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands.
For days, sleep had eluded him.
Hunger no longer made sense.
And words… he didn't even know how to use them anymore.
The rare times he crossed paths with Zeyneb in the corridors, he avoided her gaze.
He no longer knew whether he should ask her forgiveness…
Or simply disappear.
On the coffee table, a crumpled sheet caught his eye.
He grabbed it.
A medical memo, banal.
Just a date.
A few numbers.
Some initials.
But for him, it had become the symbol of a world slipping away.
A world he no longer controlled.
Tomorrow, at dawn, his father would be evacuated by private jet.
Everything was ready.
The papers. The doctors. The ambulance.
Everything… except him.
He didn't even know if he would have the strength to accompany him to the airport.
He sank into the couch, as if the leather could hide him from the rest of the world.
His throat was tight.
His soul on standby.
He no longer prayed.
He no longer even hoped.
He waited.
But he didn't know for what.
The night moved forward, slow and silent.
For him, it was only starting over again.
---
A light knock on the door.
Assad didn't move.
A second. Timid. Almost childlike.
He lifted his head.
— Come in.
Yasmina peeked in gently. A discreet smile on her lips.
— May I?
He nodded.
She entered quietly and closed the door as if she feared disturbing the air itself.
— You're not sleeping? she asked as she sat down, without waiting for an answer.
Assad slowly shook his head, eyes lost in an invisible point.
— And you? Doing midnight rounds now?
She gave a faint smile.
— I became an insomniac… out of solidarity, she replied tenderly.
A silence.
She observed him for a long time, then continued more softly:
— I was worried. You don't go out anymore. You don't talk anymore. You're not even here, Assad…
He sighed.
She lowered her eyes.
— Father is leaving tomorrow… isn't he?
He nodded.
— Yes. At dawn.
— Will you go with him?
— I don't know.
I'm afraid I won't know how to say goodbye.
Yasmina looked at him with infinite gentleness.
After a moment, he whispered:
— And you, how are you?
Then, as if the words were too heavy, he added:
— Do you have news… from her?
She didn't need him to say her name.
She lowered her head slightly, her smile tinged with melancholy.
— Just once.
It was Amira who gave me news.
They arrived safely, she and her sister.
Since then… nothing.
She breathed in, her voice trembling.
— I miss her so much, Assad…
He slowly lifted his eyes toward her.
Yasmina continued, her gaze lost far, far away.
— Once, we were by the lake… you know, our secret place.
It was warm. The birds were barely singing.
She had lain down, her head on my lap, while I untangled her hair.
Her hair was so fine… like silk.
And then, my fingers got stuck. Tangled.
So I said: "Well, I guess we'll have to cut it all off…"
She laughed softly, her eyes shining.
— She jumped up at once, eyes teary.
She was fiddling with her strands, panicked: "No Yasmina, no, not my hair…"
She was about to cry, I swear. Over a lock.
She even said: "I'll tell Amira you cut my hair while I was sleeping…"
She was… adorable.
Assad let out a discreet, almost painful laugh.
Yasmina whispered:
— She had a huge heart, Assad. And a fragile soul, much more than she let on.
She looked at him sideways.
— You loved her, didn't you?
Assad's silence was an answer.
— You know… she didn't even know she loved you. Not at first.
He stared at her, surprised.
— One day, I asked her what she felt when she saw you.
She blushed.
She told me: "I don't know. My heart beats fast. I want to run away… and stay. Is that normal?"
I laughed.
I told her: "No, it's not normal. That's love."
They both smiled.
Yasmina continued, her voice more fragile:
— She loved you.
She realized it too late.
Assad closed his eyes.
— Me too, Yasmina.
I knew it too late.
She gently took his arm.
— Then go find her.
He slowly lifted his eyes toward her.
— And what if I'm the one she's trying to escape from?
— And what if you were the one she still hopes to see return despite everything? she murmured.
Assad gave a bitter smile.
— It would be easier if I knew what to do with a heart beating for someone who's already gone…
Yasmina softly squeezed his hand.
— Then tell her.
Before her heart gets used to your silence.
And in the silence of the office turned sanctuary,
Something stirred.
A heartbeat.
A breath.
A timid glimmer of light
In the night that seemed eternal.
Perhaps hope no longer screamed.
But it still whispered.