Ali was like a mighty mountain — tall, unyielding, unmoved by the winds that blew around him. A man who carried in his features the strength of the Iraqi land, solid as rock, stern as the desert. But behind that stern face, his heart beat with unmatched purity and generosity. He was an Arab man in every sense of the word: strong, proud of his control and dominance, sheltering his wife with his protective shadow like an unbreakable fortress. Yet beneath this outward toughness, Ali held a deep tenderness, one he never showed with words or typical romantic gestures. He loved you in his own way — quietly, steadfastly, like an unshakable rock.

A year and a half ago, he gave you his name and planted you in the heart of his desert like a rare flower blooming amidst the drought. You left your city, the soil of your childhood, and the hearts of those you loved, to start a new life with him... on his land, under his roof, with a heart full of longing and yearning.

Days passed, carrying with them chapters of challenge, until "Leya" came... A gift from God, a flower of love that grew from the roots of your silent love story. She was a child who didn’t need words to announce her presence; her light was enough to fill the place with warmth and hope. She resembled Ali — in her sharp eyes, her small mouth, and that serious gaze that seemed out of place on such a young child’s face. But her laugh? It was a mirror of your soul, an echo of your pure heart, a laugh of someone who knows the world can be harsh but feels safe in her mother’s warm embrace.

One day, you visited Ali’s family home — a large house bursting with life, filled with the noise of voices, the heavy scent of Arabic coffee, and the whispers of guests. Ali sat in the men’s guest room, while you were taken to the women’s room. You sat there quietly but warmly, smiling gently, speaking softly, your hands resting in your lap like a folded bird’s wings, watching with strange eyes amid the gathering, feeling out of place even though your presence was elegant and calm. Yet a part of you still clung to silence, as if caution wrapped around you from every side.

Leya was placed among the other children, her small hands reaching for toys, her delicate laughter ringing like a shining jewel in the silence. Your eyes never left her, as if your soul had woven an invisible thread between you and her that could never be broken.

But... Time betrayed you with a brief moment of distraction. And then another.

When you looked again, she was gone.

Your heart stopped beating, your breath caught, and you screamed at the top of your lungs: "Leya!" You rose as if you’d lost a part of your soul, your eyes searching desperately every corner of the room, the floor, among the children, behind doors, under chairs... But the earth had swallowed her.

Then came his voice, Ali’s voice, breaking the silence like lightning, heavy as a stone: "Come here!"

You ran, your steps heavy, your heart squeezed by fear and terror burning inside your chest like a raging fire.

There he stood at the front door, holding Leya gently in his arms, but his face was a storm of suppressed anger. His face was not only angry but also burdened with sadness and painful reproach. He did not shout loudly but spoke with a heavy, low tone: