" Love Is Not One Direction"

under the burning Cairo sky, we are now in the middle of July, at the peak of heat, suffocating warmth, and repulsive smells. Everything makes you feel irritated, eager to finish your work and rush back home, standing under the shower, then turning on the air conditioner. Life suddenly feels wonderful through the AC.

It is one of humanity’s greatest inventions of the twenty-first century.

But this is different for Farid.

In front of him are the papers of an important case and a court pleading scheduled for tomorrow morning. Since early morning until this very moment, he has not left the office. It is now 2 p.m. He wants to eat something and clear his mind a little, so he decides to leave the office.

Farid Nour El-Din, a public prosecutor, thirty-two years old, wheat-skinned, with broad jaws, hazel eyes that match his complexion, and black hair like raven ink.

Farid walks through paths he knows well, paths filled with prosecutors, lawyers, and criminals. Through his work, he sees all kinds of people. But the one thing Farid has always noticed is greed.

Everyone desires something and commits a crime to achieve it: money, revenge, love, or salvation. There is always a hidden goal the killer seeks, believing it will grant them perfection—a blessing held in the victim’s hands.

Farid suddenly stops.

Someone unusual stands in the corridor. Someone he never imagined he would see here.

It is Thuraya.

She stands there, her face filled with anxiety and sorrow.

What brought her here?

Oh God, please no.

Thuraya is far too innocent and noble to commit such a heinous act. She is Thuraya, who feeds stray dogs and cats, places water for them, and treats them with kindness and compassion, unlike others. She wakes up early to place wheat for birds and pigeons on her balcony. Her smile fills the world with light like the sun.

Not a single day passed without hearing her voice or seeing her, without that day gaining meaning.

Life was life because of her.

Thuraya.

My beloved, whom I loved before no one, and after whom I will love no one.

Farid hesitates.

Do I even have the right to go and ask her?

Not now, Farid… leave the past alone.

But his feet betray him.

He walks toward her. She has not changed at all. Her brown hair tied in a ponytail, her olive-green enchanting eyes, her small nose, her lips he always longed to taste. Her well-shaped body, the result of her love for swimming, and her fondness for accessories.

He knows all her details, the small ones before the big ones.

“Be brave, my heart… don’t fail me. Don’t beat this loudly, I feel like the whole world can hear you.”

He stops at a close distance and calls out with all the strength he has in this world:

“Thuraya…”

But his voice fails him, hoarse, carrying pain and longing.

Thuraya turns and finds Farid standing in front of her. Shock appears on her face, followed by that harsh look—the look Farid fears more than anything.

Farid waits for her response. Say anything. If you say nothing, I will speak.

But Thuraya disappoints him and says:

“I believe the last agreement between us was that neither of us would speak to the other, even if we met by coincidence, in any place, under any circumstances.”

Farid falls silent. He curses himself a thousand times—no, a hundred thousand times—for uttering those words in the past.

He gathers his courage and tries again:

“This is an exceptional situation.”

Thuraya looks at him coldly and says:

“No, Mr. Prosecutor. I do not want any help from you, and you were the last man in the world I could ever seek help from.”

At that moment, her parents come out of the prosecutor’s office with the lawyer, who says:

“Don’t worry, Miss. Your father will be released; his alibi has been proven. If anything new happens, I will inform you.”

Thuraya hugs her father:

“See, Dad? Everything is fine now.”

Hafez looks at her:

“I know I worried you, my little girl, but you believe me. I can’t even hold a mouse—how could I kill someone?”

Thuraya cries in her father’s arms as he embraces her tightly.

Farid interrupts the moment:

“Thank God you’re safe, Uncle.”

Hafez looks behind him and finds Farid. He is very surprised; he has not seen Farid for nearly seven years, since the day his daughter returned home with tears in her eyes, saying:

“Farid and I are over. Everything between us is finished.”

He never tried to reopen the topic of their separation.

Thuraya interrupts:

“Come on, Dad. Everything is over now. Let’s go home.”

Farid says quickly:

“I’m sorry, Thuraya.”

She looks at him, her eyes filled with tears:

“Your apology means nothing to me. And I hope the next time you see me, you don’t try to come near me—or even think of looking in the direction where I’m standing.”

Thuraya leaves with her parents.

Farid realizes the consequences of his actions. But through all of this, he notices one thing:

Thuraya is neither married nor engaged.

In the car, Thuraya drives back home. Her father decides to ask her about the reason for her separation from Farid. She remains silent.

“At home, we’ll talk.”

They arrive at the house, and she begins:

“Everything started when I learned that Riham was pregnant, and that bastard Mostafa didn’t want to marry her. That would have been a scandal, so Riham decided to have an abortion. I really wanted to tell Farid and inform him of everything, but Riham stopped me. The decision was to go to one of those shady doctors for the abortion. Only minutes after entering the clinic, police cars stormed the place. And you know how a prosecutor looks when he sees his fiancée standing among criminals and suspicious women. Do you know what he did? He didn’t even bother to ask me anything. A week later, he called me and asked to meet. Do you know what he said? He told me he understood that I wasn’t guilty, that Riham was, but that my decision to go to such places was a disaster, and that he didn’t know what to do with a woman who makes such choices without considering the consequences. He said he didn’t want such a relationship. You know, Dad, I hate admitting this, but he was right. I really am impulsive in my decisions. But he was waiting for any mistake from me to leave. And what you saw today—he only looks regretful to gain sympathy. In reality, he wants to control me, to monitor every move, every breath. The separation was coming anyway, with or without this incident. And this is better for both of us.