Nora Alfares

هل خطر لكم يومًا أنّ بعض الزلازل، وإن رجفت لها الأرواح، إنما تأتي لتوقظ فينا ما غفا طويلًا؟  أنّ العواصف، على صخبها، لا تقتلع دائمًا… بل تنفض الغبار عن جوهرٍ كدنا ننساه؟  أنّ من تضاعيف الأزمات ينبثق ضوءٌ خافت، لا يُرى إلا حين تنطفئ الأضواء المصطنعة؟ هذا البلد لم يكن يومًا مجرّد أرضٍ تُشاد عليها الأبراج، بل كان فسحةَ طموح، وساحةَ لقاء، وملاذَ أحلامٍ جاءت من الجهات الأربع. غير أنّ المسافة لم تكن بيننا وبين المكان… بل بين بعضنا بعضًا. التقينا غرباء، نحمل جنسياتٍ ولهجاتٍ ومعتقداتٍ شتّى، فاكتفينا...

Have you ever wondered whether some tremors, though they shake our spirits, arrive not to destroy—but to awaken what has long been sleeping inside us? Whether storms, for all their fury, do not always uproot—but brush the dust away from a truth we nearly abandoned? Whether, from the hidden folds of crisis, a faint light is born—one that can only be seen when artificial brightness finally fades?   This country was never merely land where towers were built. It was generosity. It was ambition...

A voice fleeing from memory called out to her. The features of a face began to surface in the mirror before her. She whispered softly, “You are not here… you are not real.” His gaze drifted toward the bathtub, as though it were the place of encounter. She left the mirror, as if something within her had decided to surrender—temporarily—and began preparing the bath. She filled it with water, then took from one of her bags scented soap, aromatic oils, and two candles heavy with the scent of...