AN ARAB MOBSTER LOOKS FOR A WIFE

Khaled Hashimi

After Alya's birth, she became the center of my universe. Unfortunately, as doctors warned from the beginning, she could be a special girl, and she was. My little daughter, with blonde hair, light and expressive eyes, with a tender look, a prominent nose and white skin, was Dad's pride.

Every day filled my life with happiness, even though his development was a little different from that of the other children. However, every afternoon we followed our routine: I put on her best dresses, combed her short hair, and got ready to visit her mother. Alya didn't understand why we did it, but I always explained to her that Mom was sick and that I should be there for her.

With my little girl in my arms, I headed to the only place that occupied my thoughts lately: the psychiatric hospital. In my mind and in my heart, I had already forgiven Jennifer for anything she had done. There was no room for resentment in me, I just wished that she would be the same as before, so that we could have her back in our lives.

"Good morning, nurse, how are you?" I greeted Dora, the nurse who had become almost a friend over time.

"Good morning, Mr. Hashimi. How is little Alya?"

"All right, thank you. Is Jennifer ready? We haven't been able to see you for almost a week, is there a problem?

"Mr. Hashimi, the doctor wants to talk to you."

A chill ran through my body as I held on tighter to my daughter. The anxiety grew, I feared that bad news was coming, just what I didn't need at that moment.

"What doctor?" I asked, with a sense of unease.

"Mrs. Mackenzie's case manager."

"Thank you very much."

"He's coming, wait a moment, please."

I sat with my little girl on my lap, as uncertainty enveloped me. Everything around me was fading away, what was so important that I should hear? Two minutes later, the psychiatrist in charge appeared behind those doors that had always troubled me and sat down next to me.

"Mr. Hashimi, it's nice to see you. Her daughter is beautiful."

"Yes, it's going to be five years old. I hope Jennifer can cut the cake with us."

The doctor gave me a compassionate smile and stroked my little girl's hair.

"Well, I think it's my duty to tell you that the time has come to let you go, Mr. Hashimi."

"What do you mean by that, doctor?"

"First, I want to thank you for your generous contributions to the hospital. They have been a great help, especially with the addition of more doctors to our team. But I am afraid that it would be selfish of us to go ahead with this process."

"Doctor, please be clearer," I asked, as I squeezed Alya tightly.

"Jennifer suffers from dementia. Gradually, you will lose even the ability to walk. It is a devastating diagnosis. Unfortunately, she no longer knows who you are, or who she herself is. It's a traumatic process for both you and your daughter. Jennifer has become a completely different person, and I'm afraid we won't even be able to afford her daily visits. It has become aggressive, posing a danger to you and the child."

My world fell apart in that instant. What little hope I had left vanished. How could that be? How did we get to this?

"No, doctor, there must be a mistake. No way. How is it possible that she is not well? "

"I'm deeply sorry, but it's time to start over."

With those words, and a more broken heart than ever, I saw Jennifer a couple more times before accepting the inevitable. I swore to her that I would love her all my life, even if she was not really with us anymore. In Arabia, my family was waiting for me, and there was no longer any reason to stay there. With the pain squeezing my chest and my mind shattered, I made the decision to return home.

I took Alya and Doroteo with me, who had become inseparable. I was going to miss the Mackenzies, Sherry, and everything that story had taught me, but it was time to write my own.

***

Six months later

In Riyadh, the days have gotten warmer, and the desert sand seems to burn beneath my feet. Alya is everyone's darling; they treat her better than a princess, because, in essence, she is already the queen of this place. Our mansion, located in the best area, surrounded by lush vegetation and with majestic architecture, gives us the respect we have always had. In our community, we are seen as kings.

"Khaled, can we talk?" I heard the voice of Elihan Hashimi, my father, the old man who gave up being king to preach.

"Sure, father, give me a moment. I'll entrust Alya and Doroteo to one of the maids," I did what was necessary, and then began to walk with him along the long path that surrounds our mansion.

"Son, I have noticed that you have been sad lately. Since you separated from your American wife, you haven't found love again. You know well that you can have up to seven wives."

"Dad, I know that, but I don't want any of them. I swore I wouldn't marry again. Alya will be the queen, and when she chooses her husband, he will be the king. There is nothing more to say."

My father stopped abruptly, and his dark eyes locked into mine, filled with obvious annoyance. The intensity of his gaze blinded me, hurt me, as if he could not understand my decision.

"Khaled, Alya is a long way from us being able to think of a husband for her, probably about twenty years. Meanwhile, this community needs a king, and that king needs a wife. Your coronation will be in the next few days, and since you don't have a wife, your mother and I have decided who it will be."

I felt my blood run cold as I listened to his words. I shook my head, incredulously.

"What!? Dad, I'm thirty-two years old, I'm perfectly capable of deciding who my wife will be. Neither you nor Mom have the right to impose it on me."

"Son, we've talked to your older brother, Raphael. He has also informed us that you left the business that has kept this family full of coffers, and although I know that it is not your priority, it is for the family. I'm not going to let you ruin our name. You will marry the princess of the southern Riyadh community, Sathara Nazal."

"What? They're completely insane, right? I don't plan to marry, much less Sathara. She is a rebellious, arrogant woman, and as a woman she does not attract me in the least. When the time comes, maybe I'll find someone for myself. "

My father looked at me haughtily, with a sarcastic smile that hurt me deeply.

"It's not a question of what you want, son. We've waited too long for you to get married, and you missed the chance to choose your wife. Now, you will follow the designs of our tradition, you will have your marriage, and in two years, Alya must have a brother."

"Damn it! What if I don't want to, Dad?"

"If you don't want to, you'll be imprisoned for breaking the mandates of our culture. You decide, son."

The word "imprisons" froze my skin. The very thought of leaving my daughter alone made me shudder. There seemed to be no other choice: I had to marry Sathara Nazal, against my will, never mind that my heart still belonged to my beautiful habibi.

Sathara Nazal

I feel his hands run over my skin like a caress that sets my senses on fire, and my body responds instantly, tense. His hands... they are that fantasy that devours me inside, the desire from which I cannot, and do not want to, escape. Without him, I am sure I would not know how to live.

Her lips glide slowly down my belly, igniting every corner of my being until they reach my chest. As I look up, I see his eyes, those diamond-green eyes in the sunlight. Jael, with his night-black hair and cinnamon skin, has me caught in his spell....

"Sathara, my beloved," he whispered. "When are we going to get married? I'm dying to be your love officially."

A shiver ran down my spine, and my fingers slid through his hair, unable yet to reveal to him the plans my father, the great sheikh of the south, had for me.

"Jael, I told you that you and I can never get married. You're different, you don't have enough money for my family to accept you," I said softly, trying to persuade him, preparing him for the truth he hadn't yet revealed.

But before I could continue, his lips met mine, disarming me with an intensity that leaves me on his feet.

"I give you what no Arab king can," he muttered against my skin. "Pure pleasure... and happiness you won't forget."

His kisses, wet and persistent, continued to go down to my nipples, eliciting an involuntary moan from me. My hips arched in response, unable to resist his touch. It wasn't the time to talk about separations, not while his tongue ran over my skin and the world seemed to stop, leaving just the two of us.

Suddenly, he held me firmly, placing my hands on my head, leaving me at the mercy of his desires. He made love to me with an intensity that overflowed through my body, pushing me to the limit, as if our forbidden love was the inevitable temptation we couldn't resist.

When my body shuddered and I gave in under his weight, he slowly pulled away, and lay down next to me, his breathing was agitated, and his hand again fiddled with my nipples.

"I'm going to kidnap you, Sathara," he whispered with a dangerous smile. "We will leave this city. You will be mine alone. Mine, and no one else."

I turned to him and began to caress his chest. His body sweat, it was a fascination for me, his face, I loved him, and what we did behind the veils of my room, was pure passion, Jael had been my first man and the only one, and I wanted him to be the last, but they threatened me with jail, and I had to marry him, the damn monster Khaled Hashimi.

"Jael, we must talk, my love."

He looked at me with his smile still present, not suspecting what was to come. He leaned back on his elbow and nodded gently.

"Tell me, my love. What's going on? "

"Tonight, will be our last meeting. My father has arranged my marriage. It's time for me to get married to secure Raid's reign. I can't watch you anymore. I love you, but I don't want to risk being discovered. I can't stand it. Forgive me... You have to find someone who loves you like I do."

As I pronounced those words, I felt my heart break into a thousand pieces, and Jael's too, I saw it reflected in his expression, which twisted into deep pain.

"What? Are you getting married? Don't you care about what we've been through? You can't be serious, Sathara! You have to stop this madness."

"I tried, more than a year ago. They've pushed me to marry him, but I don't want them to hurt you, Jael. Forgive me."

"It's because of my lack of money, right?! Because I'm just an operator. Damn it, Sathara! But I can give you everything you need, I'd do anything for you."

"You don't understand... They could kill you. Now, please go. You have to leave forever. Find true love, Jael. You have to save yourself."

He shook his head, his face was submerged in disbelief. He got out of my bed as the guards' shift change approached, and at any moment he could be discovered escaping through the balcony. He dressed quickly, but before leaving, he walked over once more.

"Sathara, please... see you at sunset tomorrow at six o'clock at the exit of Riyadh, were always. Let's run away together."

"Yes... yes, wait for me there. Now run, please, before it's too late. See you tomorrow."

I kissed him passionately before he disappeared off the balcony. Determined, I rested my head on the pillow. The next day I would go with him, no matter what happened. My love wasn't tied to money, and I wouldn't marry Hashimi. My future children would not bear his last name, and I would break tradition without remorse. There was no prison more cruel than a marriage of convenience.

Exhausted by the intensity of the moment, I fell asleep. But as soon as dawn broke, my father burst into the room. He took off my sheets all at once, tearing me out of sleep.

"You are an insolent person who has stained my family's name, Sathara."

I opened my eyes, stunned, not understanding what was happening.

"What's the matter, Dad?"

"Did you really think we wouldn't find out about your affair with that penniless? But this is over. You enlist right now, you will go live with your new husband. The wedding will be this very afternoon, disgraceful!! "

I didn't even have time to speak. I was paralyzed, as if the world had stopped. I couldn't escape with Jael at dawn, and I didn't even know if I was still alive, nor could I escape at sunset, I wanted to die, just that.

"No, Dad, please. What did you do with Jael? What did you do to him? "

"He will no longer be a hindrance to our plans. You will be Khaled Hashimi's wife, and he will put you in your place. I have authorized the Hashimi family to take care of you."

"No, Dad, no. Please," I crawled on the floor. I don't want to, I can't. Dad, listen to me.

Two of his men grabbed me by the arms and dragged me out of the room. They took me to the bathroom, where two employees were waiting to purify me for my wedding. They soaked me in the bathtub and rubbed my body as tears ran uncontrollably down my cheeks.

My heart was broken, consumed by the pain of a raptured love. I cursed the day I was born into such a cruel and macho world, where a woman's feelings were mere side notes, ignored and trampled on.

I cried the whole time as they put on my wedding dress. The makeup burned as it mingled with tears, and my legs trembled with every step. Everything around me seemed to conspire against me, and on the way to the hammam, my vision was cloudy, I could barely make out the world through the puddles that formed in my eyes.

Life played me one of its worst cards, cruel and implacable. But I swear Khaled Hashimi would pay me for this, because I couldn't imagine life without Jael. A life without him would be a perpetual exile, a condemnation to pain, an empty and withered existence, impossible to survive without his love.

The path to my misfortune was perfectly prepared. Everything was decorated with the greatest splendor and color, and there I was, riding an elephant, completely oblivious to that celebration. I didn't want to get married. I had only seen Khaled twice in the past, and that was too much. She didn't even remember his face, his body, anything about him, only the rumors that described him as a cruel man, incapable of love. It was said that she had a daughter... what a thrill to be her stepmother!

Finally, we arrived at the altar. The servants helped me down, and my father took my arm to guide me. When I saw Hashimi, I fixed my gaze on his honey-colored eyes, the only ones visible, since my face was covered. I didn't find joy in him either, his expression was somber. That imbecile was not interested in conquering my heart. In that moment, I knew for sure that my life was over.

I walked beside my father, but when he handed me Hashimi, I felt myself fainting. In my plans it was always to run away with Jael, the only one I really loved.

Khaled Hashimi

Against my will, and with the threat of imprisonment hanging over me, I was there, waiting for my soon-to-be wife: Miss Sathara Nazal. I rolled my eyes, because, deep down, I didn't want to marry her. To me, all of this was a kind of curse, a direct blow to my feelings, a deep betrayal of everything in my heart.

The thought of leaving Alya alone was driving me crazy, and that desperation consumed me more and more.

Sathara stopped in front of me, and I could see in his clear eyes the same pain I felt. Sadness devoured her, and it was not difficult for me to understand that she hated me. And he understood. If I, as a man, felt broken, I could not even imagine the torment she must be going through as a woman.

I never agreed with the traditions of my country. That is why I was fascinated by America, its customs, its free women, full of life and beauty.

Sathara's eyes flooded with tears. Despite the fact that the master asked us to hold hands to continue with the ceremony, she refused. And in that gesture, so small and painful, I could see how much we had both missed.

"Give me your hand, Sathara," I whispered softly, trying to hide the desperation in my voice.

"Not even in your wildest dreams will I touch you, Khaled," she replied, full of rage.

"Give me your hand, before our parents come and tear us apart like children. It will only be five minutes, Sathara, please."

A tear rolled down her cheek and slid down the fabric of her burqa. Up until that point, I had only seen his eyes and part of his nose, but even that small fragment of his face was beautiful. Although no more than that of my habibi. When I remembered her, the pain went through me, and I wanted to cry.

"It will be just for the wedding, Khaled. When I'm at home, don't even come near me."

"I won't. I don't want it either," I replied coldly.

Reluctantly, he held out his hand toward me. I could notice the henna marks decorating his skin, forming delicate tattoos. I smiled, almost unintentionally. Through it all, her hand felt soft, beautiful.

The master officiated our ceremony while the sky lit up with fireworks that celebrated what for everyone seemed like a great wedding. All around us, chants and dances filled the air, but between Sathara and me there was only an icy silence. We were so close, yet so far away at the same time, unable to utter a single word. And I understood it, because I felt the same.

My wedding celebration was just the beginning of what would soon become a marriage doomed to failure. As the days went by, the few words we exchanged became even more scarce. We avoided any family gathering so we wouldn't have to see each other. Strangely, the more distant he was from me, the closer Sathara got to my daughter, Alya. He didn't talk to me, he didn't look at me, but he threw himself into taking care of my little girl with a devotion that I would never have imagined.

In time, I was declared King of Riyadh, heir to a great fortune. But what good was money when I lacked the most important thing? Happiness, love. My father, with his macho and retrograde mentality, had already designated a second wife for me, a woman destined to fulfill my "duties" as a man and take care of the home. Dammit! Another woman who would suffer the same heartbreak, another soul trapped in a destiny that none of us wanted.

Six months after Sathara and I were crowned, my father sealed a new contract, this time with another powerful sheikh of the nation. Without much room for choice, I was forced to marry for the second time, this time to Osiris, a woman of impressive beauty, blonde, with a spectacular figure and, as traditions dictated, a virgin, ready to give me the children I wanted and to serve me without qualms. With her, everything was easier. There wasn't as much fuss as there was with Sathara, which, in a way, was a relief.

However, in those six months, Sathara had not spoken a word to me. I could barely see his face, and the few times we exchanged comments, it reminded me how much he despised me. Sometimes that hatred hurt me, not because it came from her, but because I never wanted to force her to marry me. Neither did she deserve that fate, nor did I deserve the weight of her resentment.

"My lord, I am going to wash your feet. Spread them out, please," Osiris said as he knelt in front of me, a bucket of warm water and a sponge in his hands. She hated that practice, she hated that she humiliated herself in that way, but she came from the countryside, where traditions were respected even more than in the city, and that was natural to her.

Resigned, I put my feet in the bucket and she, with an almost reverential delicacy, began to wash them. His hands, soft and sure, were not limited to my feet. The sponge slowly went up my ankles, caressing my calves, until I felt the rubbing on my thighs, causing a shiver to run through my body. Since the last time I made love to Jennifer, I had maintained a self-imposed celibacy, swearing to myself that I would not touch another woman. And now here I was, with two wives: one who hated me deeply and one who would do anything to win my favor.

"I like what you do, Osiris," I murmured, tilting my head back, letting myself be carried away by the pleasure of his caresses.

She smiled softly and pulled up the fabric of my pants a little higher, continuing her play with the sponge, prolonging the course of her attention beyond what I had imagined. Every gesture of his ignited something in me, something I didn't expect. She knew that, according to our customs, he had every right to her as her husband. But for me, passion was only worthy if it was truly felt, if it won me over.

And in that instant, Osiris was accomplishing just that.

I looked into her eyes and noticed how she had subtly pulled down the fabric of her dress, letting me see more of her cleavage. A gasp escaped my lips. I didn't want to feel like an abuser for lusting after her, let alone a traitor, so I took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"Osiris, that's enough," I said, trying to regain control.

But she didn't stop. She let go of the sponge, and with her wet hands she moved closer, sliding her palms across my chest, caressing each muscle with a dangerous softness.

"Husband, I am your second wife, but I also deserve to be made your wife. When will that day be? I want you to fertilize my womb."

The words of Osiris pierced me like lightning, and I felt a lump form in my throat. My body reacted before my mind, a current of desire invaded my crotch, and she, noticing it, let her hands go down my waist until they reached my member, which was already too lit.

"Husband, tell me, will you make me yours?" she whispered in a pleading voice.

I dropped my head back, letting myself be carried away by the moment, as his caresses traveled through every corner of my body. But suddenly, the image of Jennifer appeared in my mind, like a ghost that broke the spell of that instant. Everything collapsed inside me. And just then, the door slammed open, letting in a voice that I didn't hear often, but this time it resounded like thunder.

"What's going on here?!! "It was Sathara, my first wife, the queen of Riyadh. She was in front of us, and seeing us in that compromising scene, she ran towards me, her gaze full of fury.

"She's your second wife, Khaled Hashimi, but I'm the first. Since when you started disobeying the laws?" Sathara stood with her hands on her waist, looking at us with disdain, while poor Osiris lowered her head and clenched her hands, embarrassed.

"What are you demanding, woman?" If you don't even talk to me. Until today, when you finally do it... And by the way, you have a beautiful mouth," I said, sincerely, because I could seldom see her like this, her whole face without her burqa, exposed before me.

"But I'm your first wife. You can't fall into her arms without first making me yours," Sathara snapped, as if she were jealous.

Oh, well. There she was, the woman who for six months had silently hated me, claiming her place. And me, trapped between two worlds I never wanted, trying to find some kind of meaning in the midst of so much chaos.

My eyes lit up like fire when I heard her words. Six months of hatred, indifference and silence had been enough for Sathara to awaken something deep within me. Although my heart was still anchored in that cold sanatorium, where Jennifer's memories were kept alive, a strange sensation tied me irremediably to my first wife. Of course I wanted to make it mine. After almost five years without the warmth of a woman, he was nothing more than a man in need of love and closeness.

I turned my gaze to Osiris. She, understanding the change in tone in the situation, lowered her head. I slowly approached her, knowing that Sathara, with her fiery gaze, was up to something. However, I decided to stay in control of the situation. I kissed Osiris on the cheek. She looked up, and in one slow motion, I ran my index finger over her lips before merging them with mine, letting my tongue taste the sweet taste of her mouth.

With that kiss, Osiris understood. She bit her lower lip gently, and showed resignation, aware that, at that moment, the first wife claimed a higher place. It was the rank, it was the law, it was the destiny that they both shared. Osiris quietly withdrew, realizing that the queen, Sathara, had a more powerful presence at that moment.

Sathara, seeing the scene, squeezed her eyes in anger. Her fists clenched as well, trembling in frustration. I knew that the battle between us had only just begun. But now, for the first time, I felt that, in that hard look, there was something more. Something that provoked me, that called me, and that, deep down, I longed to unleash.

"Little Alya is with Doroteo in the main courtyard, two of the nannies are in charge." She blurted out indifferently

"Thank you very much, wife, and also thank you for interrupting the moment with my second wife. I really had no intention of sleeping with her, but-" I approached slowly, brushing my nose against her neck, inhaling the sweet amber scent emanating from her skin. But... She managed to make me, after many years of celibacy, return to the desire to love. I exaggerated, expecting some reaction.

I felt her breathing quicken, but Sathara didn't relent. Her pride was an impenetrable barrier.

"Well, you're going to fuck you, Khaled Hashimi, because as long as I exist, you won't be able to have sex with the second wife, let alone the third. Because, yes, I know they're planning to find you a third wife to bring your children and your clothes. And you know what? No one is going to take away my position as queen, but you are not going to touch me."

Her voice was firm, cold, calculating. There she was the queen imposing her law. She wasn't going to give me anything, but he wouldn't allow me to receive anything from anyone else. I was not wrong in thinking that I had already deciphered her sudden attitude. Her plans were clear.

"Sathara, tell me, why do you hate me so much? What was it that I did to you that wouldn't allow you to be my wife?"

She looked at me as she snorted in anger.

"Because of you I lost the great love of my life. A man she was blindly in love with. Because of you they denied me happiness, but I will not suffer alone. No, you're going to suffer with me, 'husband,'" she spat out that last word with contempt, full of bitterness.

"I would like you to know my story, Sathara. I didn't even want to marry you. Haven't you noticed? It's been six months, and I haven't touched you. We don't even share the same bed."

"But I can't be with my love. I don't even know where he is, if he's still alive or if I lost him forever. Do you know what it's like to live with that uncertainty? Being separated from the love of your life... that is selfishness."

"Yes, I know what it is, and I know a lot more about that pain. Don't you know who Alya's mother is? She is the love of my life, and she will always be in my heart. But what do we do about it? We are doomed to be unhappy, my dear Sathara," I reproached her angrily, because her judgment of me was unjust, based on her own suffering, ignoring mine.

We looked at each other in silence, two wounded souls, trapped in a fate neither of us desired.

Tears welled up in Sahara's eyes, and she covered her face with her hands, trying to drown out the anguish that consumed her. She began to sob, as if the whole weight of her suffering suddenly overflowed.

"I don't want this for my life," she said, her voice breaking. "I want to be happy, I want to be loved. I don't want this, Khaled Hashimi. Let me go."

The desperation in her words struck me deeply. I wanted, at that moment, to be able to give him what she asked for, but it was not that simple.

"I would like to set you free, Sathara. I really would, but I can't. If I did, they would put us both in jail. I'm not your enemy, you have to stop treating me like I am."

She glared at me, with her fiery and hateful.

"You are my enemy," she spat. Because of your damn fault, I'm the unhappiest woman in the world. I swear I'd rather be in the dungeons than stay married to you, Khaled Hashimi.

Her words were like a dagger. They were harsh, cruel, but I couldn't deny the reason behind their fury. I understood their discomfort, I understood their bitterness. Worst of all, he knew that he was relegated as a man in spite of everything, trapped in a marriage without love or desire.

"Then I can't sleep with my second wife?" I asked in a tone that tried to be light, although I knew that the answer would be negative.

"No!" She replied through clenched teeth. If you do, I'll report, to you. I'll have you put in jail, do you understand me? "

I raised my hands in surrender, drawing a mocking smile on my lips.

"Understood, you are the lady," I said, winking at her.

Sathara kicked angrily, like a frustrated little girl, and pointed her finger at me, threateningly.

"You've been warned, husband. Very warned."

I rolled my eyes and sank back into bed, resigned. She left the room, leaving me alone, caught between the hatred of the first wife and the impossibility of being with the second. My head was still tangled in Jennifer's memories, wondering if life could be more unfair to me.

Just then, the door burst open, and my heart, which until that moment had felt dull, beat strongly again.

"Dad! My dad! " Alya's voice filled the room, and her embrace healed my soul in that instant.

"My sapphire, how has your day been?" I asked, holding her tightly, as if her small body was the only thing keeping me standing in the midst of so much chaos.

"Good, Dad. I love you," Alya said, her voice sweet as always.

"And how does Sathara treat you?" I asked, curious to know how my daughter saw her.

"I love her, I love her very much," she replied, as she hung on my neck and hugged me tightly. How twisted it all was. While Sathara made war on me, she silently soothed my heart by devotedly caring for my little girl.

The love between the two of them was an irony that never ceased to amaze me. Despite the hatred Sathara had for me, the bond she had created with Alya was genuine, almost maternal.

In a week my third marriage will take place. My father, always ambitious, believed that I would be able to have at least fourteen children, as if my destiny were written in those traditions that he despised so much. What I didn't know was that my first wife, Sathara, forbade me any kind of intimacy with my other wives. Although Osiris managed to ignite dormant desires in me, he was not the saddest man to continue in celibacy.

My heart and love were still anchored far away from here, wandering through the memories of America, entangled in Jennifer's face. As my life in Riyadh continued, laden with handcuffs and responsibilities I never wanted, my mind kept crossing oceans, searching for a lost love that, perhaps, I would never get back.