The third morning dawned with an eerie calm —
as if the sun itself had agreed to keep everything still.
Yet deep within Mazen, unseen waves were stirring.
He woke up earlier than usual.
Sitting before his wardrobe, he stared at a dark blue shirt... then at a white one.
He reached toward the blue — and stopped.
"No. Enough with this nonsense."
He put on the white one, as if nothing had happened.
As if yesterday's dream had been nothing more than a passing cloud.
As if he hadn't shared a bed with a girl inside a white room,
and made a secret pact to wear the same color the next day.
He left the house without mentioning it — not even to himself.
In class
Mr. Hassan, the religious studies teacher, walked in — a calm man, soft-spoken, rarely confrontational.
He began speaking about the etiquette of asking permission.
Mazen sat in his usual seat, outwardly calm, inwardly tense.
Then Salma Mardan entered, late, followed by another supervising teacher.
She wore a white dress — almost the same shade Mazen had chosen.
She didn't look at anyone, didn't speak, just sat quietly at her desk.
"She didn't wear blue either..."
A faint sting pricked Mazen's chest.
Did she change her mind, like he did?
Or did she forget? Or ignore it entirely?
Or maybe... none of it had happened at all?
He forced himself to focus on the lesson — or pretended to.
Midway through the class
The teacher was reading a Hadith. Students were writing.
Then, without warning — Salma turned toward Mazen.
She looked straight at him... and smiled.
A small smile — but genuine.
Mazen didn't understand.
For a moment, time froze.
Heat climbed from his neck to his face, then to his ears.
Suddenly — his whole face flushed red.
And his dark eyes... were no longer dark.
Pink?!
He didn't even notice his own hand rising to cover his face,
as if his eyes had revealed something that should have stayed hidden.
At that exact moment — a fierce wind burst through the windows,
as though the sky itself had opened.
The gust slammed against the glass; one window flew open violently.
Papers scattered across the room. A girl screamed in the next class.
Mr. Hassan shouted, trying to catch his notes:
"Close the windows, quickly!"
Ziad bent slightly toward Mazen and whispered,
"Mazen... are you okay?"
Mazen didn't answer.
He stared down at his desk, breathing slowly, trying to regain composure.
But inside, he knew:
Something has changed. Something new has awakened.
After class
Students spilled out into the halls, laughter and chatter filling the air.
Mazen walked out quietly, head lowered, avoiding everyone's eyes.
He stopped beside the wall, pulled a small mirror from his pocket, and looked.
Black again...
He exhaled deeply.
His body felt as though it had gone through something he couldn't explain —
and the wind that struck the classroom... didn't feel normal.
It was as if something inside him had escaped,
and wanted the world to notice.
From behind him, Ziad's voice came:
"Mazen... do you know what just happened?"
Without turning, he replied softly:
"No."
Then he walked away —
while Ziad stood there, staring after him...
finally beginning to realize
that his friend wasn't what he seemed.