I stopped hearing about her a long time ago.
When I found out that she was in a relationship,
With someone who was prepared for marriage,
And that they were intending to get married,
I withdrew in a nice manner and wished her all the best.
I mean I know my luck:
I am always too late.

Normally, no one attended classes, but everyone showed up for this one: the lesson on reproduction.
The classroom was packed.
Students from other classes even joined our class for the lesson.
Apparently some boys made it their mission to attend every one of these lessons.

What’s he thinking of?
Does she have the right to say no?
Is it my right to pass judgement on her?
Is it her fault that she’s giving in to society’s standards?

Apparently in Islam,
If a woman is not sexually satisfied,
She has the right to divorce her husband.

I found myself forgetting about the music,
And the fitting Fayrouz lyrics streaming from my earphones.
Forgetting about the book in my hands,
And forgetting my desire to improve my English.
I gazed at her face.

“Tell me, dear.
Are there any potential suitors?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.
Just tell me if there’s someone.

I want to be free.
I want to write whatever I want.
But all married women now have red lines they can’t cross.
“Now that we live together, you have to forget about writing,”
They’re told as soon as they get married.

I don't regret anything;
I just had no idea what I was getting myself into:
the lies, the secrecy, the plotting,
the unethicality of the women of the family I was marrying into
and the blind denial of the men.

You know, if you weren’t a public figure that appears on TV,
And who talks about women’s rights in the papers,
I would’ve loved you, married you, and made you quit your job to be a housewife.”

I had a friend during high school,
And things started to develop between us.
I thought it was love at first,
But I found out later on that he was taking advantage of me.