I fell in love with a cursed one

Is the world crazy, or is it me? Is death unjust, or are we the unjust ones? Many philosophical and religious questions have haunted me as if they were divine revelations sent automatically. Tossing and turning, I look around and find no comfort in that cold night—no wife, no family. Just me and my soul, which has tried repeatedly to bring me back to society to enjoy that romantic breath that other humans experience. But my insistence on solitude and celibacy rejected this entirely, considering it one of the cardinal sins. Who needs love anyway?

I was born alone, lived alone, and will die alone. I will be laid in my grave and resurrected alone. I see no place for love in this scenario.

That's what I used to tell myself—or perhaps, lie to myself—using a single excuse that had no rival. The same excuse I clung to, avoiding any form of love, passion, or rejoining society.

Who would love someone who has discovered life's true nature and rejected everything it offers? Is this the love they practice as if it were a divine law? Is it the same passion prescribed by the universe? Is isolating oneself in closed spaces with the devil as their third companion true love?

Honestly, I don't know what's happening in this age that has made me lose the desire to live. All I have left is Islam and writing, maybe because of my principles, which society fails to understand, branding me as crazy and backward. Perhaps my fear of God was my only crime, earning me the labels of an extremist and fanatic. Who cares anyway? I am proud of who I am, and no one can change me, no matter how hard they try. This, in truth, is a testament to my natural disposition—except for my love of the Creator.

Amid a battle with myself, the tyranny of my subconscious, and the arrogance of my ego, I found myself witnessing an internal epic among them. Who is responsible? I decided to stand and wander around the room with that cigarette that stole my heart at the age of 18. Even now, we remain in a forbidden relationship filled with all the sacred emotions that adorn romantic bonds. Sadly, this is the only love where I've found comfort.

Difficult moments passed as I stood on the brink of madness, listening to that endless inner conflict. Then, something unexpected happened. Soft footsteps approached but in a frightening way, accompanied by a cold atmosphere that filled the room. I wrapped myself in a winter coat, bewildered because it was summer, and moments ago, I was complaining about the heat. Perhaps there is good in this; maybe God will bring something from it. That's what I thought.

Steadily, I walked toward the door to find the floor had turned into molten lava. I couldn't believe my eyes. Then, beneath the door, I saw an old leather shoe—a stark contrast to the modern era of technology. I heard a soft, faint laugh, slightly frightening yet strong and captivating at the same time.

Abdeljalil, don't be afraid. You will never feel lonely again.

This is what I kept hearing, repeated multiple times. Then, a letter was slid under the door, and the presence vanished. The lava disappeared, and everything returned to its original state.

With great caution, while seeking refuge in God and praising Him, I picked up the letter, fearing its purpose. The scent of jasmine emanated from it, the golden-yellow paper shimmered, and in its center, a red heart irresistibly drew me. Was it a love letter? But I have no lover. In fact, I don't even know a girl who's interested in me.

That was my state as I opened the letter, which illuminated the room with a magnificent light. This confirmed that something strange was happening. I was convinced when I began reading the letter, and my heart pounded intensely. Perhaps you want to know what's inside? Perhaps curiosity has gripped you. But are you ready for it?