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He was sitting there, in the conference room. Wearing a suit, without a tie. Couldn’t tell was it because he hated wearing one or he hated the idea of being tied! Tied to his name, religion, or even his nationality. Though his long hair was distracting, yet his eyes seemed pure. They were confusingly beautiful. They knew many things, by being a mysterious girl throughout my life, I was too obvious. Honestly, I couldn’t stop looking at him, and trying to figure out the small details in him. The grey sweater he was wearing and how perfectly knitted, or the waves in his hair, everything was fascinating. He started talking about previous trips to the Arab countries, where he bought kites from a child in Damascus, Syria. Also, how he tried the GAT, which is forbidden to talk about it outside Yemen, yet everyone does it in Yemen. Last, he traveled to Gaza, where he met reality. It felt for him as the best birthday gift, being allowed to enter Gaza. He became familiar with Palestinian rappers, tried Hummus, and gave cameras to young kids in order to capture Gaza through their eyes. While we were sitting at the beach of the Mediterranean sea, the world never seemed more quiet. As if the stars in the sky were too interested in our political discussion. At that moment, I wanted two things, I wanted a camera taping us the whole time, so my memory wouldn’t be the only backup for the time i'm spending with him. Secondly, I wanted to capture him with my eyes. At that moment, the Persian a thousand night and a night stories suddenly have new meaning. Each night, I wanted to hear a new adventure he lived in. I was thirsty for more stories and knowledge. He was so Middle Eastern, it was a mix of a foreigner but at the same time he was raised the same as me. One night we went to dance, he started spinning around in circular motion. It was shocking, I couldn’t see him in front of me, all I could see was Shams Tabriz. First time in my life, I visualized a character from a book I read in front of me. I started remembering how Shams was a Persian Muslim, who was the spiritual instructor of Mawlana Jalal ad-Din Rumi. In that case, him dancing like the darwish, does that mean he is a WHAT? Everything make since, he is spiritual, in-love with essential oils, traveled a lot, feminist, and most importantly, he had peace in his heart. It takes strength to be at peace with yourself. During the whole trip, I couldn’t face my feelings. I couldn’t deny that I was attracted and attached. I believe that there are different types of love, this one was different, because he loved my soul, my mind before anything else. Last day of the trip, I woke up, couldn’t breathe properly. Breakfast time; both in silence, I was peeling my orange and he was drinking his last Turkish tea. There was background music, i think it was Frank Sinatra. Though the room was filled, it felt empty to me, he was the only thing I was able to see in the room. As we were walking towards the border, my heart started aching, wanting to pause the moment. I was trying to think of any way to make him stay. While he was talking, all I heard was an inner voice in my head saying “STAY, DON'T LEAVE”. Yet nothing came out in reality, I traveled in his soul. We arrived. He went down, took out his small oil bag “Joy”, though Joy was the last emotion I was feeling. He gave it to me, though my mind was refusing to accept it, that he is leaving. He hugged me and walked towards the borders. I walked back thinking about International Relations, how life is much more complicated since there were borders between countries, and the sky was no longer my limit. My eyes were filled with his reflection, the reflection became too big until it dropped on my cheek. The tear was gone and so was this Sufi.