The Arabian Jasmine (wardat el Razqi)

He looked at her from afar, and saw her empty look, which was strange to him.  Her eyes always had his dream reflected in them, but he couldn't see it today.  He followed her movements, and saw her long fingers holding a white flower, large and oddly shaped petals... He realised what the empty look for.

She was lazily leaning on the wall next to the lecture room, going softly through the pages of an old hand written book.  She lifted her eyes away from the aged and fading lines for a sudden movement had interrupted her thoughts. It was a hand holding a white flower, a small flower with a distinctive fragrance that silently and mysteriously filled her whole body and wrapped her with it. 

Their eyes locked for what seemed to be hours, and their thoughts were interrupted by his odd words that he managed to utter, "this is for you, this is you not the Gardenia you were holding yesterday".  He blushed hearing these strange words, didn't wait for her to reply, he couldn't wait for her to reply, and decided to leave. 

Oh, how much she will cherish this flower, if he only knew... 

She was surprised, how did he know that was her flower, how did he know that all of her life she couldn't breathe any other fragrance than this, and couldn't see perfection anywhere else.  How did he know??!

For years, he kept giving her one of these white flowers every morning. For years he waited for the sun's dancing rays, so he can open his window and find the perfectly shaped flower, with the smallest of these pearly petals. For years, he learned how to call her name while talking to his shrub searching for her. For years he loved her dreamy eyes, her pearly skin, her soft smile and giggly voice. For years, he adored her humbleness, and complexity. For years, he learned her hidden language, and learned how to love her and to tell her with it.

She was reading her little book, turning the pages with her long frail fingers, and leaning her head on her old cat, whispering to him the old love poem she was reading, to be interrupted by a sudden movement. She looked up to see a hand holding a small white flower where it's fragrance filled her old body and wrapped it with its mystery.  She felt her again, she felt him again.  Her eyes looked up to see a young man, loving what he has seen, looking at her as if she was divine.  
She heard him saying before he disappears "my granddad says this is you, it will always be you"....

Human beings are seen then loved. Divine beings are loved then seen...

The Little White Jasmine Rose...

She flipped through the pages frantically.  Her right hand clasped to what seemed a small white flower. "This is you, it will always be you" his voice so clear and so near.

And it fell.  A withering little flower, or what's left of it. 

She suddenly felt the life through her veins, the heat revived and coloured the pink in her cheeks, and the burning excitement of finding her precious gift, gave her brown eyes a diamond shine.

A tall, quiet and always alone girl, a vivid shadow of a dark grey long skirt and a white shirt with short sleeves trimmed with French Lace.  Her few pearl buttons tied up to cover her pearly skin. She was about thirty minutes early. She leaned onto the wall and arched her back to rest on it.  She re-engaged her thoughts with the lines she was engrossed in, with the words of an old poem from an old hand written book.

She never heard his shy steps approaching, and never saw the few cold drops on his forehead, she didn't hear his slowing breadth nearing her circle. She only inhaled that beloved fragrance and glimpsed the small precious petals of the distinguished Grand Duke and its delicate holy colour.

She looked up to see his dreamy eyes, to see her soul reflected in them.  The time has stopped around them.  She saw herself and her dreams.  She saw his unspoken love and denial of it.  She saw their goodbyes, their broken hearts and the loving whispers he murmured.. 

Her eyes showed him their journey.  

"This is you" somehow she heard.  Then saw him disappear. 

She looked at the Autumn kissed flower in her hand, softly touched its petals with her long fingers, and placed it back in the book, and placed the new one next to it.

The falling withering flower reminded her of that unspoken love, of that moment in her life when the time stood still, and her secret dreams were exposed. It reminded her of that moment when she became divine, of that eternal warmth she felt when his fingers touched hers passing the dark green thin stem to them.

The withering petals brought back the laughs they shared and the glances they stole of each other. They kept that sacred bond within their folds and layers... 

Oh if he just knew how much she will cherish that flower. Oh if he only knew how he has exposed her thoughts, and how he locked her mind... 

Oh, how did he hear and listen to her silent language...

The loudest of whispers is the silent one...