Khawla House - Buthaina Al Essa

Was that the first time her virginity appeared fragile and small and on the verge of tears? Does she tell the truth this time? The truth that she loved him "in her strange spy-like way" and not as he needs? But what use are those endless lists of treacherous truths? The truth that he was the first experimental mouse in her empty motherhood laboratory, and that her wound becomes invisible in front of his wound, and that her "human condition" collapses under the conditions of her motherhood, and that she "knows what she can and cannot do," and that she cannot blow up everything she has worked hard to build: every white hair on her head, every curl under her eye, every extreme idea, every strange metaphor, and every ruin in her heart, for him. And the truth that love is conditional, conditional, and that they lied about this matter, and that the world is unfair, and that misunderstanding is inevitable and apparently: very eternal. And she did not know where her role as a mother ends and where her condition as a woman begins. And what can she do with the savage contradiction between the two, in her wanting to regain him under her wing like a wet chick, and in her never forgiving him for being "the son of his distorted place in his distorted time"?