Chapter 2

Hi, I’m Jana, 22 years old.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been trying to convince myself that life is fine…

That everything’s okay.

I laugh, I play, I travel, I win championships…

But inside, there’s this huge, empty space.

Like my heart is a building with only one tenant,

speaking in a voice so low, only I can hear it.

I’m Arab, but I was raised abroad.

My parents moved when I was six.

My dad worked in tourism, and my mom stayed home to care for us.

But the truth?

She cared more about making us “successful” than making us happy.

I went to private schools, learned English, German, and French…

But I forgot how to talk about myself.

---

I started playing tennis at the age of nine.

Dad always used to say, “This is a sport for refined people, Jana. Be one of them.”

And I listened to him—

not because of the sport,

but because of the look in his eyes when he cheered for me.

A look I spent years searching for afterward.

I grew up, my body grew stronger, and I became a well-known player at the club.

But none of that mattered as much as the feeling I got coming home after a match…

and finding he wasn’t there.

Mom?

She’d ask, “Did you win?”

And when I said yes, she’d reply, “Good… go change and come eat dinner.”

Not once did she say, “I’m proud of you.”

Not once did she look me in the eyes after a match, stay silent… and just hug me.

---

At 17, I entered my first small international tournament.

I was terrified.

Not because of the competition,

but because I felt like I was in a world where no one knew my face,

and no heart was holding mine.

But I won.

And I kept playing more, traveling more, smiling in front of cameras.

And when people ask me what I think about love,

I always say:

"It’s not a priority right now."

But the truth?

I want to fall in love.

I want someone to truly love me.

Not a love that looks good on Instagram, not just a rose on a post…

I want someone I can talk to before I fall asleep.

Someone I can say, “I’m exhausted today,” without needing to explain.

Someone who feels me even when I’m silent—

and hugs me without me having to ask.

All the girls around me love, break up, fall in love again…

And me?

I’m standing at the door of my heart, key in hand,

but still haven’t found someone worthy of unlocking it.

---

A week ago, my friend Lina called and said:

"There’s a billiards tournament nearby. Want to come watch? You don’t have to live in the tennis bubble all the time!"

I laughed and said,

"You mean watch people push balls around?"

She laughed…

But for some reason, I agreed.

What I didn’t know was that day,

I would see the first man my eyes felt before my heart did.

He was standing alone, wearing a black jacket, hair a little messy…

But there was something in his eyes—

like they were saying: “I’m not here to play. I’m here to reclaim a missing piece of myself.”

And I heard his voice,

speaking Arabic softly, with a light Egyptian accent.

I didn’t know him.

But my heart…

For the first time, it moved without anyone calling it.

---

The match ended.

But I stayed there, staring at where he had been, as if waiting for him to come back.

I knew it didn’t make sense,

but I wasn’t looking for logic.

I was searching for a feeling.

And he…

He made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years—

that maybe… just maybe, he’s the one I’d open the door for.

I stood up and walked slowly.

But every step pulled me back.

It felt like my heart was still sitting there—

in the place where he had been.

All my life, I’ve been an observer.

I notice the small details people often miss.

Like the old scar on his hand,

as if he’d fallen long ago…

Or how when he lost a point, he looked down instead of at his opponent.

And when he won, he didn’t smile much—

but when he did, it was real.

Like it came from deep inside.

I walked away…

But my mind didn’t want to.

When I got home, I wasn’t thinking about tennis,

or tomorrow’s training,

or the livestream I was supposed to do for my followers.

I was thinking about him.

I told myself:

"Are you crazy? He’s a stranger!"

But my heart replied:

"He’s not a stranger… He was real."

---

The next day, I woke up early—unusually early.

I had practice, but I couldn’t focus.

My tennis shots came out like any normal day,

but the fire… it wasn’t there.

It was like my body was present, but my mind was somewhere else.

My coach asked,

"Everything okay? You don’t look yourself."

I smiled and said,

"I’m just a little tired."

But the truth?

I was far away.

I didn’t know his name,

not even his country for sure…

But the way he stood,

the calm that surrounded him,

the look in his eyes…

They made me want to know him.

I’ve always run from love.

Afraid to melt into someone—

and find myself melting alone.

But this time, it’s different.

There’s no rush…

Just a soft, warm, quiet curiosity.

I don’t need a prince on a white horse.

I need a man.

A man who feels me when I’m silent.

Who shares his life without making me afraid to share my vulnerability.

---

I spent the whole day lost in thought.

I asked Lina again, “How long will the tournament last?”

She said, “Three more days. Why?”

I said,

"No reason… I just liked the vibe. Can I come again?"

She laughed and said,

"Finally! We’ve pulled Jana out of the tennis world!"

But I hadn’t left.

I was entering a new one.

A world with his eyes,

his silence,

and… possibility.

---

I got home, opened my laptop,

and typed into Google: “Billiards Tournament – Berlin 2025 – Participants.”

I scrolled through the photos.

Someone else might’ve called me obsessed.

But me?

I was searching for hope.

And after a while…

I found him.

Name: Malek Hassan

Nationality: Egyptian

Age: 24

Height: 181 cm

Nickname: “The Quiet Eye”

I laughed…

“The Quiet Eye.”

Yeah… his eyes were truly different.

I kept staring at his picture.

And I felt my heart whisper something—

not “Love him,”

not “Talk to him,”

but:

“You’ll meet again… be ready.”

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