Synopsis:
Cosmic Coffee is not an ordinary collection of stories, but a satirical ritual served in the form of a long-lived cup. In this book, the pages are not read like books, but sipped like coffee: slowly, attentively, and with the awareness that behind the froth lies an inescapable bitterness.
Within these pages, you will find women who said "no," and became like coffee beans resisting the grind. You will find scientists and philosophers debating the meaning of froth: is it illusion or knowledge? You will find guests jostling in a celestial café, believing themselves to be guests while they are in a merciless mill.
Enter, dear reader, into the cosmic café, where coffee is not served in small cups, but in entire books. Here, every story is a sip, and every sip is the unveiling of a new illusion, and every illusion is the froth that masks the bitterness of truth.
Cosmic Coffee is not an ordinary collection of stories, but a satirical ritual served in the form of a long-lived cup. In this book, the pages are not read like books, but sipped like coffee: slowly, attentively, and with the awareness that behind the froth lies an inescapable bitterness.
Within these pages, you will find women who said "no," and became like coffee beans resisting the grind. You will find scientists and philosophers debating the meaning of froth: is it illusion or knowledge? You will find guests jostling in a celestial café, believing themselves to be guests while they are in a merciless mill.
Each chapter here is a small mirror, and each mirror reflects a face of humanity hiding behind the froth. But when the foam melts, the darkness appears, the bitterness emerges, the absurdity is revealed.
Celestial Coffee is a journey within a single cup, where religion becomes coffee, rituals become foam, and humanity becomes a guest who pays for their hospitality only to be tormented. It is a book that laughs ironically, but leaves a bitter taste on the lips, a taste that doesn't easily fade.
So, sit, dear reader, in this café, and sip its stories one by one. But remember: the foam may deceive you, but the coffee does not lie.
Enter, dear reader, the Celestial Café, where prizes are not offered in small cups, but in entire books. Here, every story is a sip, every sip is the unveiling of a new illusion, and every illusion is the covering of the bitter truth.
Celestial Coffee is not a collection of stories, but a satirical ritual offered to the body for a long period, a third of a lifetime. In this book, pages are not read like books, but rather sipped like coffee: a sip, with focus, and with the awareness that there is an inescapable bitterness.
To these pages are women who said "no," and became like coffee beans resisting the grinding. Scholars and philosophers come to discuss the cause of the sword: is it them or knowledge? They participate in the fighting in a celestial café, believing in the name of hospitality while they are in a merciless mill.
Every chapter here is a small mirror, and every mirror of faith is a face of humanity, despairing because of soap. But when the soap melts, blackness appears, absurdity appears.
Celestial coffee is a half-hour journey, where religion becomes coffee, rituals become foam, and humanity becomes a guest, the price of hospitality, to be tortured. It is a book that laughs ironically, but it leaves a bitterness in its folds, a contribution that does not easily disappear.
So, sit, reader, in this café, and discover its stories one by one. But remember: it may deceive you, but coffee doesn't lie.
When the reader turns the pages of Celestial Coffee, they feel as though they haven't read separate stories, but rather sat in a timeless café, sipping from a cup that stretches from beginning to end. Each story was a sip, and each sip unveiled a new illusion, and each illusion was the froth covering the bitterness of the black coffee.
We sat with the women who said "no," and saw how they pierced the froth to reveal the truth.
We accompanied the scientists and philosophers as they debated the very meaning of coffee: is it a brain of pleasure or a drink of knowledge?
We watched the guests jostle in the Celestial Café, thinking they were guests when in reality they were in a merciless grinder.
And in the end, we realized that all these stories are but a reflection of one thing: that humanity prefers froth to coffee, illusion to reality, pleasure to reason.
Celestial Coffee is not a drink, but a mirror. It is a cup that the reader places before them, and in it, they see themselves, their society, their illusions. The foam covering the surface is nothing but a fragile veneer, dissolving with the first sip to reveal what lies within: black, bitter, hot, yet real.
And so, when the reader closes the book, he has finished his last cup. He lets the foam dissipate, the bitterness lingers on his lips, and leaves the café wondering: Was he truly a guest, or merely a customer in a café selling illusions?
The celestial coffee ends here, but it doesn't end in the reader's mind. It's not a book to be read and then forgotten, but a cup to be sipped, its trace remaining in the brain, like a lingering sip, a mocking echo, an invitation to reflect.
Holy seed
In the beginning, there was no sky or earth, no mountains or rivers, only an eternal void swaying in cosmic silence. Then, suddenly, a sacred coffee bean fell from above, roasted in a cosmic fire of unknown origin. When it touched the void, the universe exploded, galaxies formed, stars ignited, mountains rose, and rivers flowed. No one asked: Where did it come from? Why did it fall? For faith in the bean was more important than the truth.
This great, resounding tremor in the vast expanse of caffeine occurred at midnight when the sky parted above Caffeine City. The believers raised their eyes, their cups trembling in their hands, and behold, a blazing star descended. But it was not a star; it was this giant, blessed bean, ablaze with fire, descending from the heavens like a divine messenger.
"A miracle! The holy bean has come!" cried the people. Priests rushed to the site, chanting espresso hymns, while prophets inscribed their visions in cappuccino foam. The bean descended into the desert, scorching the sand, and from its husk rose a powerful fragrance that brought even the skeptics to their knees.
The greatest barista declared:
This is the grain of destiny. From it will come the drink that awakens eternity." He roasted it in the steam temple, ground it into a powder finer than dust, and then prepared a cup that shone like liquid gold.
The believers drank, and their eyes widened. They saw galaxies swirling in the foam, heard voices whispering from the steam, and felt their hearts throb with divine caffeine. They cried out, "This is salvation! This is proof that the universe itself makes coffee!"
But one skeptic stood apart. He tasted the holy brew and frowned. "It's powerful, yes," he said. "Divine, perhaps. But in the end, it's just coffee. And miracles are nothing more than grains wrapped in fire."
The crowd silenced him, for doubt is bitter. But his words remained, like the taste of truth after a sip. The believers sat around it, worshipping it as the origin of life, drinking its coffee as if it were holy water. As for the disbelievers, they dared to ask, "Is it conceivable that the entire universe was created from a single seed?" God answered them with a smile, "Yes, it is the seed that is not questioned, for it is the secret of creation, and whoever doubts it is denied Paradise."
Over time, the pill became a legend, and everything was attributed to it:
If it rained, they said, "The grain cried."
If the land became dry, they said, "The grain became angry."
And if one of them died, they would say: "The grain swallowed him up to roast him again in its cosmic fire."
And so, the whole universe came to be based on a coffee bean, whose origin is unknown, but which everyone reveres. The truth is not important; what matters is that the bean exists, and that it gives believers an endless coffee-like euphoria and an inexhaustible peace of mind.
And so, the legend spread:
That a grain fell from space, and from its roasting a universe was born, and then a religion was born, followed by religions born from the womb of a pure, holy, majestic, and honorable heavenly café, a universe that was not made in the sky or space, but in the imagination of thirsty people searching for meaning.
O mankind, do not search for the origin of the universe, for the seed is the origin, it is the miracle, and it is the path to paradise. As for you, infidels, remain thirsty, without a seed, without coffee, without salvation.
From inside the Heavenly Cafe:
In a historic announcement, the government proudly inaugurated the Ministry of National Laughter in honor of the Heavenly Coffee. All those present applauded, and cups of Heavenly Coffee clinked together with a crashing sound, like waves crashing across the sea, their voices shouting, "To your health! To your health!" The Ministry declared that happiness and smiling were no longer personal matters but a national duty imposed on every citizen of this land. All Heavenly Coffeehouses were to announce this news and enforce it upon every citizen, requiring them to adhere to the National Laughter Pledge. This was to be done while muttering and reciting the incantations and rituals of drinking Heavenly Coffee, with its comedic flavor. This mandated that every citizen follow the Ministry of National Laughter, which established the Heavenly Coffeehouse and its followers. Following the Heavenly Orders issued by the Heavenly Coffeehouse, the Ministry of National Laughter decided to impose National Laughter on all citizens five times a day. This decision came after much back and forth, bidding, and negotiation between the Ministry of National Laughter and its Heavenly Coffeehouse, as it was supposed to be a national duty. Initially, the requirement was set at fifty times a day, but out of compassion for the people and the country, and after negotiating with the Heavenly Café affiliated with the Ministry of Laughter, it was decided to reduce the national obligation of laughter from fifty times a day to only five times daily. The Ministry feared that the people and the country would become overwhelmed by excessive laughter, and that the Heavenly Café might go bankrupt due to insufficient supply of Heavenly Coffee to satisfy this enormous number of laughs. Furthermore, the café was facing economic pressure due to the overproduction of Heavenly Coffee. Therefore, it was decided to reduce the number to five times a day, taking into consideration the circumstances of the people and the country. It was also decided that a number of inspectors would patrol the streets and alleys, equipped with sound measuring devices to assess the volume and authenticity of laughter. Anyone who failed to perform this duty would be subject to Heavenly fines and punishments. Among these punishments was the requirement for anyone who disobeyed these orders or failed to carry out this sacred task to attend courses in comedy and laughter techniques. Repeated failures would result in immediate banishment to the infamous Room of Silence, where the offender would be burned for a period of time until he recovered and learned his sense of humor. The Minister was... Laughter itself, despite being the Minister of Laughter, had never laughed publicly in his life. Yet, he insisted this policy was a great achievement, proudly and enthusiastically declaring, "We're finally done with the problem of sadness!" Newspapers seized upon the event, calling it the greatest achievement of the century. He claimed the government had legalized happiness, enacting it as a law and a religious obligation. However, sensitivities were secretly reported, with an increase in jaw injuries and nervous breakdowns due to uncontrollable laughter that wouldn't even cease at funerals. The ministry even decided to introduce laughter tests in schools at all levels, making them mandatory for all students. The quality and frequency of laughter, rather than knowledge or academic achievement, would be the criteria for evaluating students, both male and female. No student would receive a high or final grade unless their laughter was loud, resonant, and preferably accompanied by tears of joy to confirm its strength and impact. Students who failed the laughter test were to attend remedial classes and private lessons given by clowns in lectures and sessions about... The philosophy of humor and strengthening laughter, to the point that universities decided to develop curricula in applied laughter, while philosophers debated and analyzed whether the imposed laughter was true happiness or a new form of tyranny disguised as laughter and happiness. The paradox was shocking: the citizens who used to laugh freely began to laugh automatically, for fear of punishment if their laughter appeared without genuine enthusiasm, and families began to gather not to manage their lives and livelihoods or to tell stories, but to practice a daily routine of strong, genuine laughter with enthusiasm, for fear of the punishments of the laughter inspectors.
Even weddings and funerals were now organized in agreement with the official laughter officers to ensure the daily quota of five laughs imposed on the people was met. Daily happiness indicators rose to unprecedented levels, but they noticed that the streets, alleys, and roads began to echo with hollow laughter, more like cries for help. The opinions of diplomats who visited the country varied. Some praised the idea, considering it a novel innovation and marveling at its imposition five times a day. Others believed the country had turned into a circus, promoting absurdity rather than wisdom and planning. Meanwhile, the Minister of Heavenly National Laughter immediately repeated, "We are the happiest, the ones who brought this upon the people." With a broad smile on his frozen face, he declared confidently and proudly: "In the end, the country has achieved its goal, and the ministry has fulfilled its role, making sadness a sin, an unforgivable transgression, a blatant and flagrant violation of the country's laws." But with this decision, he revealed the greatest and most dangerous paradox: that joy and laughter cannot be imposed by decree, and that laughter loses its essence when freedom is taken away. The ember of true happiness has been replaced. With a hollow echo of a nation forced to laugh at its own misery.
Faith scale
In the city of sacred rituals, the Council of Eternal Wisdom convened to resolve humanity's greatest dilemma: how to measure faith with scientific precision. After weeks and months of intense and serious debate, they proudly unveiled their new invention and their useful scientific ideas: the Faith Meter. This was a standard golden rod that measured the strength, length, and breadth of faith with absolute accuracy. Every citizen was required to carry it at all times to reveal their faith intentions and the strength or weakness of their faith, and also to detect whether they had committed the sin of lewd thinking, considered one of the major sins and abominations. It is among the most dangerous of vices and the most harmful and destructive to the health of precious faith, for, God forbid, it weakens, afflicts, and emaciates the pure and noble body of faith, to the point that the body of faith becomes ill and sheds its blood due to the germ of logical thinking—that great lion, the greatest generosity, and the abomination that warrants punishment and deserves eternal torment. The Supreme Divine Council, in conjunction with the Heavenly Café, dispatched inspectors to oversee the worshippers' compliance with the orders and to ensure that the rod was carried. The magic wand of faith—they discovered it themselves and verified the soundness, integrity, and strength of the great, pure faith. National newspapers glorified this innovation, making it a symbol of sacred creativity and evidence of divine, exalted innovation. They considered it a divine variation on the capabilities of the universe, saying: "Finally, we can control and quantify what cannot be quantified." It was said to the people of the land that spirituality among them would become visible, measurable, and implementable, since faith must be measured by precise scientific standards. Non-scientific, realistic, studied faith and research are what is required, and this is the core of the heavenly matter of faith. God does not want ignorance, and faith is impossible without knowledge. It is true that its meaning is submission, and one of the basics of blind obedience is to be a sound, healthy faith, free from the diseases and viruses of logical thinking and mental analysis. However, in any case, it must be a precise scientific submission and a microscopic, research-based, logical obedience in order to earn the honor and description of it as certain scientific faith and logical obedience! Thus, he appeared before them in the media—newspapers, magazines, and radio stations—and the world-renowned philosopher and physician, who is also a spiritual figure, as a pioneer of the scientific faith-based idea and head of the Center for Faith Research and Scientific Faith. He confidently assured them that the invention of this standardized faith is the greatest proof of faith being something scientific, certain, and logical, even in its submission and surrender. What is this scientific, certain submission and surrender? This is how he explained and clarified to them, for God has bestowed upon him more blessings of his faith-based knowledge and scientific faith. This believing physician also emphasized to them that whoever's faith level drops even by a millimeter, he is lagging behind, boasting of his scientific invention that mocks the empty, naive words of the disbelievers with which they tarnish the noble and honorable believers, who receive the crow’s day and night, claiming that faith has no connection to science or logic, and that it is the essence of blind submission and surrender without scientific evidence or research-based certainty. He asserted that faith will not achieve its meaning unless blind submission and surrender are realized. But here is the believing scholar, who fears God only from those who... Here is the worship of the scholars, confidently and boldly refuting these vile, pretentious, and fanatical infidels with empty words. He responds to them by applying a measure of faith based on extreme scientific precision, to the point that noble and honorable believers feared being penalized, so they feigned faith and coveted the honorary title of faith, which is only granted to those who exceed the limit and the bounds of strong faith. So, they increased their faith and gave it vitamins to strengthen it in order to obtain an honorary title befitting this faith. They began competing to obtain the monthly title displayed at the entrance of the city of faith on the Faith Honor Board, inscribing the name and title of the highest-ranking believer for that month and the strongest in faith for that week. And the stronger their faith became and the greater their scientific and certain muscles grew, the more the decisive blow of faith struck anyone who dared to question it. But faith cannot be measured by precise scientific means, and science has no connection to it, nor does God exist that contradicts it in form and substance. But what is the golden staff of faith that strikes their words with its scientific blows? And they were crushed by the infidels whose hearts were sealed with disbelief, but the accursed Satan made their blasphemous deeds seem appealing to them. The believing servants began to obey the commands of the staff of faith, even entering into a faith-based competition of knowledge and certainty, each striving to attain the highest degrees and ranks of faith-based honor according to the precise measures of that magical golden staff. They diligently performed their acts of worship and fulfilled their faith-based obligations—prayers, fasting, night vigils, glorification, and remembrance—until they and the repentant, devout worshippers, in their own private realm, were completely lost in their own world, like sleepers, or perhaps they were already in that state. All thanks to the magical, innovative, scientific, golden staff of faith, which they carried with pride and honor, hoping to hear of an increase in the precise measure of faith. But nature, in its folly, soon surprised them with its absurdities. That foolish nature, which disabled the staff of faith-measuring measures with torrential rains, caused that precise, blessed staff to shrink in the humidity and swell in the heat. Chaos spread throughout the land, infiltrating the hearts of the servants and clinging to their strong, great faith, which is the foundation of all righteousness and piety. The inspectors accused the poor, believing people. Due to the lack of faith and its weakness, as their influence dwindled in the humid air and contracted at the point of contraction, the faithful slaves tried in vain to defend themselves before the inspectors. It was even decided to deepen and intensify the role of the faith staff in the mountains from a young age, so it was decided to impose it on students in schools at all levels and to conduct nightly faith-based examinations in which the student was not evaluated based on the extent of knowledge, academic achievement, and lessons, but rather on the length of the faith staff and the strength of its divinely approved glow. Although universities also presented studies and imposed them in their curricula on students how to measure faith with a precise, scientific, applied standard, no one was able to determine how the glow occurs or its nature. Meanwhile, philosophers discussed the subject and tried to define the paradox that occurred, as the faithful citizens who used to pray freely now prayed with financial pretense, altering the measures of the faith staff and manipulating the infallible, noble, and honorable policies of faith. Families wished to determine the fate of the staff and its measures, and marriage, emotions, and compatibility between all Two or two people are not measured by intellectual and emotional compatibility and convergence, but by the degrees of convergence and compatibility of the measure of faith in the staff of each of them before deciding on compatibility. The light of the foreigners and the rulers of the country, some of them said that it was a unique spiritual innovation, and the other saw that the country was engulfed in chaos and had become a breeding ground for religious mockery and religious absurdity, not scientific accuracy or standard. Nevertheless, the heavenly council, which was held in regular sessions in the heavenly café, and before them, they were served coffee and heavenly cups of coffee with the finest types of coffee of high heavenly quality, and they would repeat in every meeting with unparalleled pride and confidence: We are the most faithful nation on earth, with a precise and calculated faith with extreme scientific accuracy. They said it while raising the golden political staff of faith as a certain, visible, measurable, researchable, and experimental proof.
In the end, the scale of faith achieved its goal, but in doing so, it revealed the greatest paradox: that faith, like laughter, loses its soul when freedom is taken from it. The sacred became mechanical, the spiritual bureaucratic, and the immeasurable was reduced to an empty number.
The story has ended.
At the Heavenly Coffee Shop, the deity announced a special offer:
"Drink the coffee of concealment, and gain an extra credit of forgiveness."
Your sins are automatically forgiven, as long as you remain my loyal customers."
The believers rejoiced at this heavenly bargain, for they could now commit sins without fear.
Coffee covers them, and the balance is renewed every day.
As for the infidels, they sat in the corner, held accountable for every sip, because they possessed no heavenly loyalty card and had no
They have a broad cover-up of their despicable actions, just like the customers who are believers.
The grand session was held in the Heavenly Court Cafe.
The judge sat atop a platform of coffee cups, and the god was behind bars of coffee steam.
The believers applaud, and the disbeliever’s shout:
"Why are you giving them credit for covering up, while we pay the full price?"
The lawyer raised his voice in defense of God:
"Your Honor, my client is not biased, but generous."
He gives the faithful coffee as a form of protection because they are regular customers.
As for the infidels, they are merely passers-by, and are not entitled to special offers.
The audience laughed, because the defense seemed to be praise on the surface, but condemnation on the surface:
What is the value of a god who distributes forgiveness as a commodity, and establishes the scales of justice on the basis of loyalty rather than truth?
But the lawyer defending God continued his defense and presented enticing religious propaganda to attract customers from among the believing master slaves, and also to defend his client at the same time, thus killing two birds with one stone, saying:
Dear customers, on behalf of my Most High, the Almighty, the Owner of the Heavenly Café and the Master of the Heavenly Universes, I announce to our esteemed customers, the faithful, the issuance of the Heavenly Loyalty Card. This card grants believers the greatest degree of concealment for their actions, sins, and whims. The card, the "Concealment Balance," is open for an extended period. It is a special package that is not recharged except after long periods of time, and the balance is not depleted until the end of the long-term concealment period granted to believers. This is a special offer and a sacred heavenly bargain presented for the first time in honor of the Owner of the Heavenly Café. Let the faithful seize this opportunity for the longest period of concealment, with the card pre-charged for an extended period. Let them commit whatever sins, desires, and whims they please during this cosmic period of heavenly concealment from the Owner of the Café. This is out of love for the faithful and a desire to give them the greatest degree and opportunity for freedom of action during the card's pre-charged period. Let them rest assured that the card is secure for an extended period of time, and the package is renewed before the end of the long-term period. They should seize this opportunity with complete confidence, knowing that there is a period of concealment. And forgiveness during this period, so let them do as they please, even if they commit acts that anger the owner of the heavenly café. It is enough for him to simply regret the sin and ask for forgiveness. This is all he wants, and the offer of a balance of forgiveness and card top-up will continue. The owner is offering the faithful a very generous offer, and they should seize it because they are among the most important clients and customers of the Heavenly Café. They should know that the King of Kings, who is the owner of the Heavenly Café, is granting them a great opportunity for forgiveness and offering them free facilities for sin and transgression through a secure card loaded with a balance of forgiveness. It is long-lasting and fast-acting, so there is no blame on them, and he has no objection to them sinning from time to time. And if they happen to commit some major sins, this is not the end of the world, because he always proves to them the extent of his mercy, compassion, and magnanimity. Therefore, he announced the offering of this card, which is a certificate of forgiveness, to be for the faithful a safe haven and an entry ticket to his vast and forgiving world, the world of Heavenly Faith, so that they may know their great standing with him and realize the extent of his mercy. He is the Oft-Returning, the Most Merciful, the Forgiving. Therefore, he has not and will not abandon the names and titles that they have bestowed upon him and by which they have always called him, considering them to be among his names and attributes. The moment he acquired the Heavenly Café, they became his customers and clients, his elite. To prove to them his magnanimity and mercy, and that he is content, he does not desire more from them than remorse before him, seeking forgiveness, supplication, turning to him always, and acknowledging his greatness and power. This ensures that the card of concealment remains active for as long as possible. For his part, he is fully prepared to conceal and overlook their sins. With a magnanimity and mercy greater than a mother's tenderness for her infant, he will overlook their slips and whims in exchange for their glorification and magnification of his omnipotence, remorse and supplication before him. Let them sin as they please, and welcome, welcome to sins and transgressions. A tear of remorse or a prostration of humility and bowing through which they supplicate to him with a warm tear is enough for him. This is all. And a promise from him that the card of concealment will remain safe in the pocket of every believer, working without fatigue or boredom. And why not? He loves them and wants to conceal their whims, for they are among the most important clients and customers of the Heavenly Café. They have always sipped from his coffee, its sacred, blessed bean roasted in the celestial fire of the universe. So why shouldn't they have this magical card, the card of concealment? It is the golden taker that distinguishes the believer from the misguided infidel, deprived of this concealment. He is completely naked until the time of his punishment and reckoning arrives—this ungrateful, disbelieving, and treacherous wretch. Therefore, he has not and will not deserve any credit, and his card will never be recharged. May the infidel's card be disgraced and remain empty and crumbling, tossed about by waves of emptiness and nothingness. He does not deserve any concealment. Let him be exposed and his cover revealed, for he has no place among the esteemed believers, the honored clients and customers of the café. He is condemned and banished from the mercy, tolerance, and magnanimity of the owner of the celestial, cosmic café. Let the infidel remain without credit, without concealment, without discounts, while the esteemed believing clients enjoy all forms of discounts, concealment, and secrecy. Let them rejoice in this opportunity, seize it, and indulge in whatever whims please them. All that is required of them is to return. Here, inside the Heavenly Café, they sip divine coffee, reveling in its taste and supplicating with awe and humility as they revel in the aroma of its sacred beans, roasted in the cosmic, heavenly, and holy roastery of faith. They humbly beseech its Owner, nothing more, nothing less. Amidst a thunderous storm of applause, the faithful, supplicating, humble, repentant, and ever-returning masters cheered. The thunderous applause continued amidst torrents of sublime, dignified tears of faith, overwhelmed by emotion, reverence, and awe. What a magnificent faith! What unparalleled heavenly mercy and boundless compassion! Thus, the effect of the "Balance of Concealment" card remained active within the Heavenly Café of Faith. Heavenly coffee was no longer the only commodity within the Heavenly Café; it now had another competitor: that card, loaded with the balance of concealment, presented by the "Bundle of Faith" in the most generous offer, brimming with heavenly bounty, bestowed by the Merciful and Generous Owner of the Heavenly Café upon His esteemed clients, the masters of the Heavenly Café. The believers, and the esteemed patrons of the Heavenly Café, always carry a card of concealment for their slips, desires, and whims in their pockets, displaying it with every whim or sin. A very small portion of forgiveness is deducted, and new points of concealment are added to them. They rejoice and amuse themselves, happy and reassured with their sincere hearts, as long as they are filled with faith. They have no fear, nor do they grieve. As for the disbelievers, they remain silent, lost, and regretful because they have no balance of concealment that the believers enjoy. They have no balance, no discounts, and every sin is recorded against them in full without any deduction or reduction of sins like the esteemed believers. There are no seasonal offers because they are unwanted customers. They are nobodies in the Heavenly Café.
Loyalty card:
One day, a believer who frequented the Heavenly Cafe came with worry and sadness covering his features like autumn leaves that had fallen and covered the ground with a pale, yellow, and dry covering. He had committed some sin, so he took out his forgiveness card from his pocket and looked anxiously and confusedly at the barista, who smiled at him as soon as he saw the card and said: It's okay, don't worry, you have enough balance, your card is charged and we will overlook and ignore this sin, and even what is bigger and more than it. At that moment the believer sighed and exhaled a long sigh as if he had gotten rid of a heavy burden that weighed on his shoulders, and he felt deep relief as soon as the transaction was completed in the faith store.
The infidel has no credit:
One day, an infidel came to the cafe and sat at a table near some of the faithful gentlemen. He had committed the same sin as the believer, but he did not have any credit for concealment because he did not have that card. The barista looked at him askance and said in a tone of displeasure and aversion: Sorry, I don't have any discounts. You will pay the full price and the full penalty without any discount or reduction.
The unbeliever protested, complaining and feeling oppressed and racist. With anger and a voice as rapid as thunder on a stormy night, he repeated: This is not justice, this is not justice, and that is not mercy. It is oppression and racism, yes, it is racism, bigotry, and discrimination. I committed the same sin, and it has come to my attention that you have been extremely lenient with this believer, offering him generous deals, discounts, forgiveness, and tolerance, even though he committed the same sin as me. Despite this, I see you forgiving him and covering for him inside this heavenly café, while you leave me without any credit. What kind of justice is this, the son of that mercy you claim to possess? The believers at the next table laughed and said: This is thanks to the credit of the heavenly card. The credit of the card is only granted to subscribers of the card and the package, only to believers, not to the likes of you.
Announcement:
In response to the infidel's objection and to confirm that the faith offer was still valid and the balance was charged and working for as long as possible, the barista announced with the enthusiasm of a commander in battle: O faithful customers, subscribe to the Cover Balance Card, for it gives you additional forgiveness, and discounts on all types, sizes and forms of sins, in addition to seasonal offers on sins. Then he turned to the infidel with gloating, saying: As for you, O infidels, remain without balance, without card, and without a plasterer.
He spoke with a full mouth, in a voice like thunder coming from afar.:
Dear clients and customers, esteemed believers: The judge has announced the verdict:
"God is decreed to continue offering coffee of concealment to the believers,
By denying the unbelievers any discounts, even if their sins are less.
Divine justice is not a scale, but a marketplace.
Those who do not have a loyalty card must pay the full price."
The believers clapped, and drank their coffee of secrecy, laughing.
While the disbelievers remained thirsty, burning in the inferno of truth without any benefit, the believers looked upon them with looks dripping with gloating and contempt, saying to them:
As for us, the people of faith, piety, and righteousness, we have drunk the coffee of secrecy and quenched our thirst with disputes.
We entered Paradise with a loyalty card.
While you burn in the hell of full reckoning.
Thus, everyone learned that forgiveness is not justice but a profitable business offer, and the skilled and clever among the believers should seize the opportunity, as it is a credit added to his account and deducted, in the heavenly loyalty card with the credit of heavenly concealment. It is the heavenly loyalty and innocence card, that card that makes sins just points, and Paradise is a faith store for whoever kneels more, humbles himself, cries and regrets more, prostrates longer, will get a credit of concealment more and a longer duration, and the offer is still ongoing until further notice.
In the far, quiet corner, teeming with silent sorrow and far from the eyes of passersby, behind a dark-colored screen that could not be seen, Shamoun sat in his usual place, his face clouded with melancholy and his features covered with a withered, stormy autumn. In front of him were piles of papers and complaints lying on his small, dark, pale desk, and in front of him on the desk lay an empty coffee cup filled with dark, charred grounds.
An agreement was reached between the two opposing sides:
Shamoun’s job at the Heavenly Café was to play the villain all the time. This was stipulated in the contract he signed when he was hired. Although Shamoun was not a gentle soul by nature and never liked evil, in fact, out of his hatred for evil and his desire for discipline, he used to write down and record all the actions of the people, believers and non-believers alike. Even before his job at the Heavenly Café, he did this with his peers and relatives. He hated laxity and negligence and would record all wrongdoings and report them to the supervisor so that the necessary action could be taken. However, when he was forced to work as a coffee-sweeper at the Heavenly Café, he felt humiliated and degraded. He played a role he had to play all the time, without being responsible for anything in the first place, but he was forced to accept this job and play this role assigned to him because he needed money and had no other work to live on. The owner of the Heavenly Café exploited his desperation and pushed him into poverty and almost made him regret it. He was so desperate that he could no longer afford his daily bread, forcing him to go and work for the owner of the Heavenly Café. This was precisely the goal the café owner had sought. When Shaun was forced to work for him, the owner dictated the terms of the contract: Shaun would play the role of the villain, whispering evil, sins, transgressions, and major sins to all the patrons of the Heavenly Café, especially, or more specifically, to the believers. They were the intended target, the group the Heavenly Café owner had entrusted to him, and he was to go to them at the owner's behest. He would receive his wages for this. At first, Shaun was very dissatisfied with this job and begged the Heavenly Café owner, the owner of the kingdom and the universes, to employ him in another job, as he had never liked this work. But the Heavenly Café owner insisted that he would only employ Shaun as a burnt coffee bean mop, and that his name would be Shaun the villain, embodying evil, and that he would be given the title or epithet "the devil of the bed" to serve as a cover behind which the café owner could hide. The celestial owner of the universe, the hero and symbol of good, makes poor Shamoun the face of evil, calling him the accursed Iblis. The celestial café owner forgets, or pretends to forget, that he himself is Iblis, the very embodiment of evil. He is the one who incites and permits wretched Shamoun to commit his evil deeds; indeed, he forces Shamoun against his will, and poor Shamoun’s pleas are of no avail. The owner of the Heavenly Café looked at the humiliated Shaun and said in a commanding tone: "I only came here for this specific job. I orchestrated all these schemes to deprive you of every source of income, leaving you with no option but the Heavenly Café, so you came humbly to work for me. Have you forgotten that I am the best of schemers, and no scheme surpasses mine? Only the losers are safe from my cunning. So don't try to plead for anything more, and don't waste my time and yours in vain. If you don't accept, you have no choice but to be left on the roadside to perish there until you melt and decay like a worn-out rag, trampled underfoot until you die of hunger. You have no other option with me but this job." The café owner threw the pen in poor Shaun’s face, ordering him to sign the contract terms, or else he would face nothing but starvation and death. The contract stipulated that the second party, Shaun, would bear the consequences and responsibility for every spilled cup of coffee, every customer who cheated on the bill, every burnt coffee bean, and every whim or sin. A blunder committed by the faithful slave masters, in exchange for the first party, the owner of the café, remaining the hero who envies good and fights for it, the forgiving, all-knowing, and merciful one. With trembling hands, pale features, a sorrowful heart, and tearful eyes, poor Shaun signed the contract with the divine café owner, who manages and directs all good things in the heavenly café, and nothing happens except by his command. From that day forward, he performed work he did not want, remaining burdened with all the consequences, all the sins, whims, blunders, and desires, and all the costs of spilled coffee cups. He paid for the burnt coffee grounds that the faithful customers rubbed on his body, hands, and face daily, until he became blackened and charred, without being responsible for any of the actions of the café's patrons. But the café owner had to feel like a hero and that he had a wicked enemy to fight and make good triumph over him. Therefore, he found no one better than poor Shaun, exploiting his circumstances to make him a scapegoat for all evil. Burnt and spoiled.
One day, Shaun came with heavy steps, his feet dragging, until he stood before the owner of the café. Tones of sadness and despair poured forth from his features and from between his words as he said to the owner of the Heavenly Café, pleading, miserable, and hopeless: “My Lord, O Master of all things, yesterday one of the believers stole his neighbor’s money, and when the others blamed him after discovering his deed and threatening him, he claimed that I was responsible. He shamelessly and boastfully told the other customers of the Heavenly Café that Shaun whispered to me and tempted me to steal my neighbor’s money and deceived me. What a master of whispering and embellishing evil!” Shaun raised his head to the owner of the café in despair and misery, saying: “Did I do this? Am I a master of whispering and evil? When and how? I neither saw nor preached. Understand when this happened?” I haven't even had time to eat for days because of the sheer number of accusations they shamelessly level against me, claiming that I was hired for this job I despise, and that you told them I was ready and prepared from the start. With a desperate plea, poor Shaun turned to the owner of the Heavenly Café, saying: "I am not like that! I don't want to be that wicked, undisciplined, immoral creature. I'm tired and fed up with them and their filth, which they rub on my body until I've become like a burnt coffee bean, they wipe on me day and night. I beg you, my master, my source of livelihood and the owner of the Heavenly Café, relieve me of this job, indeed, of this accusation!" Shaun showered the owner of the Heavenly Café with a torrent of entreaties, hoping he might soften or be satisfied, but he remained as steadfast as a towering mountain. His silence, his terrifying presence towering over him, his features hardened, then, with coldness, indifference, and secrecy, the café's owner patted Sathon al-Micatin on the shoulder, saying: "Be patient, Sathon, for this is your job and this is your destiny. Have you forgotten that you signed the terms of the contract and partnership between us, as the second party and I the first? If you renege on our agreement and partnership, I will punish you with a severe punishment from which you will not escape for the rest of your life. You must know that this is your inevitable fate, and there is no escape from it. This is your destiny, so there is no retreat and no surrender. Otherwise, your fate will be hunger, death, homelessness, and torment. You must accept playing your role and never shirk it. Or do you want my prestige to be shaken among the faithful? Or do you want me to become, in their eyes, a mere faded image, an empty, boring entity with nothing to do, utterly useless? No, I love to be seen by them not only as the owner of the heavenly café, but as the most revered of those who love to see me." In the revolution of the heroic warrior who fights evil and triumphs over it, every hero must have an enemy to fight, and no one is better than you, Shaun, to carry out this task and master this role with a well-crafted dramatic twist. You are performing a service of utmost importance to me, Shaun, so do not shirk your duty, for which I only want you, lest my heroic image be tarnished by this task. He ordered him to leave firmly and insistently, so the poor Shaun left, dragging the tails of disappointment, regret, sorrow, and despair, surrendering to the painful and bitter reality, after the owner of the Heavenly Cafe threatened him with hunger, destruction, painful torment, and severe punishment.
"A combination" of easy sin
One of the loyal customers, known as a "professional conman," entered. He drank his coffee, then committed a heinous immoral act behind the café. Seconds later, he entered the café's "confessional room" and began to cry: "Forgive me, café owner, a witch tempted me!"
The café owner laughed from behind the curtain, his laughter harsh and cruel, a booming cacophony accompanied by the clanging of the cashier's (donation box's) voice. "Never mind," he said, "don't worry about such things. On the contrary, they excite me greatly, for they are what make you and other faithful slaves come running to me, fearful, submissive, humiliated, and weeping tears of shame, terror, and regret. This behavior feeds my vanity and nourishes the branches of my narcissism, allowing them to grow and flourish. The important thing is that you still believe my coffee is the best and that I am the king and supreme owner of this celestial and cosmic café. Go and repent, buy a bag of coffee beans from our brand, and I will wipe away your sin with a 'Shamoun' handkerchief!" He laughed loudly.
Shatt on, who had been watching the scene through the keyhole, shouted: "What hypocrisy! This man planned the crime a week ago, and I was sleeping in my office! Why have I become the 'wet wipes' they use to clean up their moral filth?"
The imaginary hero and the necessary enemy
Shatt on whispered to himself, as if thinking aloud, analyzing and concluding: "The owner of the café needs me more than he needs the prophets and messengers he sends out as emissaries from his Yamazawa café to advertise and promote his wares of heavenly, faith-based coffee, to bring customers to his cosmic, heavenly café. Were it not for me, people would be forced to confront their consciences. Were it not for me, the café owner would be forced to hold people accountable seriously. I am the 'necessary enemy' who keeps the business of repentance thriving. Were it not for me, the faithful slaves would face their noses in the mirror of truth, finding themselves face to face with their filth and dead consciences, without patching or deception. And this is what the faithful hate most, those who love to be perpetually intoxicated by falsehood and lies."
One of the rebels who rejected the idea of the cosmic celestial café, its owner, and objected to his actions and ideas, believing he was claiming and saying things he didn't do, and rejecting him completely, responded to Shamoun, saying:
"Exactly, Shamoun. This café owner doesn't care about morals, he cares about 'loyalty'. He prefers a 'whore' who praises him and believes in his existence, to an honorable 'atheist' who has a vigilant conscience but refuses to pay for the 'coffee of illusion'. Sin, in his view, is 'butter and honey' because it makes slaves always kneel for forgiveness."
The trial of "the ram"
At the end of the day, Shatt on stood in the middle of the square and shouted, having reached his breaking point and filled with anger.
Their filth and dirt, which they smeared on his body and face until his stench became unbearable, was a burden of sins he did not commit and crimes he was as innocent of as the wolf was of the blood of Joseph's son. He, the accused innocent and the guilty without guilt, said, "O people! I am a sin without guilt. O believing humans, I am not responsible for your thefts, nor for your hypocrisy, nor for your uncontrollable desires. I am merely a 'brand' invented by the owner of the Heavenly Café in collaboration with the priests to sell you certificates of innocence. I am a cover and a mask that the owner of the Heavenly Café placed for you to hide behind the weakness of your minds!"
But the naive, believing slaves did not hear him. The crowd was very large around the “prayer radio,” and everyone was shouting, directing their plea to the owner of the heavenly, cosmic café, repeating foolishly and naively: “We seek refuge in you from the evil of the accursed devil.” Through this delusion, the believing slaves continued to practice the most heinous vices under the guise of “seeking forgiveness and refuge erases what came before them.”
Conclusion: Upside-Down Coffee
Shatt on returned to his office and turned over his cup of black coffee. He looked at the grounds and said, "Even this blackness they attribute to me, even though they are the ones who cooked it. What a disgrace! The honorable people in this world who do not have 'someone to hide behind and conceal their sins under his skin, then spit on him, these honorable people who do not have a veil to hide behind are the only ones who burn. As for the hypocrites, they have a God who forgives, a cover called Shatt on who endures, and coffee that intoxicates the mind."
One of the rebels at the Heavenly Cafe, who was opposed to its existence and the existence of its owner, threw a rose at Shatt on and said to him: "You are not a devil, my friend, you are the first 'martyr' of reason and perception in the history of illusions."
It's over.
They ask you about the foam
In the alley of the unseen, Sheikh Balsara sat—a man who claimed to possess a "catalog" of the universe. He always had an upside-down coffee cup in front of him, and a scarf of cowrie shells hung from his neck. People would rush to him with existential questions, and he would answer them in his own unique style, a blend of charlatanry and sacred "twisting and turning." It was decided at the Heavenly Coffeehouse to hold a celestial awareness seminar under the auspices of cappuccino foam and the aroma of roasted coffee beans. The Heavenly Coffeehouse was not merely a recreational place where the faithful gathered to sip celestial coffee and roasted beans in a cosmic fire; rather, it was a sacred, cultural, and educational space, possessing its own sanctity, purity, and elevated status. Therefore, by order of the Owner and Master of Cosmic Properties, including the Heavenly Coffeehouse, it was decided to hold a sacred celestial awareness seminar, to be led by Sheikh (Balsara), the sheikh of the holy Heavenly Quarter, who resides in the Quarter of the Heavenly Starry Unseen, the parallel universe. Sheikh Balsara, the sheikh of the quarter, would deliver a celestial awareness lecture to enlighten the faithful servants.
Regarding their sacred heavenly matters, he explained their pure, unseen, heavenly book to them, as some of the faithful had been confused by sacred and pure words and meanings, free from all imperfection and flaw. Therefore, the owner of the café decided to hold a heavenly cultural seminar for explanation, interpretation, and clarification, to be led by the venerable heavenly scholar, Sheikh (Balsara). He would explain to the faithful what was unclear to them, what they found difficult to interpret and analyze, and answer all their questions. The seminar convened, and Sheikh Balsara, the sheikh of the neighborhood, sat at the round heavenly table. The faithful gathered around him, their eagerness and longing overflowing, eager to ask and inquire. A torrent of questions began to pour down like a winter night rain, falling upon Sheikh Balsara, the sheikh of the neighborhood, in a state of bewilderment, wanting to settle in the river or sea of knowledge to quench his thirst and benefit from it. The questions uttered by the faithful poured forth like missiles and fiery projectiles that landed upon Sheikh Balsara, the heavenly sheikh of the neighborhood. The features of bewilderment appeared and were etched upon his face. Sheikh Balsara’s face was like a surreal painting by a bohemian artist, with no defined meanings or ideas. Sheikh Balsara was perplexed as to how to answer and where to begin, being the great scholar entrusted with quenching the thirst for knowledge and extinguishing the thirst of confusion and the flames of questioning with the cool, refreshing waters of science and knowledge that extinguish the fire of confusion, dispersion, and astonishment.
The question is about "essence".
A young man in the prime of his life approached Sheikh Balsara, his eyes shining with intelligence (a trait Sheikh Balsara disliked). Thinking, analysis, explanation, and interpretation are enemies of faith, indeed, they are the worst enemies of faith, because thinking, awareness, and analysis weaken heavenly faith, making it feeble and anemic. Therefore, Sheikh Balsara feared that the great status and value of faith would be lost and collapse because of this reckless, trivial, curious, impulsive, and faithless young man. However, he controlled himself, asked forgiveness from his Lord, and held fast to the calmness and steadfastness of a believer. He suppressed his anger and cleared his throat in preparation for listening to the young man's question, who began by asking: "O our venerable Sheikh, science says that the body is made up of chemistry and electricity, so what is this soul you speak of? How does it work? And where does it go? Science has not proven its existence, and there are no studies or conclusive evidence of its existence. So where is this soul? Is it hidden, or does it wear an invisibility cloak?"
Sheikh Balsara cleared his throat, straightened in his seat, looked up at the sky with a mysterious gaze, then said in a melodious voice:
"And they ask you about the soul? Say, 'The soul is from the owner of the coffee shop... and you have not been given anything but a little coffee grounds!'"
The young man was taken aback and said, "That's not an answer! You didn't tell me what it is; you only told me who possesses it, as if you were telling me, 'Go and ask the branch manager!'" The sheikh replied coldly, "My son, questioning the soul is heresy. It's like the foam on a cappuccino; if you try to grasp it, it spoils, and if you drink it, it evaporates. The important thing is to believe in its existence so that the cup retains its prestige! And so that belief retains its sweetness. My son, know that when you look at an apple on a tree, dream about it, and imagine that you possess it, this is more beautiful and more enjoyable than when the apple falls from the top of the tree and lands in your hands. Then you lose its sweetness, and you’re longing and yearning for it vanish. So it is with the soul, my son. Leave it far away, high above, and imagine it as you wish and as you desire. This will be better for your faith, so that it grows stronger and more resilient. But if you try to understand the essence of the soul, you will lose its sweetness and pleasure, and your belief in it will end, losing its beauty and brilliance. Imagine it, my son, imagine it; this is the best strengthener of faith."
They ask you about the "appointment".
Among the faithful attendees, an old woman came forward, dragging her feet, striving towards Sheikh Balsara to increase her knowledge and benefit from his blessing and grace. She approached him, kissed his hands, and then gave the Sheikh an amount of money (the zakat of knowledge, as he calls it), and said: “They ask you about the Hour, what is its appointed time? When will this torment end and we go to the great feast? When will this Hour come and at what hour do I want to prepare? I am afraid that death will suddenly overtake me. What will you lose if we know? We want to understand what hour it is.”
The sheikh held a large cowrie shell, whispered to it, and then said
"And they ask you about the time? Tell them to find out at the big roastery... It will come to you suddenly, like the coffee boiling over on the fire when you leave it for a second to answer the phone!" The old woman said sadly, "So there's no set time? I sold my gold to reserve a seat at the 'highest cafe'!" The sheikh said as he gathered the money, "Patience, Hajjaj, patience is the 'coffee' that never ends."
They ask you about menstruation.
A confused man entered asking about a trivial matter, and the sheikh replied in the same tone: "And they ask you about the 'coffee grounds' at the bottom of the cup? Say it is harmful, so avoid coffee until it dries up, and when it dries up, read your fortune in it!" The man left, his confusion increasing and his astonishment flowing down his face like sweat pouring down in a scorching sun.
The rebellious "Read," who always objects to the existence of the celestial café and its owner, laughed. (Our rebellious friend, observing the scene from afar to analyze, think, deduce, research, and investigate logical facts with scientific evidence, said loudly: "Guys, do you notice? Every time you ask him about a fact, he turns you into 'the café owner.' He doesn't know anything! He's playing a game of metaphysical guesswork with you. 'And they ask you' is the key to escaping the blatant metaphysical inadequacy in the face of science. He's selling you 'foam,' meaning illusion and mirage. You live your lives running and panting after it, like mercury that no one can grasp. And in the end, it's nothing, all of it is grasping at the wind, while this deceitful charlatan receives gold as the price for the foam of illusion.")
The Great Confrontation
The rebel leader always approached the metaphysics of the heavenly café and its deceitful owner, in the rebel leader's opinion. The rebel approached Sheikh "Balsara" and asked him with biting sarcasm: "And they ask you about yourself, Balsara... Who appointed you as the café owner's representative? And who gave you the right to respond on his behalf when you possess nothing but a 'dirty cup' and a 'deaf shell'?"
The sheikh was confused, but he quickly regained his composure, and said with anger and resentment that appeared on his face and was evident in the tones of his voice, which he sharpened and drew out like a sword from its sheath, saying: "And they ask you about Read? Say he is 'bad coffee beans' that are not suitable for boiling! Do not argue with him so that your dish does not burn!"
Read burst out laughing: "Even when you talk about me, you don't have a satisfactory answer? You're like that strange, disjointed, contradictory, inconsistent, and ambiguous book, full of blatant scientific and historical errors, which lists questions but gives only 'pseudo-answers'. I see you, too, are increasing the ignorance of the ignorant and the stupidity of the believer. This phrase 'And they ask you' that fills your venerated and revered book is the greatest invention of charlatans; it deludes the questioner into thinking his voice is being heard, while the answer is merely a wall with a sign that says: 'No entry for non-employees!'"
the end
The people returned to their homes, repeating "And they ask you" and "Say," just say, and the proof they told him without certainty confirms and without practical certainty is just say, and why not, for the word from between the lips of the holy prophet and owner of the heavenly cosmic café is a contract and stronger than a thousand proofs and scientific certainty. Indeed, the word Say is a certain testimony to the truth of what is said, what has been said, and what will be said. And the faithful gentlemen left the heavenly cosmic café after the end of the seminar feeling a strange comfort, not because they knew the truth, but because the "foam of illusion" was delicious and easy to swallow, while the "bitterness of knowledge" presented by the rebel Read required thought, awareness, logic, and science, and free minds do not fear confrontation.
Then the rebel (Read) took a sip of his special coffee (the coffee of science and logic), feeling triumphant and laughing at the "naive and foolish" people who pay the price for "nothing".
The end
In the world of heavenly coffee, where the Merciful Barista runs a cosmic café filled with cups of illusion, there was a strange rule: if a customer (the husband) threw away his coffee cup (divorced his wife) three times, he was forbidden by a heavenly decree and prohibited from drinking from it again, unless he brought a “temporary barista” or he was one inwardly and outwardly as if he were an eternal husband. This temporary barista would ask him to bring the coffee (enter her), pour it hot (coitus), then if he or she wanted and according to the prior agreement, he would throw away the cup (divorce her) so that the first customer could drink again comfortably as he did in the past, before the barista prohibition in the heavenly café.
In a secluded, far-off corner known as the Sacred Caffeine Analysts' Corner, Abdel-Maqsood used to sit, his eyes darting about, driven by a mixture of longing and desire. He longed to savor the permissible pleasure of cappuccino foam, and he harbored a burning desire for money. Abdel-Maqsood was, as usual, facing financial hardship; his situation was dire, going from bad to worse. He sat sipping his sacred coffee, roasted over a celestial fire, surrounded by his colleagues. It was a sacred profession, its purpose to bring two people together in a permissible way—a profession entirely within the bounds of what is permissible. It was also a profession during the marriage contract. When married life between two people becomes a tangled knot of incomprehensible codes, ending in an irreversible separation, the role of the analysts in the celestial café—a special place reserved for them—comes into play. There, they would discuss matters of their noble profession, their sole aim being the well-being of the two disputing parties. Sacred heavenly decrees, ordained by the celestial owner of the café, forbade them from returning to their former state. However, the owner of the café, a kind, compassionate, and merciful man, would never condone the suffering of those seeking reconciliation. Perhaps both parties desired to reunite, so why should they be deprived of each other? It was imperative to find someone to revive and mend the rift, to set the stagnant waters flowing again. This person must be a noble, selfless, and courageous individual. He must enter into the marriage, benefiting himself and others, thus doubly benefiting. Then, after fulfilling his need, he would return the wife to her former husband, healthy and whole. This is how she could return to him, after undergoing a ritual performed by the celestial mediator chosen by the divorced woman from among the patrons seated in the corner of the celestial mediators. The one chosen by the divorced woman would be the lucky one, the one who would restore her to her former life, making her immediately usable again. The divorced man would then rush to her after the mediator completed his task. This was often prearranged, and those who claimed it was random or... Without hesitation, he is a deceiver because he is the only way for the divorced woman to return to her ex-husband. Thus, Abdel Maqsood was chosen, and this was not the first time. Abdel Maqsood had resorted to this noble sacrifice, making himself a bridge for the divorced woman to cross to return to her ex-husband, who awaited her on the other side. But after Abdel Maqsood consummated the marriage, he would suffer twice: first, he would acquire money to solve his financial crises and escape his poverty, and second, he would spend several nights enjoying permissible pleasure with a heavenly decree issued with the official seal of the Heavenly Coffeehouse and a sacred, legal signature from the owner of the Heavenly Coffeehouse. He was chosen, and he rejoiced greatly. After drinking his Heavenly Coffeehouse, he flew like a bird to his home, drunk and intoxicated with happiness. Then
The paper that Abdel-Maqsood was clutching in his hand, beaming with joy, flew away and landed on the sofa next to him. A strong gust of wind flung the window wide open, and the paper, like an arrow, flung itself down comfortably and stubbornly on the back of the sofa, a meter or two away from him, as if sticking its tongue out at him or provoking him. He, in turn, rose and approached it with foolish persistence and pride, in a commanding gesture as if forbidding it from making any movement, from even thinking of abandoning him or moving away, until it had fulfilled its purpose perfectly. It was no ordinary piece of paper; it was a weapon with which he warded off the evils of time and secured his withering future, a future withered by the days and consumed by the years and the passage of time. This paper was his lucky charm, the talisman that always protected him from the treachery of time, the treachery of friends, and even from his own own treachery. It was the amulet he had crafted for himself with a skill more adept than any charlatan, sorcerer, or magician. Indeed, it was far more powerful than that; it was an amulet of love, companionship, and joy. Far be it from you, dear reader, to think that this is a reprehensible pastime or a deviant love affair. It is not only legitimate but legal, protected by law and sanctioned by religion. Indeed, it is permitted and even encouraged. Without its practice, one might lose faith or, God forbid, violate one's religious law. And I see you, dear reader, asking yourself this question with the eagerness of a child for their favorite toy, the insistence of oneself to possess it. I see you are pressing to know the secret and essence of this paper. But I will let it speak, explain, and roam freely in your mind, back and forth, however it pleases, until you uncover all the details. I may be ashamed to mention some of them, but it is straightforward and bold, fearing no blame in the pursuit of truth, for it is strong, its argument clear, its features evident. Its light shines like the bright morning in the eyes of all who speak, so silence their tongues and guard them. What compels them to fear, or to hesitate, or even to equivocate, when it is the folded paper, protected by the acknowledgment of all, by people, custom, and religion? What is there to fear? Whom do they fear? In addition to facilitating matters for him that he wouldn't have dared or even dreamed of thinking about, not even remotely, on all levels and in all aspects—material, psychological, emotional, and everything else. And why not? A person himself is nothing more than a collection of papers in the eyes of people, the state, official gatherings, government departments, and agencies. Who else defines him and reveals his essence but a small piece of paper, perhaps the size of a palm, yet its impact is significant? Without it, he is unknown, a nobody, dead or deceased, lying on his coffin, completely without proving his existence through the paper. But this paper of ours is something else entirely, a different kind of paper, but it possesses a magic and power that surpasses other papers, even more so. Let it speak for itself and describe its own pain, saying:
After Abdel Maqsood Effendi bent down to carry me from the sofa where I was lying, he quickly and eagerly folded me up and went with all his energy and activity to the bathroom to bathe, shave, polish his twisted mustache, and admire his muscles that stood out from under his suit shirt, which he immediately took off after he went to his room. Then he stood admiring himself in the mirror while he was wearing his underwear. He had taken off his shiny brown shoes and put on his house slippers, and he set off with the lightness of a bird and the agility of a gazelle to the bathroom after he glanced at me from the corner of his eye, as if he were a lover who was going to meet his beloved, whom he was infatuated with, to spend a night of pleasure with her and remind her of his love with eagerness and longing, for fear that she would forget the date. This was after he put me on the desk next to the bed and he went with his joyful steps towards the bathroom door, and I followed him with my eyes. Abdul Maqsood Effendi was one of the finest young men in the Zeinhom neighborhood. He was the eldest of his brothers. His father died, and a few years later, his mother followed him. He took on the responsibility of raising, nurturing, and educating his brothers until they grew up and each became self-reliant, forging their own paths in life. Each became preoccupied with their own affairs, concerns, and problems, except for Abdul Maqsood Effendi, who remained alone in the small apartment his parents had left him, which they called the family apartment. But what troubled me most about this man was that he was a talkative, playful, and reckless man who disregarded life completely. It was as if he was returning a blow that had unexpectedly struck him, leaving him stunned and bewildered. He swore that he would not leave this life until he had returned the blow twofold. Since his brothers had each gone their separate ways, he lived only for himself and nothing else. He defied everything around him, even his poverty and hardship, as if taking revenge on himself for what life had done to him. His only concern was sitting in the café every night to play ten dominoes, throwing dice in front of his rivals from the café gang, as if he were throwing a mine that would explode and crush everyone. Then he would move from throwing dice to playing cards, blowing and exhaling the smoke from the shisha pipe that was passed around among the café group he befriended, especially after he was fired from his job for a mistake he made at work. The manager dismissed him from the job he had never cared about until mistakes and missteps piled up on him. But he didn't regret it much, as his job as a simple archive clerk in a warehouse was a heavy burden, and he always wished that this burden would be lifted from his shoulders so he could catch his breath, which he loathed and was forced into, especially since he only had the old elementary school certificate, which was equivalent to He was in his final year of high school at the time, but he always complained about it and neglected his work, or deliberately neglected it, in order to get fired. This job was never his ambition, nor his goal or purpose. After he devoted himself to playing cards and smoking shisha every night at the café, I followed his every move and memorized it, after I became his friend and close companion, even more than a lover or confidante. Every day, after waking up and having breakfast, he would put on his gray suit and his deep red fez, polish his brown shoes that he cherished, then place the fez on his head, crooked up to his eyebrows. He would peer from under his fez and play with his eyebrows at every woman who came and went, complimenting the beauty of whoever caught his eye while sitting at the café sipping his morning tea. And of course, he wouldn't forget to put me in his pocket after glancing at me with a look of satisfaction, joy, and happiness. He would fold me gently and tenderly, like a mother, then put me in his pocket, for I was a precious piece of paper, nay, I am dearer to him than his mother and father, and he would sacrifice all his family and relatives for me. Then, after finishing his session at the cafe, he would go for a walk and loiter in the streets. He had no source of income after being dismissed from his job except for a meager pension from his father's work as a messenger in one of the government departments. Since he was the only one among his brothers who was unemployed and unmarried, he was the most deserving and entitled to receive the pension. And Abdel Maqsood Effendi would remain loitering, flirting with this one and glaring at that one with fiery looks whose sparks almost penetrated her body and every part of her. And so, it was until lunchtime. Every night he would eat his lunch at the restaurant of Haj Saeed Al-Shawana, which is the most famous restaurant in the Zeinhom neighborhood, until I got tired of his food (tripe, lungs, trotters, and head meat, which he would lavish on himself every day, and the bowl of soup would flow with its contents like a stream of foam over his lips, passing through his shirt, so that a river of this bowl would flow down his huge chest and broad shoulders). Then, a torrent of soup would pour from his lips, so intense was his gluttony. I remember that every time he carried me in his pocket, he would feel for me to make sure I was still there, then take me out and hold me, gazing at me as if he couldn't believe it. The smell of head meat, tripe, and sausage wafting from his fingers, which gripped me tightly, assaulted my senses, as if I might fly away from his grasp. At first, we weren't friends. He complained of his poverty, his need, his loneliness, and his love for flirting with beautiful women and girls. I always seemed to him like a dream, a mirage, unattainable. It was my habit to resist him, to reject him with a coquettishness and feminine charm rarely found in women and girls, because I could never fall into his hands. I existed only between the fingers of the wealthy and rich, and he could never touch my body, nor would I allow him to... My limbs only feel the touch of a great tycoon or a wealthy landowner. I usually only reside in the homes of the rich, in palaces, villas, factories, and shops. You'll also find me flitting about, coming and going in banks, emerging and peeking my head out with pride and arrogance from the pockets and wallets of the wealthy and millionaires. Now, my dear, do you know who I am? I am the golden, always-winning card—for those with a bank balance. I am the check. My first strange and wonderful encounter with Abdel-Maqsood Effendi began when he was walking at night, staggering, drunk after drinking the cheap infusion of "brattish" and "simulants," which he habitually drank every night with his friends during a gathering of fun, luck, and laughter—"a lucky hour that cannot be replaced." He would walk humming the song, "Bring the bottle and sit down, play with me, the fresh bazaar is here, and I like the situation." Although he was always dissatisfied with his circumstances, he consoled himself with songs. The melodies were filled with hope that the days would one day bestow upon him their gifts. As he strolled along, drunk and staggering, he heard weeping and wailing coming from above. He raised his head and looked down at the sound, trying to gather his senses and focus. His gaze fell upon Najia, the daughter of Umm Najia. He was suddenly jolted awake, as if struck by a blow, and stared at her. She stood at the window, weeping and wailing in a trembling voice, weary with sorrow and exhausted by the sobbing, until her voice broke into bitter tears. He stopped immediately and gazed at her, deeply moved by her plight. Najia was the most beautiful girl in the neighborhood, sought after by all, and desired to marry her. She had always refused and resisted, as had her mother, who depended on a large pickle shop left to her by her husband, Najia's father, before his death. The shop provided her and her daughter with a substantial profit. One day, Najia got married, and the news struck the neighborhood youth like a thunderbolt. It was Abu Saree, a fabric merchant and owner of the largest fabric stores in the town, with branches spread across many neighborhoods. Najia married him despite the age difference between them, and despite the fact that he already had a wife and three daughters and longed for a son, especially as his wife grew older. Najia and her mother were planning for her to inherit his wealth, or at least most of it, after she bore him a son. With her charm, beauty, cunning, and feminine wiles, she was capable of making him write half his property in her name at the land registry. However, Abu Saree was extremely jealous of Najia, almost jealous of her clothes. He would go mad if he ever saw her standing at the window, looking out, a glimpse of her supple, soft body peeking out, its curves swaying and moving with delight as she walked, or her chestnut hair cascading gently and submissively. And a gentle touch rested upon her shoulders, enveloping them with the tenderness of a yearning lover and the passion of a lover consumed by the flames of desire. He could barely glimpse the piercing gaze of her eyes, their burning, deadly arrows darting and galloping like an angry mare, here and there, amidst a radiant, white face whose light shone forth, its sun illuminating her entire countenance. Her full, smiling lips, from which a smile descended like drops of healing balm, would revive thirsty hearts and quench their thirst from the wellspring of that smile's balm, until it permeated every heart that beheld her and her face. All of this stirred Abu Saree's anger, igniting the tempestuous winds of jealousy within him, shaking him to his core. He frequently quarreled and fought with her over such matters, with whom she spoke, how many young men she encountered in the street, and which of them dared to flirt with her, knowing she was his wife. For Abu Saree' knew that Najia was the dream girl of every young man, indeed every man in the neighborhood, even the married ones. And Abdul Maqsood Effendi had always dreamt of her. Every time, with every argument, Abu Saree, known for his quick temper and volatile nature, would erupt in anger, his cauldron boiling over. He would utter a divorce oath against Najia, causing her to become furious and flee to her mother's house in the Zeinhom neighborhood. Yet, she knew, and was absolutely certain, that he was deeply attached to her, his heart yearning to see her. She was confident he would return to her again. Each time, she would playfully withdraw, tearfully withdrawing and refusing him with a rejection that seemed almost like a hidden plea. His heart would flutter with joy, and his longing would intensify. He would apologize, begging for forgiveness and offering his loyalty and obedience. Of course, Najia would not agree to return to him unless he wrote a deed of sale, giving her one of his many buildings, a piece of land, or one of his large shops. Only then would she return content, after he assured her, he would never commit such a folly again and would never abandon her. This, of course, would all take place before her legally mandated waiting period (iddah) ended, so Abu Saree wouldn't need to write a new marriage contract. It was profitable for Najia. Each of the three times Abu Saree' divorced her, Najia gained profits and properties to appease him and get her to accept him and return. Thus, her and her mother's plan were proceeding smoothly until disaster struck. Abu Saree' uttered the oath of divorce for the third time, a final and irrevocable divorce according to Islamic law. Anyone who disregards Islamic law is considered foolish, and Najia and her mother will lose this mobile bank and this man whose buildings, properties, and assets have become a heavy burden. For this reason, Najia stood at the window weeping and lamenting her misfortune that had thrown her before a hot-tempered, jealous, and foolish man from whom she could gain nothing but the accumulation of wealth. Najia had not yet completed her plan to seize the man's fortune through buying and selling, or at least half of what he owned, so her plan was thwarted before it could be finished. As soon as Najia spotted Abdul Maqsood Effendi walking unsteadily, swaying and patching his clothes His gaze lingered on her, stealing glances and lingering in contemplation, until an idea flashed through her mind like lightning. She knew much about Abdel Maqsood’s circumstances and the poverty that clung to him like his shadow. She also knew that he had been infatuated with her for a long time and still was. So, she called to him from the window, whispering to him in tones as sweet as musical strings. Abdel Maqsood quickly awoke from his stupor at the most beautiful voice, and his heart swelled with ecstasy and joy when she asked him to come up to the apartment. He flew, carried by his feet faster than a magic carpet, and ascended the stairs with the lightness of a feather until he found himself standing in front of the apartment door. Before he could knock, Najia opened it with a smile and quickly ushered him into the guest room. Najia sat before him with her tearful beauty and all her femininity, and he began to wipe the sweat that was pouring from him and shift his fez back, flustered and unsure of what to say. Sometimes he cleared his throat, sometimes he groaned, while Najia glanced at him with sly eyes, smiling coquettishly and flirtatiously, and said: Excuse me, Mr. Abdel Masoud, it's late.
n No worries, I'm used to it. I always stay up late and come back late at night.
But where is your mother?
- My mother is asleep, you know she's old and it's late, she's probably eating rice with the angels in a deep sleep.
- He clears his throat, staring at her intently, then asks eagerly and curiously: And why are you still awake? And...........
- Before Abdel Maqsood could finish speaking, Najia interrupted him, crying and continuing her sobbing, and told him everything that had happened to her with Abu Saree’ and how he had divorced her with the third divorce, and that she could not return to him again unless…?
- I am ready to provide any service that will satisfy you and put your mind at ease, if I can help.
- -- You can, Mr. Abdel Masoud, you can
- Najia began to cry and told him that it was not permissible for her to return to this husband, with whom she was forced to stay because of her need for money, as well as that of her sick mother who needed an expensive surgery. She said that the only way forward was in the hands of Abdel Maqsood Effendi, which was for him to play the role of the "Muhallil" (a marriage of convenience), and what do you know about the "Muhallil"? He, my friend, is a type of man who is rented out as a husband, either for hours, months, or perhaps years, depending on the circumstances or the husband's mood. If he thinks of divorcing his temporary wife, or the one he knows is his only temporary wife, she will instantly become new, shining, and radiant, as if she were born anew. And her previous relationship with her former husband can be revived, for she has returned to him, by God's grace and favor, as pure and wholesome as the day she was born. All credit goes to the rented husband, or the one who made her permissible and pure for him, and his property again. He, this man, is the scapegoat. He is that unknown soldier who has the real hidden action and the great favor that others do not realize. He is the hero who broke into the arena and extended his generous hand to that wife or that divorced woman to restore her ownership to the husband who divorced her irrevocably. The third divorce is a repentance, but this valiant hero makes her shine again for him and wipes away the dust of years and the effects of the last divorce that stood like an impenetrable dam and a barrier between them. So, this hero steps forward to demolish this wall. How? By marrying a divorced woman, knowing full well that he is sacrificing for her and her ex-husband, he must stipulate in the marriage contract that she is irrevocably divorced, as this is required by Islamic law. Otherwise, the law would be invalidated and its validity would expire, which is impermissible. This self-sacrificing man, fully aware of everything that has transpired with his temporary wife, takes it upon himself to redeem their relationship—her and her ex-husband—with his blood. I mean, by marrying her and enjoying her company, even if only briefly, a permissible pleasure, of course. What a sacrifice! It is an intimate, clinical act of heroism. He must consummate the marriage, and once he does, the law is fulfilled, the desired outcome is achieved, and the valiant hero enters the arena, convincing himself of the sacrifice and the intimate, clinical act of devotion that Islamic law has undoubtedly permitted. She returns as if she were a young girl, as if she were a virgin again, and all that has passed is erased as if nothing ever happened. Here comes the moment of truth, the starting point. The wife must strive, and she has every right, to end this heroic act, thanking this valiant hero for his sacrifice and devotion, and diligently seeking a divorce. He divorces her with ease and simplicity, for he knows his role in advance, and she returns to him as pure and untouched as a virgin girl whenever they both want to. What a spiral plan! And what a tolerant law! It is a symbol of tolerance, cooperation, brotherhood, and affection. What is wrong with a husband sharing his wife, or rather his ex-wife, with another man so that she may return to him again? And how wonderful it would be if the matter were agreed upon beforehand between the two parties or the two men. What a sporting spirit! And so, Abdel Maqsood Effendi understood what Najia was aiming for and the humanitarian service she wanted him to perform for her. He remained silent for a long time after she finished speaking with him, lost in thought and daydreaming. But he promised her that he would consider the matter and that he wouldn't hesitate to help if he could. He left her after greeting her warmly, his fingers brushing hers in a heartfelt handshake that ignited a fire of longing in his chest. He left Najia's house, lost in thought, and went to his modest apartment. He spent the entire night in thought and sleeplessness until his heart yearned for Najia. He remembered the days when his soul longed for her day and night, and that she was the Najia he had always dreamed of. He knew he was among the many men and young men who would have wished for this generous offer, which would not only bring them money but also closeness to Najia, especially since she had promised to shower him with money if he succeeded in his role. This would surely ignite the fire of jealousy in Abu Saree's heart. He wouldn't return to that game again. Initially, after deciding to accept Najia's request, he thought long and hard about not leaving her, about keeping her as his wife forever, and not divorcing her so she wouldn't return to that tyrannical, oppressive teacher, Abu Saree'. But then he became afraid again of Abu Saree's ruthlessness and his men. He was a cruel man with no mercy in his heart, and many had heard horrifying tales of murder, brutality, beatings, and assaults on anyone who stood in his way, challenged him, or took anything he wanted. Because he was a man with close ties to the wealthy and powerful, he always got away with any charge. In fact, he was above the law, and the law didn't apply to people like him. At this point, fear gripped Abd al-Maqsood. He thought that Abu Saree' might kill him or send one of his men to attack him one night as he staggered home, leaving him paralyzed or permanently disabled. He was a man of influence, and he had no power against this man. He knew very well that Abu Saree' only yielded to him. Najia, with her femininity, his love for her, and her charm, was someone he was prepared to spend a great deal on. After much deliberation, he decided that Abdel Maqsood should inform Najia of his agreement to her request, especially since he would receive a large sum of money to withdraw from the bank. This would conquer his poverty and banish this eternal misfortune forever. However, his condition was that, to avoid Abu Saree's wrath, Najia should inform him, through one of his servants, that she had found the solution to his tormented heart. She would relinquish her claim and return to him through a noble, courageous, and self-sacrificing hero who would present her to him on a silver platter and would never covet her for himself. Thus, in Abu Saree's eyes, Abdel Maqsood would appear as the noble, self-sacrificing hero performing this great service and making this noble sacrifice to return his wife to him and allow him to have her again, all according to Islamic law. Abu Saree knew that these were divine commands, and it would be difficult for him to disobey them without committing a forbidden act. But if he found a courageous, brave, and self-sacrificing hero with a sporting spirit and faith-based discipline, he would be ready. And he who truly and rightfully believes will be able to win back his ex-wife, making her his wife again. But if he dares to touch her or marry her, she will never be allowed to go through this temporary marriage, this self-sacrificing union where he must consummate the marriage and have his share of her. His former wife will never be permissible for him again. There is a noble difference and an honorable purpose between the two methods. The first is ordinary and hasty, full of recklessness and folly, while the other is legitimate and lawful. And what do you know of what is lawful? It is a method imbued with a spirit of sportsmanship, a spiritual exercise, and a shared brotherhood and affection between the two men in one woman. What brotherhood! What affection! What a manifestation and purification of the spirit of sacrifice and redemption! These are profound meanings for those who understand them. And thus, the will of the Lord of the Worlds was fulfilled, and Najia stood by the condition set by Abd al-Maqsood Effendi, whose star shone brightly and grew in the eyes of Abu Saree, who promised to shower him with money as well.
- If he had done what he wanted, and the most important condition of Abu Saree', who was insanely jealous of Najia, was that Abdel Maqsood Effendi not touch her and that he spend the agreed-upon time with her in a separate room, and that he would not have accepted this noble trick and great sacrifice were it not for his necessity, and that he had no objection to abandoning some conditions in order to achieve the pillars of the tolerant Sharia, then Abdel Maqsood Effendi would not have disobeyed the order of the teacher Abu Saree'. But Najia, after being alone with Abdel Maqsood, was not pleased with the situation, for Abdel Maqsood Effendi was a young man, muscular, with a strong mustache, broad-chested, brimming with vitality, vigor, and virility, and were it not for his poverty, she would not have married the teacher Abu Saree'. She approached him and did not allow him to enter the room alone to spend the night with her, saying: "Is it reasonable, is it reasonable that you, my husband, sleep away from me? Is this acceptable?"
- He was stumbling, captivated by the scent of Najia, which had both killed his soul and his mind. She stood swaying and seductively before him with unparalleled charm, and he said to her: "But Teacher Abu Saree' asked me to..." Before he could finish, she interrupted him, saying: "Leave Abu Saree' to me. I know how to deal with him. He's like a ring on my finger, and a word from me can change his mood and tip the scales... And how could he possibly know what's between us?" She whispered softly, "What's between us will remain a secret, and no one will know about it, as if nothing happened. All of this will be for the sake of Sharia and religion, and you are a believer. Would you be pleased to disobey Sharia and anger religion and God? Surely His wrath and anger will descend upon you." Abd al-Maqsood quickly leaned in and was reassured by her words, especially since he was a believer. Would it please God if Teacher Abu Saree' were more important than God? Impossible... and his heart yielded to his desire, and he held Najia in his arms, and the dream became a reality in his hands... The assigned task ended peacefully, and Najia returned to Abu Saree' with thanks and appreciation to Abdel Maqsood Effendi, who had obtained me for the first time as the greatest reward he received from Najia and Abu Saree' for performing this noble and humanitarian service for both of them. Abdel Maqsood Effendi gazed at me intently and smelled my scent as if he were inhaling the fragrance of money through the written and illustrated lines on my page. He quickly slipped me into his pocket and began withdrawing me from the bank in the morning. Abdel Maqsood Effendi now had money and began to lavishly spend and entertain his friends. But after a short while, Abdel Maqsood Effendi longed for me, the small piece of paper, and missed me. Your presence beside him and in his pocket gave him motivation and drive, and made life brighter and more creative in his eyes, especially since the money he had acquired was gradually running out, and he had to amass a fortune to protect himself from the evils and treachery of time. So, Abdul Maqsood Effendi thought and thought for a long time about how he could get her back and keep me in his pocket again. How could he protect himself from the fires of his burning longing for me and keep my friendship with him forever? How could he make me his constant companion and his only love throughout his life and never lose me? Finally, Abdul Maqsood Effendi arrived at a brilliant solution, his mind sparking a diabolical idea: how could he uphold the principles of Islamic law and be a truly devout man? Why not establish the law according to its fundamentals, thus being both the benefactor and the beneficiary, especially since his reputation had spread throughout the neighborhood and surrounding areas after he recounted to his friends what had transpired between him, Najia, and her husband, Abu Saree'? They all envied him for the bliss he experienced alongside the houri (Najia), one of the beautiful houris of Paradise. He became the most renowned donor and the greatest sacrifice in this legitimate act of self-sacrifice. He didn't hesitate to offer himself and his services to any woman who found herself in such a predicament and wanted to reclaim her lost husband, or any husband who wanted to recover what he had lost. With the consent of both parties, the lost one would only be found through Abdul Maqsood. Abdul Maqsood deliberately and with premeditation, eagerly offering his noble services, would inquire about the news and circumstances of the people, the neighbors, and the new residents in the neighborhood and surrounding areas, cultivating friendships along the way. And there, most likely, he will find what he seeks, here or there. He will find someone to turn to for help, or someone who knows someone searching for a heroic, self-sacrificing, and noble figure like Abdel Maqsood Effendi. Fate did not disappoint him, nor did time let him down. He quickly achieved his goal and became the most famous self-sacrificing hero, sacrificing his own comfort and happiness to bring joy to others or to fulfill their desires and goals. He does this by making himself a bridge for passersby to cross, so that both parties can reach their destination and achieve their aims. All of this is in accordance with the noble and tolerant Sharia, and everything has its price and its reward. Crossing only happens after he places me in Abdel Maqsood Effendi's pocket, and my stability within his pocket, which he has made into a silken pillow, specially crafted for me to rest upon and lean on. Thus, my stay becomes pleasant and my presence agreeable. I make his pocket my permanent and eternal dwelling, and he will flirt with me whenever he longs to see me as I stretch out coquettishly within its folds. With his own hands, Abdel Maqsood Effendi became wealthy and rich, all thanks to me, his loyal friend. He always had a favorite woman, sold his old apartment in the Zeinhom neighborhood, and bought a large house that displayed signs of luxury and wealth. He also bought himself an elegant car. Things changed, and Abdel Maqsood Effendi began giving money to women in need. If he found one and knew she wanted a decent man to protect her and conceal her shame until she gave birth, and he had heard that he was a noble and honorable man who wouldn't let her down, then he was more deserving of her than anyone else. So, he would take her and marry her until she gave birth, and let the child have any father but Abdel Maqsood Effendi. Then he would release her kindly after she had enjoyed his wealth and privilege for a while. How fortunate is he who benefits and is benefited! In this way, he would protect her from the shame of scandal and make her his wife to serve him, but only for a short time. Abdel Maqsood Effendi would quickly tire of her, give her what he could, and then release her kindly. He was a man who loved beautiful women and wanted to reap the rewards. Who among the garden's flowers is the most beautiful of beauties, and does not confine himself to one like an eternal prison for life, so that he is deprived of the pleasure and delight of life? He will remain thus, wandering like a bird from nest to nest, all within what is permissible, then he releases them with kindness. But he never forgot me, for he always kept me in his pocket as a lucky charm and as a barrier veil that prevents him from the treachery of time. How many beautiful ladies are more beautiful than Najia, and how many wealthy men are in need of the chivalry and sacrifice of Abdel Maqsood, and who are bound by common interests between a man and a woman who want to maintain those interests and deals continuously, a marriage that was lost and evaporated from their hands and they want to retrieve it. And in order to ensure that he would never lose me, he was always the example of the chivalrous, noble, sacrificing man for the sake of making others happy, and I remained resting on his silk pocket that he made for me, embracing it and never leaving it. And I became a regular customer lying on the table in the sacred corner of the Heavenly Coffee analysts, and I spent my life passing from one hand to another performing my noble task that can only be accomplished by the generous, sacrificing person who will be chosen from among the Heavenly Coffee customers.
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