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 Once upon a time in a distant coastal city, there lived a poor fisherman who had a strict routine: each day he would cast his net into the sea exactly four times—no more and no less. His catches were meager, but he accepted his lot with gratitude. One morning, he set out earlier than usual. At his first and second casts, he hauled in nothing but mud and seaweed. The third haul yielded only old bones and broken shells. Resigned, he prayed quietly for mercy, then made his fourth and final cast. This time the net felt unbearably heavy. He grinned, certain he had finally caught a plentiful harvest. But when he drew the net aboard, he found not fish but a copper jar sealed with a lead seal bearing the signet of the prophet Solomon. Puzzled, he examined the jar—it was strangely light. Curious, he pried open the seal. At once a great cloud of black smoke gushed forth, filling the sky. From the smoke took form a towering jinni, broad-chested and fearsome to behold. The jinni’s voice boome...

 A Tale from the Misty Kingdoms — Long ago, in a distant kingdom nestled between snowy mountains and fog-laced forests, there lay a town called Ilona, famous for its ancient castles and luminous music festivals. The people of Ilona passed down a legendary love story from generation to generation — the story of Tindor, a noble knight, and Remy, a girl with a voice like morning light. Tindor was born into a noble family and trained to be among the king’s elite guards. Though strong and valiant, his heart belonged not to war but to poetry and starlight. He dreamed of peace, not glory — of quiet meadows rather than the clash of steel. Remy, on the other hand, was an orphan who lived in a humble cottage on the edge of the woods. She sang to children, told stories to the wind, and possessed a beauty so gentle it seemed woven from moonlight. Her voice was said to make the trees sigh and the rivers pause. One evening, during the grand Festival of Lights, their eyes met for the first time. ...

Fifteen years had passed since my marriage to Nuha, and we hadn't been blessed with a child. We tried every possible means: medications, therapy sessions, prayers in the dead of night, doctors from home and abroad… but all doors remained closed. One autumn evening, as we sat on the balcony contemplating the silence of the night, Nuha said to me in a sad tone: "Abbad… have you ever thought about adoption?" I looked at her, a mixture of fear and hope in my heart: "Adoption? Do you mean taking a child from an orphanage?" She nodded calmly: "Perhaps this child is our destiny… and perhaps he is the long-awaited joy."After a heavy silence, I said: "If it will make us feel like a family… then let's try." Days later, we visited an old orphanage in a popular neighborhood in Cairo. The gate was made of rusty iron, and the sign was barely legible. We were greeted by a middle-aged employee named "Professor Jalal," who looked tired and burde...

 In a distant time, there lived a wealthy merchant who had three daughters, the youngest of whom was the most beautiful, and her name was Beauty. She wasn’t just lovely in appearance, but kind at heart, fond of books, and found true joy in reading. Unlike her two sisters who were arrogant and greedy, Beauty was humble and content with little. One day, the merchant suddenly lost all his fortune at sea and was forced to move with his daughters to the countryside, living a simple life. Beauty accepted it with grace, while her sisters could not stop complaining and weeping over their lost luxuries. One morning, the father received word that one of his ships might have survived the storm. Hope returned to his heart, and before leaving for the port, he asked his daughters what gifts they wanted. The elder daughters asked for dresses and jewels. But Beauty, with her gentle voice, said, “Please bring me a single red rose, Father—I miss the flowers.” The merchant went to the city, but soon ...

 The village of Silent Valley lay curled between two dark hills, as if hiding from time. Mist clung to the rooftops like secrets left unsaid. The wind there did not howl—it whispered, carried rumors like leaves, and shivered the bones of anyone who dared listen too closely. In the lowest corner of this forgotten place lived Salim, a boy of the earth. He wore the same patched tunic every day, his bare feet calloused from stone and frost. His home was a crumbling hut, his only inheritance a reed flute and a name no one remembered. But his eyes burned with something the rich could never buy: wonder. He first saw Laila on the balcony of the stone manor during the Harvest Festival. She stood surrounded by silk and servants, her face lit by lanternlight and boredom. Her dress shimmered like water under the moon. Her gaze wandered over the crowd until it paused—on him. Their eyes locked. He looked away, ashamed. She smiled. That night, he wandered back to the manor walls. To his disbelief...

 Malek was no ordinary young man. Ever since childhood, he had been drawn to silence—to the shadows between things, to the rustling of leaves at dusk. It was in the ancient village of “Ain al-Sukoon,” where stories of jinn were whispered like prayer, that his fate began to unravel. One night, while drawing water from the village's cursed well, Malek saw her. She was radiant—more light than flesh. Her eyes shimmered with stars. > “Why do you look at me like that?” she asked, her voice like a breeze through reeds. > “Because I’ve dreamed of you,” he whispered. Her name was Rihaneh. And she was not of his world. Night after night, Malek returned to the well. They talked of music, of stars, of the loneliness that clung to both their souls. But the more he loved her, the more the veil between their worlds thinned. Rihaneh revealed the truth: she was a guardian of the threshold between the jinn and human worlds. And their love was a violation of ancient law. > “If we continue, b...