Hi, my name is Malek, and I’m 24 years old.

You might look at me now and think I’m a strong guy—standing in front of a pool table, cue stick in hand, steady gaze.

But the truth?

I used to be the kind of person who panicked when someone stared at me for more than a few seconds.

I’m from Egypt.

Born in a small alley in Alexandria, not far from the sea…

But honestly, I never really went there.

My mother was always afraid of the water. She used to say:

"The sea is a traitor, Malek... just like the people who pretend to love you."

I grew up with this strange belief:

That someone who loves you can still leave you,

And a complete stranger can say something that makes you feel like you’re not enough.

And my father?

He was always away.

A trader, always chasing money, chasing opportunity—chasing everything except us.

And me?

I used to sit by the window, watching the world go by,

Feeling like I was stuck in place.

The first time I saw a pool table, I was 13.

A friend took me to this old game hall at the end of the street.

We went in laughing, just to watch.

But when I picked up the cue stick… I felt something strange.

Something like peace.

The calm I had been searching for for years.

I played every day.

Sometimes I told my mom I had lessons, and I’d sneak off to practice for two or three hours.

I wasn’t playing to become a champion,

I was playing to escape.

From people’s voices, from the chaos,

From the terrifying thought that I didn’t even know why I was alive.

After high school, a big crisis hit our family.

My dad lost a huge part of his money.

My mom was drowning in worry.

And in the middle of it all—I decided to leave.

I won’t pretend I was brave or adventurous.

I was just suffocating.

And when you can’t breathe, you start doing strange things.

I flew to Germany.

Just me, a bag of clothes, 200 euros,

And a few sentences I could barely remember in German.

I slept the first two weeks in a tiny room above a car workshop.

Then I got a job at a small café.

Washed dishes.

Messed up the language a lot.

Got yelled at by people who didn’t even know how to explain what I did wrong.

But time passed.

I started to understand the people, the country…

And I went back to playing pool.

Entered a small tournament—and won.

Then a bigger one…

And today—I’m here, at an international championship.

People are clapping for me.

But right now, none of that really matters.

You know what does?

After every match, when I walk alone down the street,

I feel like something’s missing.

Someone to walk beside me.

Someone to hug me when I win.

Someone to call my name in a way that makes my heart soar.

I’m not looking for a movie love story.

I just want one person.

Someone whose eyes make me feel like I’ve finally arrived.

---

Most nights after practice,

I leave the hall and sit on the curb in front of my favorite café.

Order a Turkish coffee.

Listen to Fairuz on my headphones.

Everyone around me speaks in foreign tongues.

And me?

I wait.

Maybe one day, a girl will walk by, hear the music, and ask:

"Are you Arab?"

Maybe…

Maybe it’ll be her.

The one whose very presence makes my heart whisper:

"Malek, don’t let her go."

The first time I truly felt alone?

When my mom cried—and I had no idea how to comfort her.

She sat on the edge of the bed,

Staring at the floor like she’d lost something.

But really, it was a piece of her heart that had fallen.

My dad had left again, without saying when he’d come back.

I was 16.

That night, I looked into the mirror and said:

"Malek, from now on… you’re the man of the house."

But no one ever tells you what the man’s supposed to do when he needs a hug.

I grew older, my body grew stronger…

But inside?

I was still that little boy, hiding behind the bedroom door when he heard screaming.

Still the kid who tensed up at the word “loss.”

Still the one who lit up from the smallest gesture—

Like when my mom used to hug me out of nowhere and say:

"You’re a blessing, Malek—even if the whole world walks away."

But I walked away.

From her.

From the window where I used to watch the world.

From the sound of the sea.

From the smell of fresh laundry in the morning.

From everything I thought I didn’t need…

And I realized—that was my real home.

In exile,

Your voice gets quieter.

But your heart screams louder.

You ever wake up in the morning, and you don’t even know where you are?

Not because you forgot the place—

But because no one calls your name,

No smell of breakfast,

No knock on the door saying:

"Malek, wake up."

Every morning in Germany, the first thing I did was play an old recording of my mom on my phone:

"Malek, don’t forget your jacket—it’s going to get cold later."

Funny, right?

I’m 24 years old, and I still listen to my mother’s voice before I step outside.

I play pool, but inside… there’s noise.

Every point I win, I feel like I’m losing something.

Maybe because I’m playing alone.

Every time I win—there’s no hug.

No one running toward me saying: “I’m proud of you.”

I’m tired of achievements no one shares.

Of Instagram pictures full of likes,

But no eyes that look at me with real love.

One day, after practice,

I passed by a small café,

And sat at my usual corner seat.

Same table, same coffee.

But that day…

I was exhausted.

Not from the game, or from work,

But from loneliness.

Not the kind where there’s no one around—

But the kind where you’re surrounded by people,

And still… no one really sees you.

I’ve met a lot of people.

Beautiful girls.

Nice conversations, laughter, stares…

But I never felt safe.

Never felt like I could fully let go.

I’m looking for someone who, when she looks at me—I feel seen.

Not my clothes, not my looks.

Me.

All of me:

My fears, my doubts, the child inside.

I want someone who sits beside me after practice at the pool table,

Laughs while imitating me,

And says:

"Malek, you think too much… come here."

And I hug her like she’s home.

Not a hug of desire.

Not a moment that fades.

A hug that reminds me why I live,

why I fought,

why I’m still trying.

I love love.

From afar.

In songs, in films, in my small dreams.

But maybe… maybe the next few days will change everything.

Maybe…

Maybe she’ll pass by.

Maybe she’ll look at me.

Maybe she’ll ask: “Are you Arab?”

And I’ll say: “Yeah, Egyptian.”

And she’ll smile…

And in that moment,

I’ll know I’ve finally—arrived.

Hi, I’m Jana, 22 years old.

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

That everything’s okay.

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

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

Like my heart is a building with only one tenant,

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

I’m Arab, but I was raised abroad.

My parents moved when I was six.

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

But the truth?

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

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

But I forgot how to talk about myself.

---

I started playing tennis at the age of nine.

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

And I listened to him—

not because of the sport,

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

A look I spent years searching for afterward.

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

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

and finding he wasn’t there.

Mom?

She’d ask, “Did you win?”

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

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

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

---

At 17, I entered my first small international tournament.

I was terrified.

Not because of the competition,

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

and no heart was holding mine.

But I won.

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

And when people ask me what I think about love,

I always say:

"It’s not a priority right now."

But the truth?

I want to fall in love.

I want someone to truly love me.

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

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

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

Someone who feels me even when I’m silent—

and hugs me without me having to ask.

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

And me?

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

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

---

A week ago, my friend Lina called and said:

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

I laughed and said,

"You mean watch people push balls around?"

She laughed…

But for some reason, I agreed.

What I didn’t know was that day,

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

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

But there was something in his eyes—

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

And I heard his voice,

speaking Arabic softly, with a light Egyptian accent.

I didn’t know him.

But my heart…

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

---

The match ended.

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

I knew it didn’t make sense,

but I wasn’t looking for logic.

I was searching for a feeling.

And he…

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

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

I stood up and walked slowly.

But every step pulled me back.

It felt like my heart was still sitting there—

in the place where he had been.

All my life, I’ve been an observer.

I notice the small details people often miss.

Like the old scar on his hand,

as if he’d fallen long ago…

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

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

but when he did, it was real.

Like it came from deep inside.

I walked away…

But my mind didn’t want to.

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

or tomorrow’s training,

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

I was thinking about him.

I told myself:

"Are you crazy? He’s a stranger!"

But my heart replied:

"He’s not a stranger… He was real."

---

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

I had practice, but I couldn’t focus.

My tennis shots came out like any normal day,

but the fire… it wasn’t there.

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

My coach asked,

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

I smiled and said,

"I’m just a little tired."

But the truth?

I was far away.

I didn’t know his name,

not even his country for sure…

But the way he stood,

the calm that surrounded him,

the look in his eyes…

They made me want to know him.

I’ve always run from love.

Afraid to melt into someone—

and find myself melting alone.

But this time, it’s different.

There’s no rush…

Just a soft, warm, quiet curiosity.

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

I need a man.

A man who feels me when I’m silent.

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

---

I spent the whole day lost in thought.

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

She said, “Three more days. Why?”

I said,

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

She laughed and said,

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

But I hadn’t left.

I was entering a new one.

A world with his eyes,

his silence,

and… possibility.

---

I got home, opened my laptop,

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

I scrolled through the photos.

Someone else might’ve called me obsessed.

But me?

I was searching for hope.

And after a while…

I found him.

Name: Malek Hassan

Nationality: Egyptian

Age: 24

Height: 181 cm

Nickname: “The Quiet Eye”

I laughed…

“The Quiet Eye.”

Yeah… his eyes were truly different.

I kept staring at his picture.

And I felt my heart whisper something—

not “Love him,”

not “Talk to him,”

but:

“You’ll meet again… be ready.”

In the chaos of championships, between the pressure to win and the fear of losing,

Malek and Jana’s souls moved along parallel lines not yet touching, but getting closer… moment by moment.

---

Malek

Today was tough.

A tournament isn’t just a game , it's a mental war.

I stood in front of the table, cue in hand, eyes fixed on the white ball,

but my heart was exploding with tension.

Then I looked at the crowd… and saw her silhouette.

A smile came to my mind her silence was playing a soothing melody.

I didn’t know her,

but I felt something strange like she was present without being there.

You know that feeling?

Like a breeze brushing your skin you feel it, but you can’t see it.

The match ended, and I felt a new energy inside me.

Maybe that was our first encounter.

No words, no eye contact but her presence made the whole atmosphere lighter.

---

Jana

I had the most important tennis match of my career.

My heart was racing, my head filled with thoughts,

but my feet moved with a steady rhythm.

In the middle of the practice, I looked up and saw a silhouette in the back rows.

A guy in a black jacket, standing calmly,

watching the match with intense focus.

I’d seen him before,

and I felt something different about him.

I can’t describe the strange feeling that passed through me.

It wasn’t words or a long gaze but there was a presence.

After the match, I looked again but he was gone.

Like a dream,

a small moment lost in a vast ocean.

---

Malek

I was training with my friend when I got a message from Lina:

"Jana’s here, watching the match."

My heart sank.

Not because I knew her,

but because her name was beautiful… and in Arabic.

I started imagining her face, her smile, her voice.

In my mind, I began to draw her.

---

Jana

I returned to my room after the match,

trying to calm myself down.

But my heart kept repeating one word: Malek.

Why?

Why did that name echo in my mind like that?

I know I’m not alone…

and I won’t be alone.

Maybe this is the hope I’ve been searching for.

---

Malek

You and I both know the path isn’t easy.

But when you look around, you see shadows starting to meet,

even if they don’t know each other yet.

And sometimes,

a heart begins its journey in a moment of silence.

Today’s match wasn’t easy.

The opponent was strong and skilled.

The pressure didn’t just come from the audience it came from my own inner battles.

But I stood in front of the table and told myself:

"Malek, this time, it’s your turn."

I focused on every movement, every shot, every inch.

But in the middle of it all, something else was in my mind…

There was a shadow in the crowd sitting quietly in a corner, almost hidden.

My eyes kept drifting toward her between the balls and the motion,

and my heart was watching from afar.

I don’t know why,

or who she is,

but there was something comforting in her presence.

The match ended. I won—barely—

and stepped outside for some air.

The cold wind hit my face as I tried to calm down.

And I saw her again…standing near the entrance of the hall,

her eyes sparkling under the streetlights.

But we didn’t speak.

Still, I felt like we had met before maybe in a dream,

maybe in some unexplored part of my heart.

---

Jana

This match was harder than any before.

The competition wasn’t just on the court it was in my head.

I was trying to focus,

but my thoughts wouldn’t let go.

Then, among the crowd,

I saw someone standing calmly,

watching the match as if he was seeing something deeper than the game.

The stillness around him made my heart pause.

After the match, while walking past the coaches,

I felt a look still trying to say something to me.

But I didn’t know what to say,

or even where to begin.

I went back to the hotel, opened my laptop,

and started searching his name, his photos, anything.

I wanted to understand more.

But it was like there was a wall around him.

---

Malek

After the match, I found myself walking through the city streets,

trying to process what had just happened.

I always told myself,

"Malek, this isn’t the time to talk. It’s time to play."

But her presence made me think about something else something called “connection.”

I tried to recall her voice,

her laugh,

or even the color of her eyes…

But all that remained was a blurry image in my mind.

And then suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned quickly but no one was there.

Yet my heart was still racing as if I was seeing her everywhere.

---

Jana

Every day, I found myself thinking about him more.

I started following the tournaments he was in,

listening to his interviews,

watching his movements.

It was something new for me to be this drawn to someone I didn’t even know.

One night, before my next big match,

I sat alone in my room,

scrolling through photos of him and other players.

I felt a knot in my chest…and asked myself: “Is this how it begins?”

Could he be the one

my heart has been searching for all along?

---

Malek

The preparations for the big match were taking over my days.

I felt a heaviness in my legs,

a coldness in my chest,

But I had to be ready.

The night before the match, I sat alone in the hall, staring at the table—feeling a strange ache.

Suddenly, I felt someone standing by the door.

I turned no one was there.

Maybe it was just my imagination.

Maybe it was just hope.

But believe me, my friend…Hearts searching for each other always find unexpected ways to meet.