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  It is told — O wise and noble King — that in times long past, in an age wrapped in the veils of wonder, there lived a young prince named Prince Darim. He was noble in form and spirit, gentle-hearted, and gifted with both wisdom and curiosity. Unlike other princes, he longed not only for power, but for stories, truth, and the mysteries of the world. His father, a great and mighty king, ruled over a vast realm. But the king was stern and believed a prince should concern himself only with rule and command, not with roaming among commoners or attending the tales of wandering poets and sages. “Ruling,” he would say, “is the work of kings. Tales are for idle men.” Yet Prince Darim paid little heed. He often slipped away from the palace, donned humble garments, and wandered among the people, listening to their woes, learning their customs, and sitting with storytellers, scholars, and the wise. One day, while walking through a busy market street, he came upon a pitiful sight: a sickly, b...

 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...