It was late evening at the cultural center, and the soft hum of conversation filled the air. Omar was leaning against a display of architectural models, his hand brushing over the intricate carvings of a mosque he had designed. Across the room, she was examining a scale model of a cathedral, her fingers tracing the arches with reverence.

He hadn’t meant to approach her. It felt dangerous, even reckless. Yet, before he knew it, he was standing beside her.

“You like this one?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.

She glanced at him, startled at first, but her lips curved into a gentle smile. “It’s beautiful.”

Every instinct told him to walk away, to avoid what this moment could become. Yet, as she turned to face him fully, her eyes filled with curiosity and kindness, he felt something break within him—a longing he had fought to suppress.

“This is… forbidden for me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Her expression softened. “Love?”

Omar swallowed hard. “Not just love. You.”

She didn’t respond right away, her fingers brushing over the edge of the cathedral model. “Sometimes what feels forbidden is what we need most.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken. Omar clenched his fists at his sides, torn between duty and the undeniable pull toward her. “You don’t understand,” he finally said, his voice filled with quiet anguish.

“Then help me understand,” she whispered, her gaze unwavering.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade—the hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, the weight of expectation. It was just the two of them, standing on the edge of something neither dared to name.