Noor Al Lahjiya

Yemeni mp

Ahmed Saif Hashed

In my first year at the Faculty of Law, Noor Al Lahjiya was the most beautiful and astonishing of us all. She came from the governorate of Lahj — and I had never imagined that Lahj could hold such overwhelming beauty, such evident enchantment that fills its surroundings and overflows. Her beauty stole minds and hearts alike, stripping us of every weapon of resistance; we came to her willingly, humbled and subdued.

What is this weakness that has taken hold of me, seizing everything within me, O God? A beauty I cannot resist — a beauty that reveals only my fragility, so delicate that even the gentlest breeze could topple me into ruins.

I stole glances at Noor Al Lahjiya like a thief, my heart trembling. I despise the deeds of thieves, O God — so why have You turned me into a trembling thief? Her beauty was so excessive that it made me fearful and infatuated. And I — who always raged against cowardice — suddenly found myself enslaved, bound by my adoration. I was bewitched by her and had become her possession. She was my lady, and she held the final word. Would she accept my servitude forever?

I have loved freedom to the point of death, yet this overpowering beauty enslaved me. It exercised its tyranny until I was reduced to a trembling captive. I had always borne the mark of denial, but in the presence of such beauty I yielded — confessing that her loveliness was God’s irrefutable proof of His presence on earth, a sign so powerful it made my heart quake.

Every morning I began my day with her image in mind. I placed my hope in her arrival and lived on renewed optimism. I would wait for hours, seeking a fleeting moment in a world heavy with watchful eyes — to steal a glance that burned with longing like fire. Every eye looked at her boldly, but my shy gaze lingered for hours, hoping for a single glance, stolen in the blink of an eye, hidden from those vigilant stares. Yet it always felt as though all eyes were watching, thwarting my furtive attempts, exposing them as failures.

My weary eyes longed for a lapse, a chance to approach the realm I sought. I was a lover, not a devil cast away. I wanted to draw near, to steal a look or hear a word in the brief negligence of heaven’s sentinels. I sought inspiration, knowledge, and the great secret. I tried to pierce the wall of fear and vigilance, to steal a secret from the higher heavens — practicing the sacred art of love.

* * *

In that first year, I sat in the front row of the lecture hall, while she often sat at the very back — a place I always regarded with suspicion. I felt embarrassed to sit there, ashamed to push my way among the many who flocked to her. My shyness prevented me from seeming impulsive or adolescent, like some reckless boy.

When the professor posed a question and a student from the back answered, I seized the chance eagerly, pretending to be interested in the response. In truth, I was only stealing a glance at Noor Al Lahjiya. I craned my neck until it cracked, turning my head like a snail to catch a glimpse of her — stealing glances in hurried secrecy. How much of a lover, a thief, and a coward I had become, O Lord!

I was always on guard, fearful that prying eyes would catch me in the act, releasing arrows of desire while she sat absorbed with her companions, unconcerned with the professor or his lectures. She was detached from lessons and their meanings. In the hall, she resembled a traveler in search of astonishment and wonder. Outside the lecture room, admirers orbited her as though around a Kaaba or a goddess. They surrendered and believed, while I alone practiced my devotion in secrecy.

My extreme caution made me resemble a soldier tiptoeing through a minefield. All I longed for was a single glance at the beauty God Himself had crafted and placed upon the face of Noor Al Lahjiya — a glance full of hidden passion, its secrecy marked with the blush of shame.

Then suddenly, she vanished. I do not know where — or to where. Her disappearance felt like an ascension. She was gone without a word, without farewell, without a trace. She no longer came in the mornings as before. Noor Al Lahjiya had left the college forever, and I never knew the reason why.

She was pure astonishment — “Noor upon Noor, and fire.” A spark of mystery and revelation, a miracle that only the Most Merciful could bestow.

* * *