The truth is, I was excited to meet that foreigner with curly hair and a particular curiosity. He seemed very intelligent; however, I didn't understand why he was so eager to search for a book that didn't exist.

What if that merchant's story was true? If he had really bought it, he must have destroyed it with his own hands. Any child of this land knew that magic was forbidden; for us, it's a scam, a lie.

Taking advantage of the fact that no one was in the library so we could close before lunchtime, I went down to the basement and stopped in front of the painting of the founder, Fatima. She ordered this library to be built so that knowledge would reach all the inhabitants of our country free of charge. From then on, she left clear instructions so that the books wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. What if Alfonso had come with bad intentions?

My grandfather told me that access to the "Four Keys" library was guarded by four different people, each one guarding a key. After peace came, there was no more looting, and it was no longer necessary to continue such a measure. From then on, security was passed on to us, the direct descendants of Fátima.

I remembered the day I was awarded the title of Librarian; it was the highest honor for our family. That day, I received the four keys and swore to protect them until the day I died.

I memorized the numbers with effort and entered the combination that only remained in my mind: the safe opened, and the key rested on a red velvet cushion. I had never held it in my hands again.

I walked to the door that housed the family's most valuable and ancient treasures: those not available to the public and to which I had never had access.

When it opened, the wood creaked; in front of me lay the family's vast collection. I opened the index book resting on a wooden pedestal in the middle of the room overflowing with books of every size and color, and read the lists.

"So many wonders are at my fingertips!" I whispered.

I hurried to examine them more closely; their appearance was very different from the books on the upper floor. Some were even enclosed in glass cases, secured with padlocks.

"Why so many security measures? What information do their pages contain?" Questions I'd never asked myself before arose one after another, and curiosity took hold of me.

The diversity of languages ​​in which the writings were presented made my task difficult: Semitic, liturgical, Akkadian, cuneiform: it would take me a long time to translate at least a few prayers. In another section, tablets, leather scrolls, papyrus scrolls, and grimoires.

The cathedral bells brought me out of my cultural ecstasy, and I locked the area, leaving everything as it was. I placed the key in the safe, locked it tightly, and went upstairs as if nothing had happened.

I became obsessed with the idea of ​​finding some secret in those underground treasures: I checked the inventory in the system, and no related information was stored in any file.

Using filters, I searched for words like magic, healing, spells, but the result was always the same: zero results related to the term.

If this guy was a historian and had come here following a lead, he must have been right. At that moment, I remembered the incident from that morning: a thief, what could he take from me? I had nothing of value, unless... Could it be that someone else was interested in the information stored in the safe?

I looked at my watch, and it was almost five in the afternoon. I started organizing the closing. I displayed the closure notice on the screens, and users began to file out silently.

I caught myself fixing my hair in front of the mirror. I wanted to look more put-together, so I applied some lip gloss. I looked at myself from several angles; I didn't have time to change, so I put on a vest that I left hanging on the back of the door, improving my overall appearance. It wasn't a date, but I wanted to please her.

I walked slowly so I wouldn't sweat, and along the way, I noticed certain details about my appearance: I looked at my feet, then at my hands. I touched my earlobes, and I didn't have any earrings. Let's just say I didn't look good, so as not to go into embarrassing details. The only thing going for me was that it was getting dark, and the orange lights from the lanterns would camouflage my carelessness.

As I approached the meeting point, I felt like straying. I'd suddenly lost that desire. I didn't know what came over me; I felt insecure, or perhaps compromised. A bad taste in my mouth followed a thought: he wants to use me, that's all. He'd invited me only to convince me to help him find what he's looking for. So, let him wait because I'm not an object. I'm not going to let him come and "woo" the librarian to get the book; it was too obvious and I was too stupid.

My anger didn't let me think of anything else. I arrived home hating him, threw everything away, and got into the tub. I scrubbed my body and washed my hair vigorously, but Alfonso was still in my head.

Where was he staying? I wondered. Suddenly, I was in a room; a hotel was much more expensive for a six-month stay.

The minutes passed, and as I looked out the window, I saw the sunset, while I scolded myself for being so childish. He should have been alone there, after being so kind to me when I was in trouble, all because of that mind that kept imagining things. Maybe he didn't mean any harm. I ran downstairs, hoping to get there before sunset. My damp hair whipped around in the air, and I arrived at the obelisk, tired, sweaty, and disheveled. But I was smiling because his long, slanting shadow was reflected in the street and welcomed me.

The central plaza was crowded, people enjoying the sunset, listening to traditional music and drinking mint tea that perfumed the surrounding terraces. As the sky turned warm, I found myself observing his clothing: beige Bermuda shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, brown leather shoes, and a square jaw that made him look very manly. He hadn't noticed my arrival, and that gave me the time I needed to calm my heartbeat.

He turned as if he'd sensed my presence, and several inches below, he saw me. His eyes glazed over, and a big smile lit up his face.

"Fatima! I was getting sad. I thought you weren't coming," he explained, ecstatic. "Look at this wonder," he said, pointing to the sky.

"I was about to not come, but then something moved me, and I wanted to give myself the opportunity to meet you."

"Thank you so much. I don't have any friends in the city, and I'm really looking forward to talking to you."

He seemed so honest that I felt guilty for all the garbage I'd stuffed into my head.

"I don't have any friends either. My life revolves around the house and the library. Now that you mention it, I need to talk too. I hadn't realized that most of my conversations are in my head and the conflicts I'd create in my head," I added. "I almost missed out on all of this by listening to my fears."

"I appreciate you being honest with me. I promise to open my heart to you. You can ask whatever you want from now on." He extended his hand, shaking mine to seal the deal. "Let's go for a walk and eat something delicious. I want you to choose the place, okay?"

"Okay, how many days have you been here?"

"Today is the second day, what does that have to do with it?"

"Because I was wondering where you're staying. If you're going to be going to the library often, you should stay close."

"My father booked me a hotel, I'm not complaining, it's a beautiful place. It's called the Royal, it's so big I get lost, and as soon as they see me arrive, they escort me to my riad."

"Your father must have a lot of money because it's the best hotel in the country: pure luxury."

"My family's motto is discretion and simplicity, but since this is my first solo trip, safety was key when choosing."

"Even though you're a foreigner, your physique is similar to the locals. I don't think you'll have any trouble blending in with us."

"My skin color and this unruly hair are inherited from my mother; she's African, and my father is European."

I stared at him while he spoke to me and smiled as I compared the color of his eyes to that of the ripe dates I loved so much.

"Dual race, that's special. I, on the other hand, am an Arab, a believer. My family doesn't accept foreigners for marriage."

"Are you engaged?" "I don't want any trouble." A smile crowned his comment, which seemed more like an attempt at a man-woman rapprochement.

"Times have changed. Now we can choose. Arranged marriages aren't common anymore, at least not among the common people. That's for the millionaires."

Alfonso went ahead of me and crossed onto a street marked with a hexagon. I didn't say anything and kept up with him.

The fluid conversation led us to approach each other, to listen better and because it was a sign of comfort.

"Why are you laughing? I can tell you're naughty. Is something wrong?"

"I think you're lost."

Alfonso looked around the alley and wasn't convinced.

"I thought there was a terrace where we could have tea on this street. Maybe I'm confused."

"The street has no exit; it's a dead end."

"Did you know that from the start?" His eyes looked at me until I felt uncomfortable.

"I want you to learn for yourself. The city streets are labyrinths for tourists. That's why it's best if I get you a place to stay with the locals. You'll learn to navigate more easily and integrate more easily."

We sat down to drink tea on the terrace, which witnessed some confessions.

"I'll be blunt: how can someone as educated as you believe in magic?"

I took a sip of mint tea to take the pressure off my face.

"I'll answer you with another question: How will I handle students' questions if I don't know the subject?"

"Are you a professor?"

"I graduated with a degree in history with the idea of ​​teaching at a university in my country. My father suggested I prepare myself well first and get a Master's degree in London. The options didn't appeal to me until this one appeared: a Master's in Magic and the Occult. That day I found my passion. I research the subject day and night. That's the real reason for coming here."

"Magic doesn't exist."

"I think the same, but as a historian, I have to know everything about it. How do you explain that magic has always been part of human stories? Our encounter was magical."

I blushed at the way he concluded his comment.

"The experience was magical, but it wasn't the result of a ritual or spell; it was merely fate."

"We're understanding each other, Fatima, that's what I mean."

"So, what good will it do you to find a book that talks about magic if you see it every day, at every sunrise, in the birds' song? That magic we're talking about is part of everyday life."

"Because that book exists, and the magic it contains is what they've tried to imitate without success. It doesn't tell you how to do magic; the book itself is magical."

"I'm sure it doesn't exist. I think it's best if you stop wasting your time and go home."

"Please don't be mad at me."

"It's just that I've wasted hours looking in the library, and it's not here. I swear. I don't want you to get your hopes up and waste your time. Follow a new lead."

"Let's drop the subject because I think it creates a conflict between your beliefs and mine."

I was getting discouraged, that was the truth, and rather than get my hopes up with a foreigner, I preferred to cut off communication. He'd probably leave at any moment anyway.

Weeks passed since that first meeting. I'd gotten used to running downstairs every morning when I heard his whistle. We walked to the library together. He seemed like just another employee: he had a strict routine, checking each book list and, assuming the book had been registered under another name, reviewing them one by one.

"I have three months left and I haven't found anything. I don't think I can finish my homework in such a short time. The truth is, I don't know what the grimoire looks like."

"And how are you going to pay your bills if the money your father gave you runs out?"

"It's never going to happen. My father has too much money. The problem is something else..."

"Then stay. I don't want you to leave," the comment came out unfiltered, and I felt instantly committed. "You have no reason to come back."

"...the Master's program registrations. If I don't start on time, I'll have to wait another semester."

My face said it all, and he smiled.

"If the three-month deadline passes, I promise to give you access to the other area. Of course, no one must find out. I hope it won't be necessary because I don't want any trouble."

I was already giving in more than I had planned; this boy meant something special to me.

"You're giving me your trust, and I value that. I promise to take you to see my homeland, as soon as I finish what I came here to do."

"And if you don't find him, or he doesn't exist, which amounts to the same thing, what's your plan?"

"I must return with my hands full, not empty; I must find some other treasure."

Another of his hints that softened my soul.

"Can I give you a kiss?" Fatima.

"I didn't say anything; saying yes would have gone against my morals, and saying no, against my wishes."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful," Alfonso added.

My nerves gave me away; I leaned back and tripped over my pencil. He bent down first and put it back in its place.

"Thank you," I whispered, and before he could finish speaking, I felt his lips on mine, a superficial kiss, a first contact that sealed the beginning of our relationship.

"Did you feel anything special?" he commented sweetly, stroking my hair.

Again, I remained silent. I felt everything, I wanted to scream.

Alfonso was discreet in leaving me in private for a while, and I immediately began talking to myself.

"What a delicious kiss, it was inexplicable. I love him, that's what I feel," I said to myself in a voice so low I could barely hear him. "I'm in love with him, but I don't dare tell him."

"I forgot to tell you something," he said, taking me by surprise.

"What something?" I asked, praying he hadn't heard me.

"My best sense is hearing; I can hear from a distance."

He meant he heard me and was gentlemanly enough not to repeat it. He left me that clue so I could adjust to the idea of ​​being with him.

The exchange of glances was interrupted by a surprising message: they were informing me of the repairs they were going to make to the water pipes that run under the street where the library entrance is located. I'd have to close until the street work was finished.

"How many days will it take?" Alonso asked, worried. "This changes everything, it's going to take longer," he complained, anxiously grabbing his hair.

"I guess two or three days, it's not long."

"And in the meantime, what do I do?"

"You have me, we'll do something. Do you want to visit another library?"

"No, I need to be there somehow."

"What are you thinking? It's the only entrance."

"To make the most of the time, we'll do this: we'll be here while they work outside, it's better, I won't be interrupted."

"Without going out? Are you crazy?"

"Exactly, no, I'm not crazy, I see it clearly. We'll buy what we need for the night. It would be like taking a trip back in time. Are you up for it?"

"It's inappropriate from every point of view, just you and me?"

"I understand, so let me explore. I know I can do it without problems and without distractions, since you won't be with me."

"Stop the hints, listen carefully: if anything happens to these books, I'll die, you know that?"

"Let me in starting today, after midnight. I won't take anything out. I'll be locked in. Only you have the keys."

"I'll think it over. Expect my response in an hour."

"You'll say yes, I know you. I'll get ready with what I need and let my father know." He kissed me on the mouth and left without adding anything else.

My head was spinning; I wasn't used to the influence Alonso had over me. So I went to consult my grandfather; with his wisdom, he would give me the best advice.

At the front of the house was Kassem, who, upon seeing me, stood up from his bench.

"Welcome back, cousin. You haven't come to visit us since you've been with the foreigner."

"Shut your poisonous tongue. You know I work a lot. Don't make small talk."

"Don't bother, people are whispering..."

"I came to see Grandpa. Please tell him," Fátima interrupted.

"...that you're in love," Kassem added.

I stomped my feet to the street to look at the upstairs window. It was common for Grandpa to look out when visitors arrived.

"Grandpa! It's me, Fátima. Grandpa!"

A few minutes later, his silhouette appeared behind the curtains.

I waited until he saw me.

"Daughter, what are you doing there? Come here."

I skipped up the stairs two at a time to get there faster.

A heartfelt hug brought tears to my eyes.

"Dear granddaughter, I haven't seen you in weeks. Who's got you so distracted?"

Whenever I saw Grandpa, he would confess; standing in front of me was synonymous with taking off any mask.

"It's just that a foreigner comes to the library every day and has my attention. He's very demanding."

"I didn't know you gave special treatment to some users."

"I don't; it's just that he comes with a special request, and I can't seem to please him."

"Tell me what it is?"

"He's gotten it into his head that we have a very ancient grimoire in safekeeping that he needs to consult."

"We certainly have some. What's so special about that one?"

"He's been following up on a lead. He says that grimoire came here with a merchant, who acquired it in the 9th century."

"It's easy, daughter, for him to check the list; each work is carefully recorded there."

"I know, but he insists. I even went down alone to check the protected collections, and it's not there either."

"Then send him back home. You can't waste your energy on something ephemeral. It's the boy's whim, I'm sure. Send him flying, little one. Don't get entangled. Let him find out thoroughly and then proceed."

I felt saddened by Grandfather's response.

"You like the boy, right? Is that why you want to help him?"

"Yes, we've spent many hours together."

"Drink some tea, you'll feel better."

As I moistened my lips with the hot drink, Grandfather told me a story.

"In ancient times, around the year 900, a very rich merchant brought a very valuable stone to the city. When he died, his daughter Fatima inherited his entire fortune, including that jewel. Since then, many men have come to our land in search of what they don't know. No one knows its shape, color, or design; it has remained a secret over the years. Suddenly, it's what the young man is looking for, not a grimoire. In truth, no one knows, no one has seen it, and Fatima"-she pointed to the painting on the wall-"took the secret to the grave."

"So it's true?"

"We'll never know. There's no record. Why is he looking for it? Or what does he think it contains?"

"He says it contains the original magic, the one that many tried to imitate without success, becoming charlatans and liars."

"You have to be careful, daughter, because you don't know his intentions. What does he want to achieve with magic that he can't achieve as a human being?" Grandpa's question made me doubt Alfonso again.

"I didn't ask him; he says he wants to know if it exists, that's all."

"As a descendant of the first Fatima in our family, you must search for the answer within yourself. You are the guardians; she must have left you that jewel; guide the search there. Without telling the boy, let him continue searching for whatever he thinks he needs. Meanwhile, you imagine that piece in your dreams; I have nothing more to guide you."

A knock revealed Kassem, who fell to the floor when Grandpa opened the door.

"What were you doing there? Don't you respect my privacy?"

My cousin ran off when Grandpa raised his cane threateningly.

"Wait, I forgot to tell you something. That boy recovered my bag; a thief snatched it. All I had in it was a sandwich and the three keys to the library."

"Someone might be after the foreigner; be careful. Or he might have planned it himself to gain your trust."

My body bristled at the last sentence.