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.

When I got home, I was so tired that I threw myself down on the bed, fully clothed. I didn't know anything else about myself until the next morning, when Alfonso started whistling from the street below my window.

I wasn't in the mood to see anyone; I spent the night dreaming so many things that I was confused. He came over, and I didn't even look out to give him an excuse; I just wanted to be alone. I covered myself with the sheet and stayed in bed, trying to sleep a little longer.

I slowly opened my eyes, undecided whether to continue sleeping or get up. Sunlight illuminated my room, and I cheered up at the bright colors of the tapestries. Nevertheless, I covered my face with the sheet again. Thoughts began to invade me: you left him alone last night; you told him you'd give him the answer in an hour; you're not like that; he may not be who he says he is; be careful.

"Stop!" I shouted. I can't assume bad things when there's still hope.

I sat up in bed and looked around. The house was in disarray, as if burglars had broken in.

"What happened here?" I threw myself onto the carpet to check the chest and drawers. Everything was in disarray. Nothing seemed to be missing. I went down to the other two levels and they were in order. Whatever they were looking for, they thought it was in my room.

I remembered my grandfather's words.

"Were they looking for the jewel Grandfather told me about?"

I tidied up everything they'd thrown away and, putting things back in their places, went to the riad where Alfonso was staying and found him having breakfast.

"Good morning, Fatima," he greeted seriously.

"They're no good for me," I replied in the same tone.

"You stood me up yesterday. I waited like a fool, you know?"

"Was it you who broke into my house?" "Have you gone crazy?"

"Tell me the truth. Why did you come to Murra Kish?"

"I've told you on more than one occasion."

"What's the real reason?"

"My words have been as clear as sunlight. I don't understand why you're asking me so many strange questions."

"A woman's intuition told me I was telling the truth; however, I was afraid of missing the point. I was excited, in love, to the point of being afraid of what would come next."

"Last night, burglars broke into my house. I don't feel well; it's something that's never happened to me before. This is the second time this kind of thing has happened, right after your arrival."

"Wait, aren't you thinking that?"

"I think what anyone in my place would think."

"I know I'm a stranger, a mere foreigner."

"Exactly. You're just passing through to make my life a problem, and it's not fair."

"I'm sorry, I didn't see it that way. I thought we were having a good time together."

"I consulted my grandfather, and he asked me to send you back to your house."

"Don't do that to me. If you want, I can talk to him."

"I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Let him decide, I beg you."

"I'll think about it. I came to tell you the answer is no. I'm the custodian of the library, and I won't let you in except during the hours posted on the door. I'm not going to give you special treatment. You'll use the restroom like any other user, okay?"

"Okay, Fátima. I understand. Join me for breakfast, please."

"Okay."

A little calm followed after drinking the first cup of tea. We didn't speak; we just ate a little of each dish in silence. My thoughts were sorting out in my head. I suppose something similar was happening with Alfonso. Whatever his intention was, he had already shielded me. If his interest was romantic, fine, but if he was falling in love with me to take advantage of my position, he'd have to get the hell out of here.

"Can I ask you something," he commented, breaking the silence.

"Sure, I'm listening."

"We can spend time these days. You'll be free until the repairs are finished."

"I don't know, what's your plan?"

"To explore, to walk around."

"Go on your own. I'll catch up with you when I can, okay? I have something important to take care of."

"Okay, I just hope you're not upset with me. I want you to go back to the same person I knew you."

"Thanks for breakfast. I'm just nervous. I'll get over it. I'll write to you."

I ran back home with renewed energy. I stopped at the portico and closed my eyes, visualizing the painting of the first Fatima, the founder, the guide, the woman who had left us the responsibility of protecting knowledge and who had also left us her inheritance in the form of a jewel. Before me, there was my mother. I have no sisters.

"I'll look among the things my mother left behind; the jewel must be there."

In a hidden room under the first staircase were several baskets filled with her belongings. Of them, I only took the keys to the library. I remember wanting to store her things where I wouldn't trip over them every day, to avoid reliving the pain of her departure.

I spent hours, lingering over the photo albums, connecting with the family energy, remembering her voice, her laughter, and her caresses.

"I'm going to put on the music she liked best," I said, leaving a trail in the middle of the living room.

The music began to play, and I lit a sandalwood incense stick.

"What did Fatima leave for you, Mother? Is it a jewel? Help me decipher the secret."

I wrapped myself in one of her blankets and began carrying her clothes to my closet.

"I've grown into your clothes now. Although I'm a small woman, I've reached your size, Mom."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I smelled her scent permeating the fabrics.

"Strangers have entered our house, Mom. Tell me what they're looking for, give me a sign."

A shiver ran through me when the bell rang. I remained silent and didn't move.

I decided to spend the day like any tourist, hoping things would improve between Fátima and me if I stopped insisting. The getaway took me to a few squares where I enjoyed the atmosphere filled with kiosks and lots of people, motorcycles, pedestrians, and trucks, which left me more alert than usual.

I stopped for tea and took the opportunity to ask which direction I should go to see the city's famous market.

"I see the map you're holding isn't any use to you," the young man pointed out graciously.

"No, the truth is this city is a mess. I have a hard time finding my way around so many streets; they all look the same."

"What's your name? I'm Jamal."

"Nice to meet you, Jamal. My name is Alfonso."

"Where are you from?"

"I come from a small country called Blâwerenstein."

"And why are you walking alone?" It's not very safe for you; it's better to take tours, don't you think?

"The truth is, I'm not your average tourist. I came to research history, and today the library was closed to the public, so I had to come here for some entertainment."

"Be very careful. We're generally good people, but there are some who have come from other countries after your money, those of you who come to visit. That's why you won't recognize them; you won't know who's who. It's best to at least hire a guide. If you go with a local, they won't be able to get close, you understand? You're wearing gold and a flashy watch."

I drank another cup of delicious mint tea and ate a piece of one of the various sweets displayed on the trays.

Fátima's words came to mind: "I'm going to treat you like any other customer." And as I ate and drank, I noticed the stark difference between the locals' attire and mine. Which gave me an idea for how to fill the rest of the day.

"Can I confess something to you, Jamal?"

"Tell me, what do you want to know?"

"Look at my appearance: flannel, jeans, and sneakers. How could I dress like that?" My hands gestured to my clothes and his. "I want to look like a local."

"Well, with your hair type and skin color, you have an advantage. You should buy leather sandals, and wear them with socks, even better." He stuck his foot out from under the table to show me. "That's the main thing; no one here wears those shoes you're wearing.

For the rest, you can buy those same pants and a different style of shirt. You won't spend much."

"Go to the market, ask for Omar's stand, tell him you're coming from me so he can give you a better price; everything is negotiable here. And if you stay a few more days, come back here so I can give you my opinion on the makeover. Sometimes the details are the most important."

"I'll do it. I need support with that, because I want to surprise someone very special." I wanted to hurry up; I could already imagine her smile when she saw me in the new outfit.

"A woman, no one else can make us daydream. Look at your face, Alfonso. Don't tell me you fell in love in the city. What's the young woman's name?"

"Fátima," I replied with a smile that lit up my face.

"And why doesn't she go out with you? She knows it's dangerous."

"She's a little strange, upset, I think, she's suspicious."

"It's cultural, bro. Women here know that falling in love with a foreigner will bring tears to their lives. You'll leave, and then who knows? Only he's looking out for you, and he's right. The upbringing here is strict for women; they'll choose their safety over listening to their hearts."

"I understand, and I plan to keep my word. I'm a man of my word."

Jamal hugged me and told me not to stop and talk to strangers, except to ask for directions to Omar's shop, on Jamal's behalf. "They won't touch you if you name us; you're already a friend."

Confident, I continued through the narrow streets, distracted by the variety of spices, lamps, and pieces of art. I forgot what I was doing and found myself lost in a kind of labyrinth formed by the streets, until I stopped to chat with a craftsman making leather belts.

"Hi, your art is beautiful. What are the women's ones?"

"Thank you. I can offer this model in all colors. Your wife can wear it with a dress or a skirt; it goes with any outfit."

I thought about what the craftsman said and liked the idea: "your wife."

"I don't have a wife, although I'm thinking about it. I've met someone and I'd like to give her one of your pieces, perhaps the sand-colored one. What's the price?"

"I can get that one for 200, but I don't have any change. I just opened the store."

"I have 100."

"Raise it a little, buddy. I haven't sold anything, so you're going to make a loss."

"I don't have any more. I swear."

"The girl is worth it, I'll lower it to 150. You raise it now."

"You've convinced me. Done, 150, put it in a bag because I didn't bring my backpack."

"Who taught you how to negotiate that way? You're good."

"My mother always had more money than she said, but she loved to haggle."

"It's an art, I admit, you'll always get the seller to lower it."

"I know, this way we both make money. I spoke to Jamal, the tea seller, earlier, and he told me to stop by Omar's. Do you know which route I should take?"

"Sure, they're my friends. Pay attention to my directions so you don't get lost: keep right until you reach the secondhand book store. Ask again there."

"Books? What kind? You can spend hours there; they're old books, it's a tourist attraction."

"I'm a historian."

"So it's a must-see for you. Take care and stop by to say hello on your way back."

I said goodbye with a handshake and went off to look for some treasure among the old books. A hope arose in my heart; the book I was looking for might be there.