Hasniya’s Window

By Omaima Abdelaziz

Every morning, at the very same time, Hasniya would stand by her narrow window in the village. That window was not merely a small opening in an old wall. It was her entire world. The walls of her strict family’s house were too high for her dreams to climb over, and too firm for her body to escape.

And at that exact time, he would pass by.

A tall man in a dark coat that fluttered behind him like wings, walking with steady, measured steps, as if every movement had been carefully calculated. That was Hasniya’s magical moment.

To her, he was not just an ordinary man going to work. No. In Hasniya’s wide imagination, he became a different hero every day.

On a rainy morning, she watched the drops of water slide down his hands and imagined thick fur beginning to appear on his skin. She decided he was “the werewolf,” hiding his secrets beneath the mask of an ordinary human being.

On a sunny day, she saw the sunlight fall across his dark glasses, concealing his eyes, and imagined he was “Superman,” hiding his powers under the appearance of a simple employee.

On another day, she noticed how carefully he avoided a puddle in the road, and she built around him the story of “Detective Conan,” following a mysterious case in their quiet village.

She waited for that moment every morning, not only to see him, but to escape the dullness of her life. She filled her small world with adventure and imagination, giving her narrow days a vastness no one else could see. He was the fictional character she could never truly possess in real life.

One morning, as she watched him with eager eyes while he crossed the street, a speeding car came out of a narrow turn.

It hit him hard.

He fell onto the asphalt. The papers he had been carrying scattered everywhere, and his glasses dropped to the ground and shattered.

Hasniya screamed from behind the window, her heart pounding violently. She saw people rushing toward him. She saw him trying to stand with difficulty, holding his side in pain. She saw his tears as he searched for his broken glasses, and heard his confused voice say:

“My work... my papers... they will fire me!”

In that moment, all the myths collapsed.

There was no werewolf, no superhero, no brilliant detective. He was only an ordinary man, frightened and fragile, his heart trembling like hers, afraid for his simple livelihood like any other human being.

She watched as people helped him. She watched him rise to his feet in pain, then walk away, leaving behind torn papers and broken glasses.

Hasniya kept staring at the empty street for a long time. Then, for the first time, she turned her back to the window without waiting for the scene to end. She looked around her narrow room, then looked back at the window once more.

The next day, at the same time, Hasniya sat again by her window. The man did not pass. Perhaps he was still recovering from his injuries. But her eyes were no longer searching for him alone.

She began to watch the other passersby: the old postman who bent down to touch the head of every cat that crossed his path, the little girl who jumped across the pavement tiles as if playing a game only she could see, and the street vendor who sang softly while pushing his cart.

Hasniya smiled.

The world beyond the window was full of characters, full of stories waiting for someone to weave them. Her new heroes were there, passing by every day. All she had to do was look.