One of the short stories I wrote whilst residing in the city of Berlin. Written on the 8th of June 2006.
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It was around 8:30 yesterday evening when I saw the pretty Arab girl standing outside the video rental store in my home district of Berlin. She wore a white hejab (headscarf) which completely covered her hair and a loose fitting, long-sleeved shirt and trousers. I'd seen her a few times before but never alone like she was last night. Her gaze was directed upwards, over the nearby trees, towards the moon, just visible in the light blue evening sky. The sun was still shining between the leaves, casting it's glow onto rooftops and advertisements that hung on lofty walls. Little flies flittered madly in circles, dancing their last before the night closed in. There was something wrong. A tear was rolling steadily down her left cheek, her eyes were filled with sadness. I could vaguely see her lips moving as though whispering to an unseen listener.
Three weeks ago I had seen her in the Tiergarten with a German boy of the same age. It wasn't the first time I'd caught a glimpse of their happiness together but this memory of them in particular remains the most vivid. The day had been warm and humid, sunshine present for most of it but in the late afternoon a mass of grey clouds had gathered and unleashed a torrent of heavy rain. I had happened to be walking through the park at the time and as is my luck, got caught unawares in the most central part of the sprawling gardens, a good ten minutes run from any form of comfortable shelter. With a rather light heart, I gave in to the inevitable and enjoyed a good soaking while walking at normal pace. A little later, thinking myself the only sane person in the area, I came across two figures racing across a wide area of grass surrounded by trees. A boy in jeans and a light-weight black jacket was chasing a hejab wearing girl. They were both laughing, she giggling and crying out in joy, he making monkey noises. I watched them run in circles, twirling together, jumping over puddles that had quickly formed. Neither cared about getting drenched, they even rolled over on the ground, whooping like children without a care in the world. They knew no one was around to watch, they were alone, they soon took their chance and kissed beneath the open skies.
It's very rare in Berlin to see a Muslim girl walking with a non-Muslim boy, infact they were the only pair I had ever seen. Probably the very reason why they had anchored in my memory. An odd occurence but one that should be usual, in an ideal world.
Her parents had told her recently, that if they caught her with him again, they would kill him and glady serve a prison sentence in order to save the reputation of their family. She had been mortified and had pleaded for them to relent. Sleepless nights she had spent in thinking of ways in which to solve their terrible predicament. Her father had even scoured through her diary for the boy's phone number and told him, without her knowing, that he would kill his own daughter if he, the boy, kept seeing her. An untruth, the father dearly loved his daughter but he knew the boy would be unsure.
Last week, the boy got a job in Stuttgart and knew he would have to leave her. Their last meeting together was three days ago, in the grounds of Charlottenburg Palace, beside the river Spree. After strolling in near silence for an hour, he had told her about his plans. They both cried but she knew even so, that they would have had to have finished sooner or later. She could not leave her sick mother or her family and also she feared being tracked down if she went with him. It was in the late evening when they had said their final goodbyes. He would leave on the early train, the next morning.
Whilst looking into her eyes, he had made her promise that as often as they could they would look up towards the moon, the one thing that would always be visible to both of them for the rest of their lives and remember one another. She had then told him to imagine them together, like when they had visited the cinema, sitting side by side, their fingers interwoven, watching the film. In some small way, by looking towards the stars, they would always be connected.
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Budur was born in the Berlin district of Moabit, in 1986, to Jordanian immigrants. Her father owned a video rental store which he ran with his eldest son. Her mother was diagnosed with Multiple sclerosis two years ago and much of Budur's time is spent caring for her. She had met Benno in her first year at University last year, whilst studying medicine but before the end of the second term, her family had urged her to quit. The reason they gave was that as she was the only daughter, she must stay and look after her sick mother but she knew the two real reasons were to keep her away from 'Western men' and to become accustomed to home life in preparation for a likely arranged marriage in the near future. She would never forget Benno nor their promise.
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