Doaa was swept in with the crowd and brought to her aunt’s bedroom, to where the women had retreated. Arabic pop music played from a speaker system they had rented from a local hotel, and everyone talked at once as Doaa was pulled into the center of the room for a traditional dance.
Soon, an announcement was made that Bassem was about to enter. In accordance with custom, all the women but Doaa covered their heads. Bassem, clean shaven and dressed in an elegant dark suit, moved toward her. It was the first time he had seen her unveiled. “Is that the same Doaa?” He beamed. “You look amazing, though I think you’re even prettier without makeup!” He pulled out a small box from his pocket and took out the gold earrings he had bought for her and clipped them to her ears. The women joined the men in the living room at the buffet and the party began. After eating, the guests danced into the night to a mix of Arabic pop music. It was a rare joyous occasion to remember for everyone there.
A week after the celebrations, as Doaa was going to bed, she reached under her pillow for her engagement ring. She kept it there for safekeeping and only wore it when she went out. To her horror, she felt nothing. She swept her hands frantically over the sheets and lifted the pillow. Her engagement ring was gone! I don’t have any luck in my life! she thought as she called for her sisters to help her search for it. The family had had guests that evening, friends of the girls’. She couldn’t help but wonder if one of them had stolen it. She called Bassem in tears, worried he would think she was careless. “Don’t worry,” he consoled her. “It’s not important. I’ll buy you a new one.”
A dark thought flashed through Doaa’s mind as he spoke: What if this means we’re never going to have a real wedding? She tried to push the thought from her mind.
Bassem now had a standing invitation to the Al Zamel home. Doaa’s sisters adored him, and to Shokri, he was like a son who supported the family and loved his daughter. He always took Bassem’s side when he and Doaa quarreled, scolding Doaa, “You must treat your future husband well!” Meanwhile, Doaa was struck with emotions that she’d never before experienced. Hours before Bassem arrived to visit, she would agonize over what to wear, and when his text messages chimed on her phone, she would feel a flutter in her heart. She began to have visions of him meeting other women and discovered the irrational sensation of jealousy. “Don’t be silly, Dodo, you are the only woman I have ever and will ever love,” he assured her.
The weight of responsibility that she once felt for keeping the family afloat was now shared with Bassem. She realized what a good feeling it was to be supported and protected.
To make more money, Bassem started working in a coal factory. He worked long shifts that started at 7:00 a.m. and ended at 8:00 or 9:00 p.m. The pay was 500 to 600 LE per month, just a bit more than Doaa’s wage from her sewing and ironing, which she still did from time to time. After a late shift, he would arrive at Doaa’s place exhausted. He was losing weight and coughing from all the dust. Doaa would fix Bassem a plate, and after he was done eating, they would move to the balcony to smoke a shisha pipe together until well after midnight. In the later hours of the evening, their talk would eventually turn to their future. They agreed to delay having children until they could finish their educations and find good jobs.
At times, Bassem would tell Doaa that he couldn’t see any future for them in Egypt. One evening, while drinking tea, he told her that since Egypt’s military coup he was often taunted by Egyptians. “What are you doing here?” they asked him. “Why don’t you go and fight in Syria?” He mostly said nothing when he heard this, but he was starting to think they were right. Doaa reminded him that he came to Egypt because he had been arrested in Syria: “You told me you were tortured in that jail and left for days without food or water.”
Every time he received news from Syria, it seemed as if it were always about the death of another one of his friends. Sometimes Doaa was with him when the news came in over the phone. Whenever this happened, Doaa would squeeze his hand in hers and lean her head into the cove of his neck as his tears fell.
To cheer him up, they would listen to their favorite songs from Syria. Placing one earphone in his ear and the other in her own, she would lean her head close to his and they would listen together. They both loved a popular song by the Lebanese pop star Carole Samaha called “Wahshani Baladi,” or “I Miss My Country.” When the refrain came, they would sing it out loud together:
Oh, God, oh, my dear country, how I miss my country …
I can’t find anything to take the place of what is gone, except a moment in the arms of my beloved …
Tomorrow I will return, and we will both go back to that place … and the days will be so sweet.
One weekend, when Bassem took Doaa for a walk on the beach, Doaa knelt down in the sand and with her fingers wrote Bassem, to which Bassem added + Doaa, then Doaa wrote Syria in bigger letters underneath.