Darkness blended into light, as the old man's eyelids slowly opened. In a modest, dimly lit room, was a bed, with fresh white linens, an armchair next to a reading lamp, and a tray containing various objects. The old man ran his large course hands over the outline of his face as he attempted to gather himself and determine how long he had been unconscious.
The village fair was alive with the sounds of children playing, chickens pecking here and there, and women laughing over cups of tea and sweet-smelling bread. Travelers came from afar to purchase rare jewels and trade their goods with each other. A single man would leave married, and an empty-handed child would leave with pockets full of trinkets and knickknacks from faraway lands.
When Fuad arrived at the fair, however, none of these attractions tempted him into abandoning his goal, which was the Storyteller. To all young people of Cor, Fuad’s kingdom, it was the Storyteller who was the heart and essence of the fair.
As the pages keep turning and the scenes of life come after another, she approaches a sudden halt in her life…
She paused and allowed the world to keep spinning while she moved out and watched as an outsider… Spiritually, she had reached a stage where she was hit badly, bruised, hammered, battered, and shattered; whatever you want to call it. This stop was indeed, a vital one for her, as well as every Muslim as each and every one of us gets caught up in the waves of the world and the hustles of life…
Monday night. 11:34pm. The inhabitants of a house are panicking. The heavens are crying. The ground is shaking. Loud crashing noises. Sirens going off. Lights in the sky make it look like its 2:30pm in the afternoon. No men in the house, just women and children.
Stories 
