Novelist and Historian Adel S. Bishtawi

Short Stories

Home graves

She turned and faced Abu Nadim. “I will wait outside to take my daughter to her grave. I will let my tears roll because I’m her mother, but they won’t be tears of grief. They will be the tears of relief. Do you want to know why?” she addressed Abu Nadim. “Because her real grave was in her own house right here.”

The last lecture

The loud ring of the bell broke the prevailing stillness of that early part of the night and for the first time in four years they didn’t respond immediately. Nizar would have preferred to stay on the cold marble stairs of the college building forever but he wasn’t going to miss the last lecture because he would be missing the last chance to save his love.”

There remains a farewell

Nader closed his eyes as if to get that extra strength he needed to dare look at his heart again. Whether he did, I can’t say but that brief try was tormenting and his face screamed in silence. “That is what I said to Nada two evenings ago. I have no control over my heart and my heart is telling me it’s too late. Go ahead,” I told her, “go ahead and marry Ibrahim. Most women love the wrong man and marry the right one. You won’t be blamed by me for anything you do.”