Chapter 1: A Morning in Dahab

The dawn in Dahab is simply stunning. Witnessing the sun rise from the water while the town gradually awakens, accompanied by the playful stretching of cats, creates a magical atmosphere.

This time of day is perfect for a jog, as the weather is still mild. After a refreshing run, a splash in the sea is a delightful way to start the day. On one such morning, I ran past a café recommended by friends, only to find it closed. "They open so late," I mused. However, after two days of breakfasting there and dealing with a slightly sore ankle, I opted for a change: skipping my run and trying a different café.

The allure of smoothie bowls caught my attention, making it a tempting alternative to the savory breakfasts I had been enjoying.

One of the loveliest aspects of this place is how staff members often sit and engage with customers. Every time I enter a venue, I’ve learned to greet everyone, as you never know who might be who.

Reflecting on this, I pondered more dramatic scenarios: during a zombie apocalypse, wouldn't you greet any "healthy" human you encountered? Just as characters do in shows like "The Last of Us" or "The Walking Dead." It makes me wonder why we have lost the simple ability to acknowledge strangers in some parts of the world.

As I entered the café, I greeted everyone warmly. A girl got up and followed me inside, indicating she worked there. She stood behind the counter and spoke to me in Arabic, a language I often hear, making me feel more integrated into the local scene—until I spoke, of course.

"Marhaba! How's the strawberry banana smoothie bowl?" I inquired.

"It's a blend of strawberries and bananas mixed with coconut milk, topped with assorted fruits," she replied.

"Could we please add granola?" I asked, envisioning the perfect bowl.

She nodded in agreement. I also inquired about Wi-Fi, only to learn it was down that day. I decided to order a matcha latte, opting to save my coffee for later at another café known for its connectivity, aiming to reduce my caffeine intake for better sleep.

Noticing her cues that I could take a seat and settle the bill later, I wandered over to a corner filled with books. Many were in Arabic, but one in the Latin alphabet caught my eye: "Love Letters." Skimming through its pages, I discovered it was a collection of poetry. While my appreciation for poetry has grown with age, it’s still not my first choice. Yet love—ah, love—has always been a captivating subject.

Taking the book with me, I found a table that faced the promenade overlooking the sea. It was time for some people-watching!

As I flipped through the pages, I stumbled upon a passage that felt serendipitous. Among all the potential pages I could have opened, this one seemed like a message from the universe.

I can only imagine the probabilities involved in selecting specific pages, accounting for how we grasp a book and the physics of our fingers interacting with the pages. Yet, I prefer to maintain a touch of magic in these moments.

I hesitated to photograph the page initially, wanting to reflect on its meaning. After a brief pause, I snapped a picture, captivated by its content.

Next, my attention was drawn to the adjacent page. Though I couldn't finish reading it, it conveyed a powerful message about embracing our past to enrich our present and build a brighter future, not from a place of trauma or scarcity, but from love itself.

Please interpret these words carefully, as they stem from my understanding. The details escape me, but then the girl approached me with a serious expression, speaking in Arabic. I frowned, confused, until she clarified:

"Oh, you don’t speak Arabic. Sorry, that book isn’t for reading."

I was taken aback. How could someone be prohibited from reading a book? I wondered if it was banned literature. But isn't book censorship a relic of the past?

Then, I recalled the recent banning of books on race and LGBTQIA+ topics in some U.S. schools.

Speechless, I handed her the book, still in shock.

At first, I felt anger. How could someone deny me the chance to read a book for a few minutes while I enjoyed breakfast? Why place a book in a reading nook if it's not available? Is it not reasonable to read someone else’s book briefly, knowing it would be returned? Did she resent me for interrupting her chat with a colleague?

But I decided to focus on what I could control. I couldn't change her intentions or thoughts. How did this make me feel? Confusion and frustration flooded my mind as I sat down to process my emotions. I let go of what was beyond my control and reframed the situation: what lesson was this experience teaching me? What could I learn from it?

Initially, I felt compelled to write, but I chose instead to simply reflect.

I won’t dwell on why I was denied access to the book but rather on how I could engage with it. Scarcity can indeed be valuable, and curiosity adds flavor to life. Ultimately, I purchased the book, grateful for the photo I took of one of its pages.

After finishing my meal, I took my empty bowl and glass back inside.

"You didn’t have to do that," she remarked upon seeing me return the dishes.

"I wanted to," I replied.

Chapter 2: Reflections on Access and Understanding

Video Description: A deep dive into the complex themes of forbidden love, exploring the works of Melville and Hawthorne, and how their narratives reflect societal constraints and personal desires.