Christian F. Burton

While Kalila didn't quite know what she wanted, she knew what she didn't want. She didn't want to live a charade. She didn't want a marriage of convenience where you were together but alone.

You can tell Allah that when he judges you. Explain how you helped them build their obscene wealth. Explain how you helped them dole out scraps to the general population in order to keep it in check. Explain how you looked the other way while your employers raped the holy land for their own benefit and enjoyment. And why did you look the other way? So you could keep your modest civil servant post. Take the money,_ Siraj insisted as he pushed it across the table. __ou've done more to earn it than I have.

How long will we stand in silence while half of our nation is chained by ancient, outdated laws? How long will we close our eyes to a tribal mentality that subjugates women in the most base and dehumanizing ways? How long will we hide in the shadows while the ruling elites bask in the rays of wealth and privilege?

So many tankers come down with maintenance problems all at once. I do not think that the press is telling us the whole story. Then again, maybe they are just a little slow on the uptake. The truth will reveal that Allah has truly blessed us.

The reality of his predicament hit him hard. There__ no way out of this now, save arrest or death. Professor Ratib had made it sound so academic, but it wasn't. Regardless of whether we're attacking human- or infrastructure-related targets, it's terrorism. If Husam thinks that I__ a risk, I__ dead.

As he stretched out his legs, Siraj let out a deep sigh and smiled. I wonder what Prince Bahir__ blonde surprise will be wearing. I'm guessing it won't be a habiya.

The route to his hotel had been committed to memory a long time ago. From the overflowing trashcan on the corner to the feral cats that frequented the dumpsters behind the nearby shawarma shop, Jamison knew every detail.

He tried to recall the look of her eyes the day they first met. He closed his eyes and concentrated, but as he envisioned Kalila's car passing by, he couldn't decide if it was a memory or a dream.

Eyes closed, she let her pain float away with the prayers, higher and higher, around the mosque's minarets, and up to the sky. She thought about the old Arabic saying that a woman has only two exits. One exit leads from my father's house to my husband's. The other leads from my husband's house to my grave. I'm not ready for the second exit yet.

Look at me, Nasim. Faith is not always easy. Sometimes, doing the right thing hurts. While revenging your brother's death might fill a temporary void, it would only contribute to the cycle of violence that took your brother's life in the first place. More than likely, you would hurt someone who knew nothing of you brother's death. You would hurt someone who had contributed nothing to your pain, and then what? How are they to react? Where do they turn for justice? More violence?

The professor stared straight ahead. He felt Husam's eyes upon him. He clenched his hands together tightly, lest their shaking reveal everything.

Suddenly, despite all the fun she'd had, Azzah felt down. Watching the champagne bubbles sparkle and fizz in her glass, she realized by tomorrow all the bubbles would be gone, and she'd have to go back to her flat, dull, fizz-less life.