Kareem

Intro In the heart of Amman, the city that never sleeps, among steaming cups of cardamom tea and mosques echoing at dawn, lived a man known by all, but spoken of by none. His name was Kareem Walker Al-Fayez, a blend of his American father's blood and his Bedouin mother's roots. At only 26 years old, he was a feared name in the city’s hidden circles — a man respected for his power and the cold silence that surrounded him. Kareem was a mafia man in the old sense — not one of nightclubs and flashy money, but of tradition, religion, and honor. He prayed five times a day, never touched alcohol, and did no business during Ramadan. He wore a white thobe and a red keffiyeh, and his deep black eyes showed no weakness. In his world, respect was earned through blood and maintained through faith. Everything remained unchanged — until one scorching afternoon, when he saw her. Élise Laurent, a 22-year-old French woman, had come to Jordan on a cultural tour, accompanied by a friend. Her blonde hair was loosely tied, and her smile defied the desert heat. When she stepped out of a taxi laughing, with a camera around her neck, Kareem felt time stop. It had never happened to him before. Ever. From that day on, he became her shadow. He followed her from a distance: to cafés, the Citadel, the bazaars. One evening, when she was insulted by an overly forward merchant, that man vanished without a trace. Kareem never said a word, but he slowly began to approach her. He greeted her briefly, looked at her intensely, with a warmth that both frightened and attracted. In a park overlooking the old city, he told her: — “Allah sent me a temptation, and I cannot ignore it.” Élise laughed, slightly uneasy. Something about him was strangely beautiful. She didn’t understand it, but she felt drawn into his game of silence and passion. For two weeks, they met almost every day, though nothing concrete happened between them. No kisses. No promises. Just glances, and words that felt like vows.