If Hassan had heard the rumors of the housewives that gathered in the square and gossiped as they washed their husbands’ laundry, it would have spared him his fate.

/“Her husband was found dead and bloody in his chamber the morning after the full moon. They said there was so much blood. Ah, Allah—be with him.”/

/“Yes. With him and the foolish boys that run to her side in his stead.”/

But instead, he, dissatisfied with a life of labor had listened to the rumors of their husbands:

/“A widow, never to marry again.”/

/“Yes. And with the wealth of three men.”/

Hassan believed a certain desire grew in his heart: to see himself draped in her wealth.

And he let a lie take false root in his heart: that she, who could no longer marry, could be wooed by pretty words—and what’s more, would give him prettier gems in return.

Poor, foolish Hassan who believed his heart understood his greed.

When he came upon her doorstep, he came with honeyed words. That he had heard she was kind, that she offered poor men work on her estate.

And she, beautiful, with hair covered in silk and fragrant in roses considered him.

/“I can tell your heart is strong and true. And you would be of help to me. Thank you.”/

Poor, foolish Hassan accepted the offered room and board, the comfortable work of her garden.

He did not care for the words she spoke—/“I can tell your heart is kind...I can tell your heart is sweet...”/

Never once did he notice how his heart changed under her rose-smelling words. How it grew at the sight of her; how it beat when she heard it’s name on her lips. During the day, it wove a path for her sweetness to reach it; at night, it yearned for her.

It was the morning before a full moon that poor, foolish Hassan’s heart could take no more. It spurred Hassan’s hands to touch her skin. It beat as never before—and harder still as she, demurred and blushing, flittered away.

But as the full moon rose high in the sky, she came to him. Her hair was loose and flowing, her scent of flowers almost dizzying.

She neared him and Hassan’s heart leapt as it never had.

/“May I hold your hand?”/ she asked.

Poor, foolish Hassan’s heart agreed to this. It offered Hassan’s hands to her and relished at the touch.

/“May I have you embrace me?”/ she asked.

Poor, foolish Hassan’s heart agreed to this. It wrapped Hassan’s arms around her and basked in her warmth.

/“May I...meet the one who loves me?”/

Poor, foolish Hassan’s heart agreed to this. It stirred. It plucked its tethers from his chest. It made his throat a ladder, his tongue a floor. His mouth was an open window.

Poor, foolish Hassan’s heart stretched for her more and more until it was falling towards her and for her.