The heart of the house beats in pursuit of the world’s quiet magic, in stories hidden in faraway places. مكتوب (maktub), often said to mean destiny, means something else to us. It means that the story is still unfolding. That sometimes, it is handed to us, and all we can do is read it, make sense of it, and let it shape who we become. But life is not fate alone. It is, paradoxically, both will and surrender. A dance between what we choose and what chooses us. And it is written in chapters drawn from our own hands. We are sometimes the readers, but more often we are the writers, co-authoring the scattered pages of something that is ours to tell. It is not a novel. It is a book of short stories. These are some of ours. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll light a path in yours.