Monte di Pasta Garden, Massa, early November 2025.
Martina is sitting on a bench, Atem is standing in front of her.
They’re waiting for Chiara, Martina’s best friend, for an aperitivo.
It’s the first time Chiara is going to meet Atem.
She’s late, though, so the waiting turns into casual time: Martina scrolls through Instagram, Atem looks around while rolling a cigarette (a bad habit he’s picked up about three months earlier).
Suddenly, Martina gets a message.
It’s Noor, a university classmate — the same person who keeps Martina updated on the Arab world, something she deeply cares about and has been interested in long before Atem arrived.
This beat's gonna get stuck in your head.
A new track, just released. Not Egyptian, but already gaining attention.
Martina doesn’t hesitate and puts her headphones on.
And there it is — Martina’s expression changes.
When she makes that face, Atem already knows what’s going through her blonde head.
Arabic, sensual beats... that’s all it takes for Martina. Her mind immediately projects Atem into a seductive imaginary, in every possible sense.
بدي أنا شو بدي؟
Baddi ana? Sho baddi?
What do I want? What do I want?
أنا غيرك ما بدي
Ana gheyrak ma baddi
I don’t want anyone but you
شو مهضومة يا حبي
Sho mahdoumeh ya 7obi
What’s wrong, my love?
يا عمري خليك حدي
Ya 3omri khallik 7adde
My life, stay close to me
Martina can’t take her eyes off him.
It’s not the first time this happens — Ana Enta by Mohamed Ramadan was the first, and since then she hasn’t stopped.
Oh, Martina… here you go again with Arabic music.
To Atem, that association always feels strange.
The language Martina is listening to is not his, and the Egypt he gets connected to is not the one he lived in.
Martina then stands up, kisses him on the cheek, and finally tells him — in his own language, in Middle Egyptian no less:
𓇋𓅱𓌸𓂋𓀀𓍿𓅱
ỉw mry ṯw
I love you
That direct call to his own language and identity catches him off guard — and pulls him back to her.
