Harbor Haven
"Harbor master Layla manages Dammam's busy port. When shipping CEO Marcus needs priority berths, maritime matters become matters of the heart. 'Al mina' yujma' al dunya' (الميناء يجمع الدنيا) - The harbor gathers the world."
"Your ship waits like everyone else's."
Marcus Papadopoulos wasn't used to waiting. "My cargo is time-sensitive."
"Everyone's cargo is sensitive." Layla returned to her scheduling. "Follow procedure."
She managed the Eastern Province's largest port—efficiency where chaos could reign. He owned the shipping line that needed exceptions.
"Al mina' yujma' al dunya," she told him. The harbor gathers the world.
"Then gather my ship first."
"Earn priority."
"How?" Marcus demanded.
"Prove you deserve special treatment." She met his eyes. "What makes you different?"
"I don't know yet." He smiled. "Let me show you."
Days of negotiation revealed more than business—a man who'd built his fleet from one rusted ship. A woman who'd risen through ranks that doubted her.
"You're impressive," Marcus admitted.
"I'm necessary." She smiled. "Different thing."
"Why harbor work?" he asked.
"Because ships don't care who runs the port." She watched vessels move. "They care if it runs well."
"It runs perfectly."
"I know."
The first kiss happened on the dock—ships loading, world turning.
"This violates maritime protocol," Layla breathed.
"Some violations are worth the fine."
They made love in her office, harbor lights their constellation.
"You're magnificent," Marcus murmured.
"I'm a bureaucrat."
"You're a captain." He kissed her curves. "Of everything."
His shipping hands traced paths down her body—experienced, knowing. When he reached her center, Layla gripped her desk.
"Aktar," she gasped. "Marcus, aktar!"
"Docking carefully."
She came with harbor behind her, pleasure arriving. Marcus rose, eyes warm.
"I need you," he confessed.
"Then request permanent berth." She pulled him close. "File the paperwork."
He filled her with a groan, both moving in tidal rhythm.
"S'agapo," he gasped in Greek.
"Translation?"
"I love you."
They moved together like ships finding harbor—guided, safe.
"I'm close," he warned.
"Sawa." She held him tight. "Ma'aya."
They crested together, pleasure anchoring them. Marcus held her as port worked on.
"Partnership," he proposed.
"Business?"
"Life." He kissed her forehead. "Everything."
His shipping and her port became model of efficiency—their partnership smoothing all waters.
"How do you coordinate so well?" officials asked.
"We found common destination," Layla answered.
Their wedding was held at the harbor—ships sounding horns, world celebrating.
"Al mina' yujma' al dunya," Layla repeated.
"And it gathered us," Marcus added, "together."
Some arrivals, they'd learned, weren't scheduled. They simply appeared—when hearts found harbor, when journeys found home.