Illizi Infinity
"Tafat guides stargazers in Illizi's clear Saharan skies. When astronomer Elena arrives mapping dark-sky sites, she shows her constellations that science hasn't named. 'El nejma twarri el triq' (النجمة تورّي الطريق) - Stars show the way."
Illizi's sky was humanity's ceiling—no light pollution, every star visible, infinity accessible.
"Perfect for dark-sky research," Elena declared.
"El sma ma tqisech." The sky can't be measured. "Tetchahhed."
It's witnessed.
Tafat had guided desert travelers her whole life—following stars the GPS couldn't see.
"Traditional navigation?"
"El nejma twarri el triq."
"Stars showing the way?"
"Dima."
She was substantial—eyes adapted to darkness, body that moved through night like home.
"Modern equipment can't compete?"
"El equipment yetla' w yhbet." Equipment rises and falls. "El nejma dima."
Nights of observation humbled her. Elena's instruments saw less than Tafat's eyes.
"Hadi." Tafat pointed.
"I see nothing."
"Chouf b'qalbek."
"See with my heart?"
"El nejma ma tetchafch b'el 'ayn." Stars aren't seen with eyes. "Tetchahhed b'el roh."
She took her to a sacred spot—dunes arranged for perfect sky-watching.
"The ancients used this."
"El jdoud, sah." She lay back. "Hna khayyatou el sma."
Here they mapped the sky.
Elena lay beside her, looking up.
"Ya latif."
"Teshofi tawa?"
And she did—not just stars but stories, connections, meaning.
"Tafat..."
"El nejma qalouli."
"Said what?"
"Belli jiti."
She kissed her under infinite stars.
"Hada..."
"El tariq."
She undressed in starlight, her curves catching galaxies.
"Mashallah," Elena breathed.
"El sma," Tafat said. "Ana bent el sma."
Elena explored her like mapping new territory—finding stars, naming constellations.
"Tafat," she moaned.
"Hna." She found her center. "El qutb."
The pole star.
Tafat orbited beneath her attention, pleasure celestial.
"Dkhol," she gasped. "El kawkab."
Elena entered her orbit, and understood what navigation meant.
"El nejma twarri el triq," Tafat cried.
"Wssalt."
Arrived.
Their rhythm was orbital—circling, drawing close, connecting.
"Qrib," Tafat warned.
"M'aya." Elena dove into stars. "El nejma twarri el triq."
They came together like galaxies merging, pleasure infinite. Elena held her through the expansion.
"El research?" Tafat asked.
"Complete."
"Wach lqiti?"
"Everything."
Her paper mapped dark-sky sites but credited different coordinates—the heart, the spirit, the woman.
"El methodology?" journals asked.
"Following stars."
Now she returns each clear night, learning what telescopes miss.
"El astronomer w el murshida," they say.
"El nejma jab'tna," Tafat smiles.
"El nejma tkhallina," Elena adds.
Some navigation never stops.