Mila Memories
"Nadia preserves Roman mosaics in Mila. When restoration expert Giorgio arrives with modern techniques, she teaches him that some repairs require more than grout. 'El fusayfisa' tehki' (الفسيفساء تحكي) - Mosaics speak."
Mila's mosaics had survived earthquakes, wars, time. Nadia helped them survive modernity.
"New restoration polymers," Giorgio offered.
"El fusayfisa' ma tebghich el jadid." Mosaics don't want new. "Tebghi el qadim."
Her restoration workshop held fragments waiting for home—tesserae orphaned by history.
"Traditional methods are slower."
"El waqt machi el mushkil."
"What's the problem?"
"El fahm."
She was substantial—hands that placed tesserae like prayers, body that bent over art for decades.
"You've restored how many?"
"Ma n'addch."
"For the record—"
"El fusayfisa' ma yetrekordouch."
Days watching taught him. Giorgio saw her speak to broken images, listen to damaged floors.
"Hna wach kan?"
"Dionysos."
"How do you know?"
"El fusayfisa' qaltli."
"Mosaics told you?"
"El fusayfisa' tehki."
Night brought private restorations—pieces too precious for daylight.
"Hadi wach?"
"Hada hob."
"A love scene?"
"Koul fusayfisa' hekaya hob."
"Every mosaic is a love story?"
"El ness elli sna'ouha habbou."
"Nadia..."
"El fusayfisa' qalouli."
"Said what?"
"Belli ydik ya'rfou."
Your hands know.
She kissed him among tessera.
"Hada..."
"El fusayfisa' el jadida."
The new mosaic.
She undressed in lamplight, her curves ancient patterns.
"Mashallah," he breathed.
"El fusayfisa'," she said. "Ana fusayfisa'."
He placed his attention like tesserae—piece by piece, building image.
"Giorgio," she moaned.
"Hna." He found her pattern. "El rasm."
She took form beneath him, pleasure pieced together.
"Dkhol," she gasped. "El grouting."
He set into her, and understood what restoration meant.
"El fusayfisa' tehki," she cried.
"Wach tqoul?"
"Hada. Hnna. Dima."
Their rhythm was placement—piece after piece, pattern completing.
"Qrib," she warned.
"M'aya." He set into her. "El fusayfisa' tehki."
They completed together, pleasure tessellated. Giorgio held her through the grouting.
"El polymers?" she asked.
"Returned."
"Wach yebdel?"
"Traditional. Always."
His restoration philosophy transformed—listening over imposing, traditional over modern.
"El approach?" institutions asked.
"El fusayfisa' tehki."
Now he restores beside her, learning what schools miss.
"El restaurateur w el hafidat el fusayfisa'," they say.
"El fusayfisa' jab'tna," Nadia smiles.
"El fusayfisa' tkhallina," Giorgio adds.
Some patterns complete themselves.