Qartaba Hot Springs | حمامات قرطبا
"She discovered natural hot springs near Qartaba twenty years ago and kept them secret. He's the geologist who finds them—and her—by accident. In healing waters, they discover what they both need. 'Inti adfa min hal mayy' (أنتِ أدفى من هالميّ)."
Qartaba Hot Springs
حمامات قرطبا
Some places should stay hidden.
The hot springs near Qartaba have been my secret for twenty years—healing waters no one else knows.
Then the geologist stumbles into my sanctuary.
I'm Hind.
Fifty-four, retired teacher, body softened by years and these waters. This is my healing place, my alone place.
Dr. Michel Frem studies what the earth holds.
"You shouldn't be here."
"This is public land."
"It's my land." I stand in the water, covered barely enough. "How did you find it?"
"Thermal imaging. I'm mapping underground water sources."
He's fifty-seven.
Geologist, AUB, devoted to understanding Lebanon's hidden resources. His eyes show genuine wonder.
"This is remarkable."
"It's private."
"It could help thousands—"
"It helps me. That's enough."
He doesn't tell anyone.
Returns instead—asking permission, bringing coffee, learning my boundaries.
"Why keep it secret?"
"Because everything Lebanese gets ruined. This stays pure."
"And you? Do you stay pure?"
"I stay mine."
We share the springs.
His science, my sanctuary. He explains why the water heals; I don't need explanations.
"It's the mineral content—"
"It's the peace."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"With scientists, everything becomes data. I want mystery."
"Then I'll stop explaining."
"Can you?"
"For you?" He settles into the water across from me. "I can try."
"Why would you?"
"Because you're the most interesting discovery I've made in years."
The kiss happens in the hot springs.
Steam rising, minerals swirling. His mouth on mine is earth-warm.
"Michel—"
"Tell me to leave, and I will."
"Stay."
We make love in the healing water.
Where I've never brought anyone. He holds me against the natural stone.
"Mashallah." He breathes. "Inti—"
"Old. Hidden. Too much—"
"Inti adfa min hal mayy." Warmer than this water.
He worships me thermally.
Hands finding every warm spot. Mouth on my neck, my breasts, lower—
"Michel—"
"Let me discover all of you."
His mouth finds my center underwater.
I grip volcanic rock, gasping at steam and sky. Pleasure like the springs—deep, hot, healing.
"Ya Allah—"
"You're remarkable. Every measurement of you."
When he enters me, I feel discovered.
We move together in warm current—his body and mine, springs and earth.
"Aktar—"
"Aiwa—"
The climax is eruption.
We cry out together—hot water swirling, pleasure released. Then floating, held by water and each other.
Two years later
Michel keeps the secret.
The springs stay hidden, mapped only in his heart. We share them still—our sanctuary.
"Worth keeping quiet?" I ask.
"Some discoveries are too precious for data." He pulls me into warm water. "You taught me that."
Alhamdulillah.
For springs that heal.
For geologists who learn silence.
For secrets worth keeping.
The End.