The Tunis Medina | مدينة تونس العتيقة
"She restores ancient doors in the Tunis medina. He's the architect documenting them. Together, they open doors to each other's hearts."
The Tunis Medina
مدينة تونس العتيقة
Every door tells a story.
The ancient medina of Tunis has thousands. I restore them—the blue doors, the studded doors, the doors that have witnessed centuries.
Pierre wants to document them all.
I'm Leila.
Forty-six, Tunisian, third-generation door restorer. My grandmother taught my mother. My mother taught me.
Pierre is an architect.
He's fifty-three.
French, specializing in Islamic architecture. He's writing the definitive book on Tunisian doors.
"May I photograph your work?"
"May I ask why you care?"
"These doors are disappearing."
"Some would say they're just doors."
"Some would be wrong. They're portals to history."
"Portals. I like that."
He follows me through the medina.
Day after day, watching me work. Asking questions others never ask.
"Why this blue?"
"It's called Tunisian blue. The exact shade matters."
"Why?"
"Because our ancestors said so."
"You love this work."
"I preserve memory. Of course I love it."
"Most people want to modernize."
"Most people don't understand what they're erasing."
"Dinner tonight?"
"I have doors to finish."
"Dinner after the doors."
"You're persistent."
"I'm French. We're persistent about beautiful things."
The first kiss is behind an ancient door.
One I just restored, blue paint still drying.
"Is this appropriate?" he asks.
"These doors have seen far more."
"I want to include you in the book."
"Me?"
"The last of your craft. You're as important as the doors."
"Pierre—"
"Let me show the world what you do."
He undresses me in my workshop.
Surrounded by doors in various states, history watching.
"Beautiful."
"Leila—"
"Open me like the doors you love."
We make love among the portals.
Centuries of craftsmanship surrounding us.
"Ya salam—Pierre—"
"Right there?"
"Aiwa—oui—yes—"
Languages merging like colors.
Two years later
His book won international acclaim.
I'm famous now—door restorer to the world. He never left Tunis.
"Happy?" he asks.
"You opened the right door."
"Which one?"
"Mine."
Alhamdulillah.
For doors that preserve.
For architects who see.
For craft that becomes love.
The End.