Laila’s Heart

Her Hidden Side of the Story

For centuries, the world has spoken of Majnoon’s madness, his wandering, his poetry, and his heartbreak. His love became legend. His sorrow became poetry. His name became a symbol.

But the world never asked about Laila.

She was the quiet center of the storm, the girl whose heart carried a story just as painful, just as beautiful, and just as unforgettable. People saw Majnoon’s tears, but they never saw hers. They heard his voice in poems, but they never heard her silent prayers late at night. They remembered his wandering through deserts, but they forgot how she sat behind locked doors, waiting for news of him like a prisoner waiting for sunlight.

This is Laila’s side of the story—the one the world overlooked.

From the very beginning, the day she first saw Qais in the school courtyard, Laila felt something she had no name for. To everyone else, it was an ordinary afternoon, but to her, the air had changed. Her hands had trembled as she held her book, and her heart beat so loudly she feared others might hear it.

She had seen boys before, spoken to many, but none of them had made her breath pause the way Qais did.

When he looked at her, it felt like he saw her—not her father’s honor, not her tribe’s name, not her beauty—but her soul. And that was something she had never known.

Their secret smiles, stolen glances, and quiet moments planted a love that grew quickly, wildly—like a vine climbing the walls of her heart.

But love for a girl is not the same as love for a boy.

Majnoon could roam the desert freely with her name on his tongue. She could not even whisper his name without fear.

Majnoon could carve poems on stones. She could not write a letter or send a message.

Majnoon could show his love openly and be admired for it. She had to hide hers like a crime.

Yet she loved him just as deeply.

At night, when the wind blew softly through her window, she imagined it carried his voice. She repeated his poems in her mind until sleep carried her away. She dreamed of walking beside him under the desert stars, free from rules, free from fear, free to choose happiness.

But life did not ask her what she wanted.

When rumors reached her home, her family reacted not with understanding but with anger. Her mother cried, her father shouted, and her brothers guarded her like she was gold someone wanted to steal. They did not ask about her feelings. They did not ask if she loved him too.

They only asked one question:

“How do we stop this?”

Laila became a prisoner in her own house. Windows were covered. Doors were locked. She was not allowed to step outside alone. Every choice she once had was taken away from her.

What hurt her most was not the locked door. It was the way the world believed she had no heart of her own.

People said Majnoon suffered. Yes, he did. But she suffered in silence.

When her family finally forced her to marry another man, Laila felt her soul break in a way no one could see. She agreed to the marriage with her lips, but inside, she refused.

In her husband’s house, she lived like a shadow. She spoke only when needed. She sat alone for hours, remembering Qais’s voice, his poetry, his gentle eyes. Her husband realized she did not belong to him, but he could not reach the heart she had already given away.

Years passed, but her love never weakened. It became quieter, deeper, and more painful. When news of Majnoon’s wandering reached her, she cried silently in the darkness.

The world believed she abandoned him.

The truth was the opposite.

She loved him until her last breath.

On her final night, her body frail and her eyes filled with longing, she whispered his name—softly, as if she feared even the wind would carry it away.

Her last thought was of him.

And when Majnoon came to her grave and placed his hand on the earth that held her, the world saw only the tragedy of a man’s broken heart.

But beneath the ground lay a woman who had loved him just as fiercely.

Two hearts, broken by society, reunited by destiny.

This was Laila’s truth—the truth the world forgot.