"Forbidden is every love I was bound to meet, and my first stood in a boutique."
Meena showed me that selling body and selling principles are two separate trades, and that money's origin is mud. Since his adolescence, he was pulled away from sewing by his own family, but - like family - somethings stay in your blood. After his runaway, he no longer hid in his closet, but his many dresses did. Their closeted years showed him that a society controlled by skin cannot perceive art, so he found the way to a man's heart.
What was known in the city is that dressmaking was by the dress-wearer. Every year, the same seamstresses with new shades; ones which women wore under veils and over each other. Dresses lined up like Meena and other men did on the street, but heredity shaped the scene; women made their covers.
Many wander around possibilities of coincidence, meant-to-be and chance, but that didn't matter to someone like Badr for he thought everything was a chemical reaction, including romance.
Badr once read Meena's notebook and kept it to himself, then pushed Khader's hands away from his, for Khader was a fool of classical drama. Often at late nights did he turn on a screen of black and white to watch films that only him and Meena would watch till the end; an end with a black vintage swing dress, fishnet eye mask under a floral bow cloche, a man with a suit like the color of the night, and a kiss under a street light.