Still writing poems? Girls won’t marry a dreamer.

They say Qais was not born mad. He was made mad. By love. By Laila.

But listen closely — maybe the world was mad. And he was the only sane one left.

CUT TO:

His father enters.

A boy (QIAS, 14) hides under a quilt, writing on torn paper by oil lamp.

He passes children who throw stones. He doesn’t flinch.

Scroll to Top