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MidReal Story
La Maison Des Rêves
Scenario:في أحد أحياء الجزائر العاصمة القديمة، يعيش "حسام"، شاب طموح يعمل مصورًا فوتوغرافيًا، يحب التقاط لحظات الحياة البسيطة، ويؤمن أن "كل صورة تحمل قصة لا تُقال بالكلمات". وفي أحد الأيام، وبين أزقة القصبة، يلتقط صورة لفتاة تبيع الزهور في ركن صغير... تلك الفتاة هي "ميليسا"، طالبة جامعية وأصغر أبناء عائلة فرنسية-جزائرية تقيم في الجزائر منذ عقود.
صورة واحدة تغير مجرى حياتهما.
بين لقاءات عفوية في المقاهي التقليدية، ومغامرات في شوارع المدينة العتيقة، ونزهات عند البحر في "سيدي فرج"، تبدأ قصة حب تنمو بهدوء، لكنها تصطدم بالعوائق الثقافية والعائلية.
هل ستنتصر قصة حبهما على الماضي والتقاليد؟
وهل سيتعلم حسام وميليسا أن الحب الحقيقي لا يحتاج إلى لغة واحدة، بل إلى قلبين فقط يفهمان بعضهما رغم كل الاختلافات؟
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Hossam
He is a young photographer in old Algiers, capturing life's moments and beauty in the city. He is ambitious, observant, and romantic. Hossam lives above his family's shop, where he assists with books and dreams of opening his own gallery. Inspired by his father's bookshop, he documents Algiers' essence through photography. When he meets Melissa, a curious girl in the Kasbah, he becomes smitten, imagining a future with her despite their language barrier.
Melissa
She is a university student in Algiers, part of a FrenchAlgerian family. She is curious, adventurous, and introspective. Melissa sells flowers in the Kasbah to make extra money and meets Hossam while doing business. Enchanted by his kindness and vision, she dreams of exploring Algiers with him. Though she speaks little Arabic, her heart connects over shared moments and beauty. Her family's history in Algeria spans decades, adding depth to her identity.
I do not know what she said, but I know very well what I heard.
Every picture holds a story that cannot be told with words.
I am "Hossam," a young man who loves to capture life's moments and beauty through the lens of his camera.
I am not a professional photographer, but I am working on it.
My dream is to have a photo gallery of my own.
I do not know what the future holds, but I am trying to build my dreams.
One of my favorite hobbies is taking pictures of the streets of old Algiers, which are considered the most beautiful streets in the world.
The narrow alleys and the high buildings, which were built in the Ottoman style, give the city a special charm.
I was walking in those alleys when suddenly I saw her in one of the corners.
She was sitting on a chair with a small box in front of her.
Suddenly she looked up and saw me, then she smiled at me.
I do not know what she said, but I smiled back at her and continued to walk away.
When I turned the corner, I stopped and took my camera out of my bag and snapped a picture of her from a distance.
I was lucky that she did not see me taking her picture.
My heart was pounding as I gripped my camera in my hand, trying to gather the courage to walk back around the corner and take another picture of her.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers.
As I approached her, she looked up from arranging a bouquet of roses in her box.
Her eyes met mine, filled with a mix of curiosity and warmth.
She was even more beautiful up close, with her dark hair tied back in a loose braid and a gentle smile on her lips.
I pointed at the weathered wooden container in front of her and attempted to say something in French, hoping she would understand.
I had learned some basic phrases in school, but my pronunciation was far from perfect.
"Le... le... container," I stammered.
She looked at me with a puzzled expression, then responded in rapid French that I couldn't quite decipher.
I shook my head, feeling a bit embarrassed at my lack of language skills. She seemed to sense my confusion and tried again, this time speaking slowly and using hand gestures to help convey her message.
"Le roses," she said, pointing at the flowers in her box.
"Je les vends."
I nodded, understanding that she was selling roses.
She smiled again, seemingly pleased that I had grasped the meaning of her words.
"Pourquoi?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.
I hesitated for a moment before responding, "Pour la photo," I said, holding up my camera.
She nodded thoughtfully and then pointed at the roses again.
"Choisissez," she said softly.
I scanned the box, taking in the vibrant colors of the flowers.
There were red roses, pink roses, yellow roses, and even some white ones tucked away in a corner.
I reached out a trembling hand and selected one of the white roses, its delicate petals glistening in the sunlight. As I handed over some money to pay for it, our fingers brushed briefly against each other.
It was a fleeting touch, but it sent a shiver down my spine nonetheless.
She took the money and placed it in her pocket before handing me the rose with a gentle smile.
"Merci," I whispered gratefully as I accepted it from her hand.
She nodded once more before returning to her task of arranging the remaining flowers in her box.
Standing before her flower stand, I fumbled with the strap of my camera, trying to find the right words in French to ask if I could take a picture of her.
My hands shook slightly as I gestured towards my camera and then back at her.
"Tu es... belle," I managed to say, hoping that she would understand.
"Photo... s'il vous plaît?"
She paused in her task and looked up at me with a hint of surprise in her eyes.
Then, without saying a word, she reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
The morning light caught her face perfectly, illuminating the soft contours of her features.
She looked even more beautiful than before, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect of capturing her image on film. "Oui," she said softly, nodding her head in agreement.
"Ce serait une belle photo."
I quickly adjusted the lens on my camera and raised it to my eye, taking care to frame the shot just right.
But just as I was about to press the shutter button, our eyes met again.
For a moment, everything around us seemed to fade away - the bustling Kasbah, the vibrant flowers, the sounds of merchants calling out their wares.
All that remained was the two of us, locked in a silent understanding that transcended language barriers.
I pressed the shutter, capturing not just her image but a moment that would forever remain etched in my memory.
Standing there with my camera, I noticed how her hands fidgeted with the stems of the flowers, a subtle reflection of her own nervous energy.
The morning crowd pushed past us, but we remained frozen in our own little bubble.
I lowered my camera and approached her, showing her the photo on the screen.
Her eyes widened as she leaned in closer, the scent of roses mingling with the faint hint of her perfume.
She pointed at the camera, then at different spots around her stand, suggesting that I take more photos from various angles.
I nodded eagerly, moving to capture each shot as she arranged the flowers in a graceful dance.
With every click of the shutter, I felt myself drawing nearer to her, even though we barely exchanged words.
Just as I was about to take another picture, an elderly customer approached to buy some flowers.
Leaning against a weathered stone wall, I scroll through the display on my camera, studying each frame of Melissa.
The morning light catches her delicate movements as she wraps roses for the elderly woman.
My fingers pause on an image where she's mid-laugh, sunlight streaming through her loose curls.
The old woman pays and shuffles away, leaving behind the scent of jasmine.
Melissa glances at me between arranging her remaining flowers, her eyes curious.
