Jamal and I had many dreams, but the most important one was to build a home together. Sometimes he would talk about his friends in the United States and speak about how he would want me to meet them after our marriage. Almost every day he said he would wish to wake up in the morning knowing he was not alone. Despite dealing with such intense emotions, Jamal never bothered others with his problems. He always tried to remain as strong as a mountain.

He was cheerful the morning we were going to the Saudi consulate to get a document certifying his divorce. I decided not to go to my university that day, and we traveled there together. He had no foreboding of what was to come. The consular official, who had informed him that the paperwork had come through, had told him to be at the Saudi consulate at 1 p.m.

On our way there, we made plans for the rest of the day. We were going to browse appliances for our new home and meet with our friends and family members over dinner. When we arrived at the consulate, he went right in. He told me to alert the Turkish authorities if I did not hear from him soon. Had I known it would be the last time I would see Jamal, I would have rather entered the Saudi consulate myself. The rest is history: He never walked out of that building. And with him, I also got lost there.

Since then, I have been thinking that Jamal and I are no longer in the same world. I keep asking the same questions to myself: Where is he? Is he alive? If he is alive, how is he?

Today is Jamal’s birthday. I had planned a party, inviting his closest friends to surround him with the love and warmth that he had missed. We would have been married now.

Twelve days have passed. I have been waking up every morning hoping to hear from him. The speculations about his fate have not been confirmed by the authorities, but the silence of Saudi Arabia fills me with dread. That haunting question doesn’t leave me for a single moment: Is it true? Have they assassinated Jamal?