STRAIGHT! UP! GAY!

Rating: PG (playfully romantic, suggestive, but appropriate for all audiences)

Setting: A liberal, sun-drenched town nestled between golden hills and whispering dunes in the Middle East, where the air carries spices, secrets, and the scent of blooming jasmine.

There once was a boy — no, the boy — named Sami. With lashes like crescent moons and a smile that made half the class forget how to breathe, he floated through the corridors of Al Noor Academy like a breeze through open windows. The girls adored him. The boys admired him (though most wouldn’t say it out loud). His notebooks were full of poetry and the margins filled with hearts drawn by hands other than his own.

In this town, romance wasn’t something hidden — it was celebrated in glances, songs, and long walks under star-stitched skies. Still, nothing could prepare the students for what would happen one blazing Thursday afternoon, when even the date palms seemed to be eavesdropping.

The bell had just rung for the final break. The school courtyard shimmered with heat and energy. The girls gathered in their usual corner beneath the jasmine vines, whispering about everything and nothing.

Then they saw it.

Sami.

Walking hand in hand with a boy.

But not just any boy.

This boy had eyes like storm clouds and wore his uniform with just enough rebellion — tie loose, top button undone, hair that said I woke up late but made it look iconic. His name was Amir, and he’d just transferred from the city.

Sami stopped in the center of the playground. Every gaze turned toward him.

He cleared his throat and said, with that same disarming grin:

“This is Amir. He’s… my boyfriend.”

Gasps, giggles, and squeals of absolute cinematic joy.

From that moment on, they weren’t just two boys. They were the boys.

And so began the legend of Sami, Amir, and their harem — a crew of beautiful, fierce, funny girls who didn’t care about rules, only about love, good music, and defending their boys from boring people.

Each girl had a role.

Layla, the matchmaker, said she saw it coming in the stars.

Maya, the DJ, made playlists called For When Your Boyfriend Smiles Too Hard.

Yasmin, the poet, rewrote Shakespearean sonnets in honor of their love.

And Noor? Noor was the unofficial queen — protective, sharp-tongued, and entirely obsessed with making the school’s spring festival a celebration of “all kinds of love.”

The harem wasn’t about ownership. It was about devotion. Friendship. A celebration of two hearts brave enough to hold hands in the sun.

And somewhere between shared lunches, rooftop stargazing, and camel rides into the dunes (yes, real ones, not metaphors), something began to bloom.

No, not just between Sami and Amir.

But between the whole group — a warmth, a joy, a closeness that felt like its own kind of romance.

They called it the New Love.

A harem of hearts, not of bodies.

And it was the most beautiful story their town had ever told.