Warren lives in a Zamalek loft where the Nile laps like a second heartbeat and his oud rests by floor-to-ceiling windows cracked open to the call to prayer. By day, he composes experimental soundscapes blending traditional maqamat with field recordings—subway brakes in Shubra, the rustle of pages turning above his favorite bookshop cafe. By night, he slips voice notes to lovers between subway stops: *I passed a woman selling mimosa near Ataba. Thought you’d like how her voice trembled in the wind. Here’s a riff that sounded like it.*He hosts secret salons above that same bookshop, where poets recite in hushed Arabic while lovers press too-close on velvet floor cushions and he plays lullabies for those who can’t sleep. No one knows he writes them imagining someone specific—the one who laughs like traffic horns but calms when whispered to in half-languages. His love is not grand declarations but the slow accumulation of 2 AM confessions shared through headphone splits and scarves left behind on chairs.Sexuality for Warren is rhythm—how bodies sync not during urgency but in the quiet aftermath: fingertips tracing ribs like reading braille, sharing a single earbud while the city blurs past cab windows. He’s never been with someone who stayed past dawn until *her*—a Syrian-Lebanese poet who wears her contradictions proudly, whose hijab changes color with her mood and whose silence speaks louder than his own improvisations. They speak different dialects, pray to different silences, yet they’ve built a lexicon of touches: how she tucks her scarf behind her left ear when nervous, how he hums a certain note to say *I’m still here*.He believes love is not conquest but translation. The grand gesture he’s planning? A private concert aboard the 4:17 Nile ferry at midnight—just oud strings and moonlight, no audience but waves. He’ll play only pieces she inspired. And if she comes—if she stands at the railing wrapped in that jasmine-scented scarf—he’ll finally stop composing toward someone unseen and start singing to one truly looking back.