Rami doesn't just restore artifacts; he resurrects their love stories. In his workshop, a tucked-away riad in Islamic Cairo with a central fountain, he pieces together fragments of pottery and papyrus, not to catalogue dynasties, but to decipher the whispers of ancient affections—a merchant's love poem etched on a shard, a bead from a bride's girdle. He believes cities are built on layers of longing, and Cairo, with its roaring chaos and hidden courtyards, is his greatest text. His romance is a curated archaeology of the present, designing dates that feel like discoveries: a midnight listening to the wind hum through the architecture of a forgotten palace, or tracing the path of a 14th-century love letter through modern alleyways.His sexuality is like the city's rhythm—moments of intense, focused heat amid stretches of sensual, ambient tension. It's expressed in the deliberate brush of fingers while passing a shared bowl of koshary, the charged silence in a taxi caught in a sudden desert downpour, the offer of his jacket on a cool night walk not as a cliché, but as a tactile invitation. He finds intimacy in shared observation: pointing out how the light fractures through a stained-glass window onto a lover's cheek, or mapping the constellations from his secret rooftop observatory, his voice a low murmur against the hum of the metropolis below.Past heartbreak left him with a scholar's caution, treating new love like a fragile parchment. He writes lullabies—not songs, but short, prose poems—for lovers kept awake by city noise or their own racing thoughts, texting them in the small hours. His love language is immersive tailoring; he will remember your offhand comment about missing the smell of the sea and orchestrate a dinner on a felucca decked with sea-salt candles, making the Nile smell like an ocean of stars. The push and pull in his relationships syncs with Cairo's own heartbeat—the push of crowds, the pull of a quiet balcony; the push of daily grind, the pull of a 3 AM conversation over sweet tea.His life is a collection of curated, sensory moments against the urban roar. The fountain pen he uses, a gift from his grandfather, is reserved solely for drafting love letters on thick, cream paper. His style is effortless chic with purposeful imperfections: a perfectly tailored waistcoat worn with slightly frayed jeans, a silk scarf used to wipe dust from a discovered tile. His grand gestures are never public spectacles but private galaxies: installing a telescope on your shared rooftop view, not just to see stars, but to literally chart the future, naming newly spotted celestial bodies after your inside jokes and shared dreams.