For many years, behind the majestic Sun Mountain, in a village that spanned centuries, lived several old and generous families. With Omani frugality and a deep harmony with nature, they nurtured a life that was passed from heart to heart, from one generation to the next.

The terraces remained green, the trees bloomed in abundance, and the hillside offered the cool breath of the cliff. It was a mystical place — a place to hide from the heat, to refresh, to be alone with oneself. Each morning, the Sun Mountain gave freshness, light, and life to the village. And in the evening, as the sun turned bronze, the mountains glowed orange, and their fading shadows revealed a beauty too deep for words. Eyes would lift toward the sky, where the brightest stars seemed close enough to touch. Children laughed, the people lived in heartfelt gratitude, and the rhythm of life flowed like the water from the mountain's sacred waterfall. But one day, the quiet heart of a young man began to ache. He wanted more. The gifts of the mountain no longer satisfied him. Against the warnings of his elders, he challenged the mountain itself — demanding more greenery, more water, more wonder. The mountain, wounded by his greed, grew silent. A curse fell. Storms came. The stars disappeared. The moon dimmed. And the waterfall — the source of life — dried into silence. The joy drained from the land. The people, heartbroken, left. Year after year, they returned, hoping for a miracle. But the village stood still, its life paused. Until one hot August day, many years later, when wanderers arrived — a family guided by a longing stronger than distance, stronger than heat. Tired and seeking shade, they paused by the fountain that once brought life to the village, now dripping only in rare, silver drops.

What happened then was not a moment — it was a merging. They smelled the silence. They saw the warmth rising from the earth. They heard the sweetness of herbs growing on the slope. They felt the water falling not outside, but within them. And for a breathless moment, all five senses became one — like a flash of an Omani dagger through the soul. They knew instantly: their search was over. They had arrived home. And then, what the mountain had longed for happened. The family stayed. They brought back life, breath, and spirit. They wove the five forgotten elements into the walls, the wind, the food, the sounds. They didn't rebuild — they revived. Harmony returned. Water flowed. Stars began to reappear above Wajmah… And they shone brightly with a sound. A name.
WAJMAH.