My fiancé, Khashoggi, was a patriot and a solitary.

Jamal Khashoggin [Read: Xhemajl Kashogi's case at a conference in Istanbul during May. I knew his exploits and his work because I care about what they do in the Middle East and the Gulf Region. We had a talk about political affairs for about half an hour. Jamal talked about the remarkable transformation that was taking place in Saudi Arabia, the country of its origin, and it made it very distressing.

Afterward, I wrote to thank him for our conversation. We continued our swath, which quickly evolved into an emotional relationship. I admired his personality - his knowledge and his courage to raise political questions about our piece of the world. We were also linked by the shared passion for democracy, human rights and freedom of expression, fundamental principles for which he fought.

The origin of Jamal's family was from the Turkish city of Kayser. For more than thirty years, he worked as a journalist. He was a reporter for Saudi Gaza and others, the best editor of Arab News and Al Watan newspapers, led a TV network, wrote columnists, and was advised by some of the most prominent leaders and some of the best politicians of Saudi Arabia, including Prince Turki al-Fisal, the country's former intelligence chief.

He often traveled around the world, but he loved Saudi Arabia more than any other country. Yet, his country had no room for him, had driven him away. He left Saudi Arabia with two suitcases and the company of intellectuals and other activists who had criticised Prince Mohammed bin Salman.

But Jamal was a patriot. When people referred to him as a dissident, he rejected that word. “I am an independent journalist who uses his feather for the good of the country,” meant. He fled Saudi Arabia because it was the only way to write and talk about the issues and ideas he did, and to do so without compromising his dignity.

In moments of concern, he would think of his imprisoned friends in Arabia, and give himself comfort with the words, at least “I can write freely.” But he had nightmares, their voices and their silhouettes. Whenever I called him in the morning, Jamal told me that his face was lit from my voice. Since I did not hear anything from him, it was many days that I now understand better the meaning of those words.

What was most valuable in Jamal was his honesty, warmth, and honesty. As we were getting to know each other, I began to see him not only as a wise man, as a well - known journalist and thinker, but also as a sensitive man walking around the world with painful illness for his home and country. He often spoke of his desire to go again to the Socces of Medina, the city of his birth and his upbringing, and to spend many hours attending with friends there.

He was living and working in Washington, D.C., for over a year. This life away from home, family and friends, and the spiritual atmosphere of my country, is a very heavy burden,” once told me. Really, he felt very lonely: my dear “Hatage, my health and everything, but I have no one to share my life with.” All she wanted from her partner was love, respect, and companionship.

Our love and our dreams for a life together brought him from Washington to Istanbul to get the documents they wanted to marry me. The hope of spending the rest of his life together happily motivated Jamal to enter danger and go to the Saudi consulate on that terrible afternoon of October 2nd.

Jamal and I had many dreams, but the most important thing was to build a house together. Sometimes he talked about his friends in the United States and how much he wanted to see me after marriage. Almost every day, he said what he wanted to wake up in the morning knowing that he was not alone. Though faced with such intense emotions, Jamal never tired others of them. He always tried to remain as strong as a mountain.

He was happy at the Sabah when we were going to the Saudi consulate to obtain a document that would certificate his divorce. I decided not to go to my university that day, and we took a trip there together. There was no feeling about what would happen. The consulate official, who had informed him that his documents were ready, told him to be at the consulate by 1: 00 p.m.

As we traveled, we made plans for the rest of the day. We would go shopping to buy things for our new home, and we would meet our friends and family at night. When we arrived at the consulate, he immediately entered. He told me to warn the Turkish authorities if I didn't hear anything about him if he was late. If I'd known this would be the last time I saw Yamal, I'd have gotten myself into that consulate. The rest is history: She never came back from that building. And with him, I lost in there.

Ever since, I've been thinking that I and Jamal are not in the same world. I keep asking myself: Where is he? Is he alive? If he's alive, how is he?

Today's Jamal's birthday. I have a party planned. I have invited his closest friends. We'd be married by now if that disappearance hadn't happened.

Twelve days have passed. I woke up every morning from yam hoping I'd get some good news from him. Speculations about his destiny are not confirmed by the authorities, but the silence of Saudi Arabia fills me with yours. That persecutor question won't calm me down for a minute: Is it true? Did they kill Jamal?

If the claims are true, and the Jamal turns out to be killed by Mohammed bin Salman, he has become a martyr. His loss is not only mine but that of many people with consciences and morals. And if we have already lost Ya'qub (Jacob) [i.e. the Taurat (Torah) and the Injeel (Gospel) ], then its torment will not be sufficient for her. People who took it from us, regardless of political positions, must be held accountable and punished according to the law.

In the last few days, I've read reports saying President Trump wants to give me an invitation to the White House. If he makes a sincere contribution to efforts to find out what happened within the Saudi consulate in Istanbul that day, I will consider accepting that invitation.

Jamal spoke against oppression, but he paid with his head the request for freedom for Saudis. If he's dead, and I hope not, thousands of jamals will be born today on his birthday. His voice and ideas will resound from Turkey to Saudi Arabia, and worldwide. Pressure never lasts forever. Tirana pays for their sins. / NYT/Periscope

*Hatice Cengiz, the author's non-Albanian name