[14][15] As such, the fight for LGBT+ rights in the Middle East remains ongoing and challenging, with much work to be done to ensure that all individuals, regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity, can live freely and without fear.

[16][17][18][19] The editor Elias Jahshan, a Palestinian and Lebanese Australian journalist and writer living in London,[20][21] introduces the book as seeking to reclaim the narrative and allow queer Arabs to tell their own stories on their own terms.

Mona Eltahawy, an Egyptian-American journalist and feminist, starts with "I am able to write this because I died ten years ago" after being beaten, sexually assaulted, and detained by Egyptian police.

Dima Mikhayel Matta, Beirut-based writer and actress, grieves the loss of their father's stories due to a cognitive impairment and sees forgetfulness as a constant slipping away.

Zeyn Joukhadar, a Syrian American writer, shares their experiences with music, particularly opera, a predominantly white space, and how it intersects with their identity as a person of colour and their trauma and impostor syndrome.

Joukhadar examines how low voices are associated with powerful and villainous characters and how white supremacy creates a binary gender system where non-white bodies are seen as foils.

Ramadan shares his experience meeting André Aciman, who also faces similar assumptions, and questions the pressure on marginalised authors to be social justice warriors and write excellent literature.

Amina, a pseudonym of an Egyptian writer, who shares two moments of joy, one at a Mashrou' Leila concert where brave individuals raised rainbow flags, and another on a romantic beach night where they saw a shooting star with their partner.

Layth meets Mazen, an old flame he met on Grindr, and the passage details their past relationship, which was full of great sex and affection but never developed into a deep romance.

Amna Ali, a Somali-Yemeni-Emirati Black and queer rights activist, shares their personal experience growing up in a family of religious immigrants, highlighting the intersectionality of discrimination and oppression.

Sinno shares personal experiences and reflections on the cultural significance of music, gender and sexuality, and the role of antisocial queerness in reclaiming and weaponizing femininity.

As a diasporic Arab, Salam has a complex relationship with identity and experiences guilt and self-doubt, recognizing that silence can hold a place for concealment, secrecy, deception, and reverence.

The passage is a personal narrative of a queer Muslim Iraqi-Canadian Hasan Namir, who recounts their earliest memory of being fascinated with Sherihan, an Egyptian performer, and how they struggled to reconcile their attraction to other boys with their religious beliefs and family's expectations of them.

Madian Aljazerah, Palestinian-Jordanian who was born in Kuwait, was on a flight when they noticed an elderly Palestinian man who was confused and distressed due to Alzheimer's, and had lost his wife fifteen years ago.

[24] The essays and memoirs in the book was described by the Time as offering a rich and diverse exploration of queer Arab identity, culture, and belonging,[2] and provide heart-warming connections and moments of celebration.

[25] Aneesha Hussain compared the book to a painting that may appear obvious at first glance, but upon closer inspection, it reveals its hidden beauty and layers that holds stories that might not be visible to the reader initially but can be discovered with a deeper look.

[26] Khaliden Nas acknowledges some critiques of the writing, but ultimately found the text significant for its unflinching, pointed, and vulnerable portrayal of queer Arab experiences, and its call to remember to imagine hope for ourselves.

[27][28] Sleiman El Hajj analysis of the book highlights the importance of this anthology as a means of reclaiming Arab queerness from Western-centric narratives and the white saviour complex.

El Hajj praises the anthology for consciously addressing potential critiques and for its unflinching, vulnerable storytelling that demands readers to look beyond the obvious and acknowledge the stories of those on the margins.