《I'm A Hitman》


 Chapter 1: Where All Began

    "Finally... one last test before I become a hitman. One last step before I get my license, before the money... but God, just one more kill. One more innocent life. What the fuck should I do?"


    The bathroom was dimly lit, a single flickering bulb casting unsteady shadows on the cracked tiles. The air was thick, a cocktail of cheap cologne and damp mildew clinging to the walls. He stood hunched over the sink, gripping its edges as though letting go would make him fall apart completely.


    The reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. His face¡ªpale, slick with sweat, and twisted with terror¡ªstared back at him like a stranger. His bloodshot eyes darted, searching for answers in the depths of his reflection, but all he saw was the shadow of a man who used to be whole. The dark suit he wore hung sharply on his frame, a cruel reminder of the transformation he''d undergone. On the outside, he looked like someone powerful, someone dangerous. But inside, he was still screaming.


    He turned on the faucet, the old pipes groaning in protest, and splashed cold water onto his face. The droplets slid down his cheeks like tears, but the icy shock did nothing to calm the storm raging inside him. His breathing was shallow and erratic, each exhale jagged as if his lungs were working against him.


    The money. The power. The license. It was all so close he could taste it, but the cost¡ªGod, the cost¡ªwas a weight he could barely carry.


    He straightened slowly, forcing himself to meet the eyes of the man in the mirror. Those eyes¡ªthey belonged to someone else now. The man staring back at him wasn¡¯t the wide-eyed, hopeful dreamer he used to be. That man was gone, buried under layers of fear, guilt, and desperation.


    The final test awaited him, lurking just outside the bathroom door, and there was no turning back. Not now. Not after everything he had done.


    The cold porcelain of the sink pressed against his hands as his grip tightened, knuckles whitening. A memory flickered at the edges of his mind, uninvited and relentless. How had it come to this? How had his life spiraled so completely out of control?


    He exhaled shakily, his breath fogging the mirror. A month ago, this madness would have been unimaginable. But now, it was his reality. The beginning of the end started long before tonight. And whether he lived or died, whether he succeeded or failed, he was certain of one thing: this night would define him forever.


    This is how all this journey began a month ago.


    Tunis is a city with two faces. In the heart of the capital, sunlight bathed whitewashed buildings and glass towers, their reflections shimmering in fountains and polished streets. The air carried the scent of jasmine and fresh coffee from bustling caf¨¦s where the wealthy lingered, their conversations soft and measured. But as Karim drove further, the scenery morphed. The roads narrowed, the buildings aged, and the glossy fa?ades gave way to peeling paint and graffiti-scrawled walls.


    This was the real Tunis, where beauty and hardship collided. It''s a patchwork of rich neighborhoods and sprawling slums stitched together by desperation and hope. Karim glanced at the cracked pavement, where stray cats prowled between piles of trash, and then at the kids chasing a deflated soccer ball, their shouts echoing off the walls.


    He reached for the dial on his car¡¯s radio, turning up the soft, melancholic notes of loud music. The sound filled the cramped space, grounding him after a day of dealing with petty criminals and bureaucratic headaches. Outside, the golden glow of sunset painted the slums in hues that made them almost beautiful¡ªuntil the shadows crept in, revealing their true face.


    Karim adjusted his rearview mirror, catching his own reflection. Dark hair slicked back, sharp brown eyes that had seen too much, and the tan uniform of a police officer, his badge catching the light. He straightened his posture instinctively, a habit ingrained after years on the force.


    As he turned onto his street, the world softened. Familiar faces appeared¡ªneighbors who had watched him grow up. Si Ahmed, an elderly man with a cane, stood outside his small shop.


    ¡°Karim, back from duty?¡± Si Ahmed called, his voice gruff but kind.


    ¡°Yes, Si Ahmed,¡± Karim replied, rolling down the window and offering a polite nod. ¡°Long day, but it¡¯s good to be back.¡±


    The hum of his car engine blended with the chatter of the neighborhood. Women in colorful scarves haggled with a fruit vendor, their laughter spilling out into the street. A group of young men sat on the curb, their heads bent over a game of cards. Karim slowed to a crawl, careful not to disturb the children playing in the dusty lot.


    His house came into view¡ªa modest, two-story building with faded white walls and green shutters hanging slightly askew. He pulled up to the curb, cutting the engine. The car sighed as it settled, its age showing in every creak.


    As Karim stepped out, a boy no older than ten ran up to him, clutching a soccer ball that looked like it had seen better days. His oversized shirt hung loose on his thin frame, and his sandals, barely held together, slapped against the pavement.


    ¡°Oh, Mr. Karim,¡± the boy blurted, breathless from running, ¡°can you tell Ayman to give me back my DVDs? He¡¯s had them for weeks!¡±


    Karim crouched slightly, resting a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder. The lines on his face softened into a smile, and his voice was warm.


    ¡°Ah, my brother is still causing problems for you?¡± Karim teased. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll make sure he returns them.¡±


    The boy beamed, his worry gone, and scampered off to rejoin his friends. Karim watched him go, his smile lingering before fading into something more resigned. He turned back to the house, brushing dust from his uniform as he walked up the steps.


    He hesitated at the door, listening to the muffled sounds of the neighborhood. Kids laughing, a distant radio crackling, someone yelling over a card game. This was home¡ªchaotic, flawed, but his.


    As Karim stepped inside the house, the familiar scent of cooking filled the air. The apartment was on the second floor of a two-building complex, each wall painted in pale beige, the floors worn but still sturdy. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he ascended, a sound that comforted him, like the home he had grown up in.


    When he reached the door, it swung open, and there stood Marwa, his wife, a vision of warmth. Her radiant smile took his breath away, her dark black hair cascading down her shoulders like a flowing river. She looked every bit the part of the glowing pregnant woman she was.


    "Welcome back!" she said, her voice soft and sweet, as she stepped forward to embrace him. "How was your day?"


    "It was normal, as usual," Karim answered, his tone flat as he let go of her and made his way to the table.


    Moments later, Marwa had already prepared dinner¡ªa steaming plate of food, filling the room with a comforting aroma. She was attentive, always looking out for him, and she moved with the grace of someone who took pride in the small moments of life. Karim sat down, the weight of the day pressing on him, but he couldn¡¯t help but smile at her care.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "Marwa," he asked, as he picked up the warm bread she had placed in front of him, "Did my mom visit you earlier and bring the bread? I told Ayman to pick up two from Saliman''s bakery."


    There was a slight pause before she answered. She placed a plate of freshly prepared green salad beside him and wiped her hands on her apron. "Ah, no. She didn¡¯t come. I went to the bakery myself, and just grabbed the bread from the closest one."


    Karim¡¯s gaze shifted to the bread, a subtle frown forming on his face as he chewed in silence. He knew Ayman hadn¡¯t gone, and somehow, that didn¡¯t surprise him. He bit his lip but didn¡¯t say more.


    Marwa continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "Sorry, we ran out of onions," she said, placing a second dish on the table. "I asked your mom for some."


    Karim looked up at her with a soft smile, trying to ease the mood. "Well, my bad. I¡¯ve been eating so many onions lately. I¡¯ll buy you some soon."


    She laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, Mister Onion who captures thieves."


    Karim chuckled. "Yes, I¡¯m Onionman, like Batman."


    She raised an eyebrow, placing her hand on her growing belly. "And I¡¯ll be a Batmoon.¡¯ Look at my belly¡ªit¡¯s getting big. I¡¯m losing my style!"


    Karim¡¯s smile widened as he playfully responded, "Yes, our son will be here soon, inshallah. And he¡¯ll be the one bringing us bread in the future."


    They both laughed at the thought, the warmth of their easy banter filling the room, a gentle reminder of simpler times. Karim''s eyes softened as he looked at her, the lines of his face easing into a rare smile. He watched the way her lips curved as she spoke, her voice light and melodic, like the distant sound of a song he''d always known but never truly heard until now.


    As she continued, Karim''s gaze lingered on her face, tracing the delicate way her brows furrowed when she was focused, the glint of mischief in her eyes that made his chest tighten. His heart, for once, wasn''t weighed down by the heavy thoughts that usually consumed him; instead, it beat in rhythm with her words. He felt a pull he hadn''t expected, a warmth growing within him that had nothing to do with the laughter or the meal between them.


    Her presence, so effortlessly graceful, made the rest of the world seem distant and unimportant. He wanted to keep looking at her, to memorize every little detail of her face as though it held the key to something deeper¡ªsomething he wasn¡¯t ready to admit. But for now, he was content, watching her talk, lost in the way the light caught her features, the way she made him feel like the world outside had momentarily stopped.


    Just as the laughter settled, Karim¡¯s phone rang, interrupting the moment. He glanced at the screen and saw an unfamiliar number flashing on it.


    "Who is this?" he muttered, hesitating to pick up.


    Marwa noticed and urged him. "Answer it. Maybe it¡¯s important."


    Karim shook his head, still chewing his food. "Probably just work, wanting me back at the station or something," he said, but the persistent ringing began to irritate him. He ignored it for a moment longer, but Marwa¡¯s persistent glances made him roll his eyes and pick up the phone.


    Just as his hand reached for it, his mother¡¯s voice been heard from downstairs, urgent and frantic.


    "Karim! Karim!" She screamed, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Please, come quickly!"


    Her knocking on the door was frantic, adding to the mounting tension in the house.


    Karim dropped his phone and stood up abruptly, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong.


    Karim¡¯s heart raced as he rushed toward the door, but his mother¡¯s terrified voice stopped him in his tracks.


    "What happened, Mom?" he asked, his tone sharp with concern.


    She stood by the stairs, visibly shaken, her hands trembling as she spoke. Her once-vibrant face, now lined with the years of sacrifice and worry, seemed even older in that moment. Her hair, once dark and full, had long since turned to a silvery gray, now thin and wispy, framing the weathered features of a woman who had given everything for her children. The weight of life¡¯s hardships hung on her shoulders, but in her eyes, there remained a fierce, undying love, a love that had never wavered despite the toll the years had taken on her body and spirit.


    She had been both mother and father to her children, the silent strength in their lives, bearing the brunt of hardships with a quiet resilience. Her hands, though now marked with age and the years of labor, had once held them with tender care, shaping their lives with sacrifice. Her life had never been her own; it had always been about them¡ªher boys, her everything. She had given up her youth, her dreams, and even her health to see them survive, to give them a better life. Yet, despite all she had endured, she still carried herself with a grace that came from a lifetime of enduring pain for the sake of those she loved.


    Now, standing before Karim, her face pale and drawn with concern, it was clear that the years had not dulled her devotion, even as the lines on her face deepened. "I heard¡­ I heard Ayman going to a street fight," she repeated, her voice faltering slightly. The words seemed to tremble in the air, as though the very mention of her son''s involvement in violence was a burden too heavy for her frail heart to bear.


    Karim froze, a wave of frustration sweeping over him. "Damn it, not again!" he muttered, slamming his fist against the wall. This wasn¡¯t the first time Ayman had been involved in something like this. He didn¡¯t need this on top of everything else, especially with his own life stretched thin.


    Without another word, he grabbed his jacket from the chair and slipped his phone into his pocket, his movements swift and tense. As he headed toward the door, he saw Marwa standing by the kitchen, her face a mixture of worry and disappointment. Her hand rested on her swollen belly, her eyes filled with concern as she watched him prepare to leave.


    "Please," His mother said softly, her voice trembling. "Don¡¯t call your friends to come and arrest them, Karim. Just bring Ayman back home, let them fight or whatever¡­ but please, don¡¯t bring the police into this."


    Her words hung heavy in the air, a quiet plea for him to handle the situation as best as he could. She knew her son was a man of duty, but tonight, she was asking for something more than his badge.


    Karim stood there for a moment, caught between the pressure of his job and the pull of his family. He wanted to reassure her, but all he could manage was a strained smile. "I¡¯ll handle it, mom. I¡¯ll bring him back, don¡¯t worry." then turned his head to Marwa "I will be right back soon, don''t worry honey."


    As he stepped out into the cool night air, the weight of the situation settled in. Ayman was always in trouble¡ªalways testing his limits¡ªand this time, it might be more than just a scuffle. But tonight, Karim could only pray it didn¡¯t spiral into something worse.


    He slid into his car, the engine starting with a low growl as he drove off toward the alley, the city streets flashing by in the rearview mirror. The fight was waiting, and Ayman was about to face the consequences.


    Karim bolted down the stairs two at a time, his heartbeat pounding in his ears like a war drum. His jacket flapped behind him as he struggled to shrug it on while moving, the cold night air biting at his face. The faint sounds of children playing in the distance felt distant, irrelevant, drowned out by the chaos unfolding in his mind.


    Behind him, his mother¡¯s voice was frantic, desperate. "Karim! Promise me, please, promise me you¡¯ll bring Ayman back safely! Don¡¯t let anything happen to him. He¡¯s still my son, even if he¡¯s... even if he¡¯s lost his way." Her words caught in her throat, her breath shaky as tears glistened in her eyes.


    Karim turned back for the briefest of moments, his own emotions barely held in check. "I¡¯ll find him, Mom. I swear. I won¡¯t let anything happen to him." The words felt like a promise and a burden, each syllable heavier than the last.


    He reached his car, yanking the door open with more force than necessary. The streetlight above flickered faintly, casting shadows on his tense face as he slid into the driver¡¯s seat. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as the fear and anger coiled in his gut.


    His mother stood at the gate, clutching her shawl tightly around her shoulders as though it could shield her from the cold¡ªand the growing dread. She watched as Karim started the engine, the sound roaring to life and cutting through the quiet of the neighborhood.


    "Karim, please..." she called out one last time, her voice almost drowned by the hum of the car. "He¡¯s your brother. Don¡¯t forget that."


    He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Every second felt like a lifetime. His foot pressed down on the accelerator, the car lurching forward as he sped into the night. The roads blurred under the dim streetlights as he drove, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.


    The tension hung in the air like a storm cloud, ready to burst. The faces of kids playing soccer on the corner, old men gathered at the caf¨¦ smoking shisha, and women carrying groceries passed by his window in a haze. But Karim¡¯s focus was sharp, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.


    He knew the streets Ayman and his friends haunted all too well. Karim had walked those same alleys once, years ago, back when he wasn¡¯t wearing a badge¡ªback when he wasn¡¯t a man expected to have all the answers.


    The irony wasn¡¯t lost on him. He was a police officer, a protector of the law. Yet here he was, chasing down his own brother before the streets could swallow him whole.


    As the car tore through the narrow lanes, Karim¡¯s grip on the wheel tightened even further. He wasn¡¯t just trying to reach Ayman¡ªhe was trying to outrun the sinking feeling in his chest.

 Chapter 2: The Thin Line

    Under the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, the air in the slums was thick with tension. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional barking of stray dogs barely broke the silence of the narrow alley. A group of young men huddled together, their faces hard, their eyes sharp with anger and determination.


    Ayman stood at the edge of the group, his hood pulled low over his face, trying to block out the gnawing voice of doubt creeping into his thoughts. He clenched his fists, his fingers twitching as if unsure whether to grab a cigarette or a weapon. Around him, his friends were restless, their voices rising and falling like waves crashing on the shore.


    ¡°Come on, man! Are we just going to sit here and let those bastards take what¡¯s ours?¡± one of them shouted, his voice laced with frustration. It was Farid, their self-proclaimed leader, pacing back and forth with a crowbar in his hand. His thin frame was coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap.


    ¡°No way!¡± another chimed in, slamming a fist into his palm. ¡°They think they can jump Hamza and get away with it? Nah, not tonight. This is our turf!¡±


    The name Hamza sparked a murmur of agreement among the group. Hamza was one of theirs¡ªa brother in everything but blood. He¡¯d been beaten and humiliated by a rival crew, and now it was about more than just the weed. It was about pride.


    Ayman shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the edge of the alley where the dim light faded into shadow. He could still hear Hamza¡¯s voice in his head, shaky and weak, pleading for help when they found him battered and broken. He didn¡¯t like Hamza much, but the sight of him like that had done something to Ayman¡ªsomething he couldn¡¯t explain.


    Farid¡¯s voice broke through his thoughts. ¡°Listen up!¡± he barked, raising the crowbar like a general addressing his troops. ¡°This is our chance to send a message. They think they can mess with us, with our business? Fuck that! We¡¯re taking back what¡¯s ours. For Hamza. For us.¡±


    ¡°For us!¡± the group heard, their voices blending into a low, menacing chant.


    Ayman felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Kamel, his oldest friend, a stocky guy with a scar running down his cheek. ¡°You in, Ayman?¡± Kamel¡¯s voice was calm, almost too calm, but his eyes burned with intensity. ¡°We need you, bro. We need every hand tonight.¡±


    Ayman hesitated, his stomach twisting in knots. The truth was, he didn¡¯t care much about the weed or the territory. But here, among them, he wasn¡¯t just a loser wasting his life¡ªhe was someone, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.


    He nodded, his voice barely audible. ¡°Yeah... I¡¯m in.¡±


    Farid grinned, a wild, feral grin that made Ayman¡¯s skin crawl. ¡°That¡¯s what I like to hear! Let¡¯s gear up, boys.¡±


    The group dispersed, rummaging through the shadows for makeshift weapons¡ªpipes, bats, and broken bottles. Ayman found himself holding a rusty wrench, its weight unfamiliar in his hand. The sound of their preparations echoed in the alley, a chilling symphony of metal clanking and adrenaline-fueled whispers.


    ¡°Remember,¡± Farid said, his voice dropping to a sinister tone, ¡°this isn¡¯t just about the weed. This is about respect. We¡¯re taking it back, no matter what.¡±


    The words hung heavy in the air as they began to move, their shadows stretching long and jagged under the flickering light. Ayman glanced back over his shoulder, his heart hammering in his chest. Somewhere deep inside, he wondered if he was about to cross a line he could never uncross.


    The small, run-down old caf¨¦ sat at the edge of the slum, its cracked neon sign flickering ¡°Caf¨¦ Ibn el-Mahroussa.¡± Inside, the rival crew lounged carelessly, their laughter and crude jokes getting off the peeling walls. A bottle of cheap vodka passed from hand to hand, their voices growing louder with every sip. Smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the greasy scent of fried food.


    At the far corner, an older man hunched over a wooden table, meticulously packing small bundles of weed into thin, brown paper. His rough hands moved with practiced precision, a cigarette dangling from his lips as ash fell onto the table. He was the crew¡¯s manufacturer, the heart of their operation.


    Outside, Ayman and his crew crouched in the shadows, their breaths shallow, their hearts pounding. The tension was electric, crackling between them as Farid, at the front, signaled for silence. Ayman gripped his wrench tightly, his palms slick with sweat.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Farid whispered, his voice sharp and cold.


    The group nodded, their faces hardening into masks of determination.


    ¡°Go!¡±


    Like a tidal wave crashing onto the shore, they burst into the caf¨¦, shattering the quiet camaraderie of the rival crew. The first sound was the deafening crash of glass as Kamel hurled a brick through the front window, shards spraying across the room.


    ¡°What the fuck¡ª?!¡± one of the rivals yelled, his voice cut short as Farid slammed a crowbar into the table, splitting it in half.


    Ayman moved on instinct, his wrench swinging wildly as he rushed toward the nearest rival. The man barely had time to react before the cold, rusty metal connected with his shoulder. He let out a guttural scream, stumbling back into the wall.


    ¡°Get up, you piece of shit!¡± Farid roared, grabbing another rival by the collar and slamming him onto the ground. The man struggled, his fists flailing, but Farid was relentless, landing punch after punch.


    The caf¨¦ erupted into chaos. Chairs flew through the air, bottles shattered against walls, and the sickening thud of fists meeting flesh rebounded in the confined space.


    Ayman found himself face-to-face with another rival, a burly guy with a shaved head. The man lunged at him, swinging a broken bottle. Ayman ducked just in time, the glass whistling past his ear, and countered with a desperate swing of his wrench, catching the man¡¯s jaw. Blood sprayed across the floor as the rival staggered back, clutching his face.


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± the rival spat, his voice muffled by the blood pooling in his mouth.


    ¡°Fuck you too!¡± Ayman shot back, his voice shaking as much from adrenaline as fear.


    In the corner, Farid and Kamel were tearing through the manufacturer¡¯s table, scattering weed and money across the floor. ¡°Where¡¯s the stash?!¡± Farid demanded, grabbing the old man by the collar and shaking him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡ª¡± the old man started, but Farid didn¡¯t let him finish. He smashed the crowbar onto the table beside the man¡¯s head, splinters flying.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, old man!¡± Farid shouted.


    The rivals, though outnumbered, fought back viciously. One of them grabbed a chair and swung it at Kamel, hitting him square in the back. Kamel let out a grunt of pain but turned and tackled the man to the ground, raining punches down on him.


    Ayman, breathing heavily, looked around the caf¨¦. The floor was littered with broken glass, overturned chairs, and blood. His hands trembled as he gripped the wrench, his knuckles white.


    The caf¨¦ was a wreck, its once-standing tables and chairs reduced to rubble. The air was thick with tension, the groans of the injured blending with the faint sound of sirens in the distance¡ªstill too faint to be noticed by most of the group.


    Ayman stood frozen, his wrench trembling in his grip. The manufacturer lay on the ground, his face bloodied, one eye already swelling shut. Farid approached him, his crowbar resting on his shoulder, his steps deliberate.


    Ayman¡¯s breath hitched. Was Farid really going to finish him off?


    But Farid surprised him. Instead of landing a killing blow, he delivered a sharp kick to the manufacturer¡¯s ribs, sending him sprawling onto his side. The old man groaned, clutching his stomach, but he was still alive.


    Farid crouched beside him, his voice low and cutting. ¡°You listen to me, old man. This is your warning. Next time, don¡¯t just sit there packing for them like a coward. Stand up and fight for yourself, or you¡¯ll always be a punching bag for the next crew that comes along. And this is what happened to anyone that crossed us.¡±


    The manufacturer whimpered, nodding weakly as Farid stood and turned to Ayman. ¡°You see that? Hesitation gets you nowhere. In this world, you either hit first or get hit. Remember that.¡±


    Before Ayman could respond, a sudden shout came from the far side of the room. ¡°Farid! Ayman! Kamel¡¯s hurt!¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Ayman¡¯s heart dropped as he rushed to where Kamel lay slumped against the wall, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead. The rival who¡¯d struck him with a chair was now crumpled on the floor, groaning in pain.


    ¡°Kamel! Hey, man, are you okay?¡± Ayman knelt beside him, pressing a hand to his friend¡¯s shoulder.


    Kamel groaned, his voice strained but steady. ¡°I¡¯m fine¡­ just a scratch. Don¡¯t worry about me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding like crazy! We need to get you out of here,¡± Ayman said, his voice frantic.


    ¡°I said I¡¯m fine,¡± Kamel muttered, trying to push himself up. He winced, his movements slow and shaky.


    Farid appeared beside them, his expression hard. ¡°Can he walk?¡±


    ¡°I think so, but¡ª¡± Ayman started, but his words were cut off by a sudden noise.


    The faint sound of sirens had grown louder, unmistakable now. The distant wail of police vehicles pierced the tense atmosphere, and the group froze.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Farid muttered, his head snapping toward the door. ¡°The cops are coming. We need to move. Now.¡±


    ¡°Farid, we can¡¯t leave Kamel like this!¡± Ayman protested, his voice desperate.


    ¡°We¡¯re not leaving anyone,¡± Farid snapped. ¡°Help him up. Let¡¯s go!¡±


    Ayman and another crew member hoisted Kamel to his feet, supporting him as the group scrambled toward the exit. The tension was suffocating, every creak of the floorboards and every shout from outside making their hearts pound faster.


    The group spilled out into the alley, the cool night air biting against their sweat-soaked skin. Farid took the lead, motioning for everyone to scatter. ¡°Split up! Head to the safehouse! We¡¯ll regroup there!¡±


    Ayman hesitated, glancing back at the caf¨¦ one last time. The manufacturer lay where they¡¯d left him, clutching his ribs and watching them with fearful eyes. For a fleeting moment, guilt flickered through Ayman¡¯s chest, but it was quickly drowned out by the urgency of the moment.


    He turned and ran, Kamel leaning heavily on his shoulder. The sirens grew deafening now, the blue and red lights of the police vehicles flashing against the darkened streets.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look back,¡± Ayman muttered to himself, his legs burning as he forced himself to keep going.


    The chaos in the caf¨¦ spilled onto the streets, the air heavy with the sound of sirens and panicked shouts. Ayman struggled to keep Kamel upright, the injured boy¡¯s weight pressing heavily against his shoulder. The blood from Kamel¡¯s wound smeared onto Ayman¡¯s hand, sticky and warm, as they staggered toward an alleyway.


    ¡°Just a little more, Kamel. Hold on,¡± Ayman muttered, his voice shaky, his heart pounding against his ribs.


    But before they could make any real distance, a wave of blue and red lights lit up the alley. A police car screeched to a halt directly in front of them, blocking their escape.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Ayman hissed, his legs faltering.


    The car doors slammed open, and two policemen stormed out, batons gripped tightly in their hands. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a stern face, barked, ¡°You two! Stop right there!¡±


    Kamel groaned, barely conscious, as Ayman tried to reason with them. ¡°Please, he¡¯s hurt! He needs a hospital!¡±


    But his words were ignored. The officer closest to them raised his baton and brought it down hard on Kamel¡¯s side. The injured boy crumpled to the ground with a pained cry.


    ¡°Kamel!¡± Ayman shouted, dropping to his knees to shield his friend.


    ¡°Stay down!¡± the other officer yelled, grabbing Ayman by the collar and yanking him back. The baton came down again, this time striking Ayman¡¯s shoulder. The pain was sharp and immediate, but Ayman barely felt it through his rage.


    ¡°Stop! He¡¯s injured!¡± Ayman screamed, his voice cracking. He struggled against the officer¡¯s grip, reaching for Kamel, but another blow to his ribs sent him collapsing to the ground.


    Kamel lay motionless, his shallow breaths barely audible over the chaos. The first officer grabbed him by the arm, dragging him like a sack of grain toward the waiting car. His blood smeared across the pavement, leaving a trail behind him.


    Ayman clawed at the ground, trying to rise, but a boot pressed against his back, forcing him down. ¡°Stay down, you little punk!¡± the officer growled, delivering a sharp kick to Ayman¡¯s side for good measure.


    ¡°Please! Stop! He needs help!¡± Ayman cried, his voice hoarse, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.


    The officers hauled both Ayman and Kamel to the car, shoving them inside with no regard for their injuries. Kamel slumped against the seat, his head lolling to the side, while Ayman sat rigid, his fists clenched and his body trembling with anger and helplessness.


    Outside, the chaos continued. More officers stormed the caf¨¦, rounding up anyone still standing. The sharp cracks of batons striking flesh resonate through the streets, accompanied by the anguished cries of the injured.


    The car doors slammed shut, and the vehicle jerked into motion. Ayman stared at Kamel¡¯s pale, bloodied face, his heart sinking deeper with every turn of the wheels.


    Meanwhile, Karim drove through the narrow streets of Ettadhamen''s municipality, his eyes scanning every shadow, every corner of the dimly lit alleys. The car¡¯s engine growled as he pressed the pedal harder, frustration mounting with every unanswered question. He stopped near the alley his mother mentioned, rolling down the window to shout at a group of young men loitering nearby.


    ¡°Did you see Ayman? My brother? He was here earlier with some others,¡± Karim barked, his tone sharp.


    One of the boys shrugged lazily. ¡°Yeah, we saw a group heading to the old caf¨¦ down by the factories. Looked like trouble to me.¡±


    ¡°Trouble? Damn it,¡± Karim muttered under his breath. He nodded his thanks and sped off in the direction they pointed.


    As he turned another corner, his phone buzzed against the dashboard, the same unknown number lighting up the screen. He groaned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. ¡°Who the hell keeps calling me now?¡± he muttered.


    He snatched up the phone, swiping to answer. ¡°Who is this? Why do you keep calling me?¡± he demanded, his voice edged with impatience.


    There was a brief silence on the other end before a nervous voice spoke up. ¡°Officer Karim? I¡ªI¡¯ve been trying to reach you.¡±


    Karim frowned. ¡°Who are you? What do you want?¡±


    ¡°My name¡¯s Anis,¡± the caller stammered. ¡°I¡¯m Farid¡¯s brother. You know, Farid¡ªthe boy who¡¯s been¡­ involved in some bad stuff lately. I need to warn you.¡±


    Karim¡¯s grip on the phone tightened. ¡°Warn me about what? Speak clearly, man!¡±


    Anis¡¯s voice wavered, but he pressed on. ¡°I overheard my brother talking to his friends. They planned to attack the caf¨¦¡ªsome fight over territory or something. I know what kind of chaos these things bring, and I couldn¡¯t just sit back. I found your number because I know you¡¯re a good cop. You wouldn¡¯t let things get worse.¡±


    Karim¡¯s heart sank. The pieces were falling into place too quickly. His brother was in the middle of this.


    Karim inhaled sharply, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. ¡°Anis, are you sure about this? Where exactly is this caf¨¦?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s near the old manufacturing block, close to the west station,¡± Anis replied. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    Karim didn¡¯t wait for the rest. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said hurriedly before ending the call.


    Without hesitation, Karim grabbed his police radio and called in. ¡°This is Officer Karim, badge 217. I need confirmation on an incident at the caf¨¦ near the old factories. Any reports?¡±


    A voice crackled back. ¡°Affirmative, Officer. Units were dispatched to break up a gang fight there. Multiple arrests made. Injuries reported.¡±


    Karim¡¯s heart thudded against his chest. ¡°Did you detain a young man, about twenty, brown skin, medium build, probably helping someone injured?¡±


    ¡°Stand by,¡± the officer replied.


    The pause felt like an eternity before the voice returned. ¡°We have several suspects fitting that description, Officer Karim. All are being transported to the nearby station.¡±


    Karim cursed under his breath. He swung the car around, tires screeching, as he headed toward the station. His mind raced with anger, fear, and frustration.


    Karim stepped into the police station, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over the stark, sterile interior. The front desk officer raised an eyebrow at him, but Karim wasted no time, pulling out his phone and showing a picture of Ayman.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for this boy. He¡¯s my brother,¡± Karim said firmly.


    The officer studied the photo before nodding. ¡°Ah, yeah, the boy helping his heavily injured friend. We sent that friend to the hospital, and your brother is here. He¡¯s under investigation.¡±


    Another cop nearby chimed in, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Helping a friend, huh?¡± He looked Karim up and down, a smirk spreading across his face. ¡°Well, he is your brother. Guess the apple didn¡¯t fall far from the tree after all.¡±


    Karim¡¯s face flushed with shame, the remark hitting him harder than he expected. He took a deep breath, his fists clenching slightly at his sides, but before he could respond, the first cop interjected.


    ¡°Hey, no problem, Karim. You¡¯ve always been one of the good ones, always helping us out when we needed it.¡± The officer leaned closer, lowering his voice. ¡°I¡¯ll pull your brother out of this mess.¡±


    Another cop nearby snorted. ¡°Really? For free?¡±


    The first officer chuckled and patted Karim on the shoulder. ¡°Come on, this is Karim. His name literally means generosity. He¡¯ll buy us some beers after this, right?¡±


    Karim forced a small smile and nodded. ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± he muttered, though his thoughts remained fixed on Ayman.


    Karim waited anxiously as the officer disappeared into the back. His fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, his mind clouded with worry and guilt. Moments later, the door opened, and Ayman appeared, flanked by two officers.


    Ayman¡¯s face was a canvas of raw defiance and pain. His cheek was swollen, a deep bruise darkening his skin. A thin trickle of dried blood clung stubbornly to the corner of his lip. His shirt, torn and dirt-streaked, clung to him like a reminder of the chaos he¡¯d just survived. But it wasn¡¯t his battered appearance that caught Karim¡¯s attention¡ªit was his eyes.


    They burned with an unrelenting fire, a hatred so potent it seemed to make the air around him heavier. His gaze locked onto the cop who had dragged him out, the same one who had mercilessly beaten him and Kamel earlier.


    The officer smirked, oblivious to the storm brewing in Ayman¡¯s soul. ¡°Here¡¯s your troubled brother,¡± he said, almost mockingly. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you have such a well-respected brother, kid. Otherwise, you wouldn¡¯t be walking out of here tonight so easily.¡±


    Karim stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. ¡°Thanks for letting him go. I appreciate it,¡± he said quickly, placing a firm hand on Ayman¡¯s shoulder.


    The cop¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Listen, kid,¡± he said, leaning closer to Ayman. ¡°That gang you¡¯re with? Farid and his crew? They¡¯re nothing but scum. He¡¯s a smuggler, a wanted man, and if you keep following him, you¡¯ll end up exactly where he belongs¡ªin prison. Or worse.¡±


    Ayman nodded mechanically, but his jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. His eyes never left the officer¡¯s face, his hatred seething and raw, a silent vow of defiance.


    Karim noticed the tension and gave Ayman¡¯s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, guiding him toward the door. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go,¡± he said softly, trying to calm the boy.


    But Ayman couldn¡¯t let it go. As they walked away, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, his glare sharp enough to cut through steel. His mind replayed every blow, every insult, every moment of humiliation. His bruised face twisted into a mask of fury, and his eyes, bloodshot and wide, promised vengeance.


    The cop caught his look and smirked again, oblivious to the deep scars he¡¯d just etched into the boy¡¯s psyche.


    Outside, the cold air hit Ayman like a slap, but it did nothing to douse the flames inside him. Karim tried to speak, his voice calm and measured, but Ayman didn¡¯t hear a word. His thoughts were a cacophony of anger and pain, his hatred for the system, the cops, and even himself growing with every step they took.


    As they disappeared into the darkness, Karim¡¯s guilt weighed heavier than ever. He had saved his brother tonight, but he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he had lost him in another way¡ªAyman¡¯s soul now tethered to a hatred that would soon demand retribution.


    And in the shadows, the promise of blood and vengeance loomed, a silent prelude to the storm that was yet to come.


    end.

 Chapter 3: Is It Fair?

    Ayman''s fist crashes against the frayed upholstery of the car seat, the dull thud reverberating through the cramped space. His breathing is erratic, shallow, and uneven, as though the weight of his anger is suffocating him. His jaw is so tightly clenched that the veins on his neck bulge, his teeth grinding audibly. The car smells faintly of sweat and stale air, but Ayman''s rage fills it like an oppressive force.


    He stares out the window for a moment, his knuckles whitening as he grips his thighs, and then his voice slices through the tense silence. It¡¯s raw and venomous, filled with the bitterness of years spent fighting a battle he feels is rigged against him.


    Ayman¡¯s voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade, raw and indignant. His hands trembled, whether from the lingering adrenaline or the sheer outrage boiling inside him. He glared at Karim, his eyes blazing with fury.


    "The policeman hit me hard, Karim!" he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "And you... you offer him drinks? What the hell is wrong with you? So unfair."


    His words hits in the small, old car, the accusation hanging thick in the air. The muscles in Ayman¡¯s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. He couldn¡¯t believe it¡ªhis brother, his blood, had shown respect to the same men who had left him bruised and battered.


    Karim, gripping the steering wheel tightly, let out a sharp exhale. His knuckles whitened, but his expression remained calm¡ªtoo calm for Ayman¡¯s liking. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward his younger brother, the disappointment etched deep into his face.


    "Unfair?" Karim¡¯s voice was low but firm, carrying an edge that made Ayman¡¯s anger falter. "It¡¯s more than fair that you got your ass kicked in that police station."


    Ayman recoiled slightly, his defiance wavering under the weight of Karim¡¯s words. Karim leaned forward slightly, his tone sharpening as his frustration began to spill over.


    "Do you have any idea what you were doing? Risking your life like some reckless idiot? You think it¡¯s a game, Ayman? You think I should have stood there and scolded the officer after he could¡¯ve thrown you in jail¡ªor worse?"


    Karim¡¯s hands tightened around the wheel again, his voice rising just enough to show his anger without losing control.


    "You¡¯re lucky, damn lucky, that I got called to pick you up. Do you even understand that? If I hadn¡¯t come, you¡¯d still be sitting in that cell, or worse, lying in some hospital bed¡ªor worse than that, lying in the ground. And what would that have proven, huh? What would Mom have done then?"


    Ayman opened his mouth to argue, but Karim¡¯s glare stopped him cold. His brother¡¯s frustration wasn¡¯t just about the police¡ªit was about him. About the choices Ayman kept making and the way those choices rippled out to everyone around him.


    The tension between them was thick, the air in the car suffocating. Ayman looked away, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to swallow the anger, the guilt, the shame swirling inside him. But the words Karim had said refused to leave him, echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat.


    "... Fair? fair, Karim? You don¡¯t get it, do you?" His voice is sharp, almost spitting the words. "The world¡¯s a fucking joke! A bunch of assholes in charge, screwing over people like us. The cops¡ªthey¡¯ve got the power, they abuse it, and they think they can do whatever the hell they want. And no one says shit, because they¡¯re the ones holding all the cards!"


    Ayman¡¯s entire body trembles as he speaks, his hands balling into tight fists that rest on his knees. His wide, furious eyes lock onto Karim¡¯s profile, daring him to argue.


    "This world is unfair, Karim, and I don¡¯t care what you say!" he continues, his voice cracking slightly from the intensity of his emotion. "I didn¡¯t choose this life! I didn¡¯t ask to be born into this mess, but here I am, stuck with it, stuck with all the goddamn consequences!"


    The car suddenly jerks as Karim slams his hand onto the steering wheel, the horn letting out a brief, startled honk. His jaw is tight, his face a mask of simmering anger that threatens to boil over. He grips the wheel so hard his knuckles turn ghostly white, and when he finally speaks, his voice is trembling¡ªbut not with fear. It¡¯s the controlled fury of someone who has reached his limit.


    "Unfair? Unfair?!" Karim¡¯s voice rises with incredulity, his head snapping toward Ayman. "You¡¯re talking to me about fairness, Ayman? You think you¡¯re the only one who¡¯s had it hard? You think I don¡¯t know what unfair feels like?"


    Karim leans forward, his back rigid, as if bracing himself to physically withstand the storm between them. His breath comes in shallow bursts, his face illuminated intermittently by the passing streetlights.


    "You get money every damn day, from me and from our mother!" he snarls, his words cutting like knives. "And you sit there whining about fairness, and you don¡¯t even see it. You don¡¯t see what she¡¯s done¡ªwhat I¡¯ve done¡ªfor you!"


    The air in the car feels heavier, the tension palpable as Karim¡¯s voice takes on a sharp edge, years of frustration and suppressed pain surfacing all at once.


    "While you were off running around, refusing to finish school, refusing to work, she was out there, Ayman¡ªbreaking her back, collecting bottles, just to keep us fed. Just to keep a roof over our heads! And you? You sit here, complaining about the cops like they¡¯re the ones ruining your life?"


    Ayman flinches, the weight of Karim¡¯s words hitting him like a physical blow. He looks down at his hands, the rage in his chest warring with the sting of guilt creeping into his stomach. But before he can respond, Karim¡¯s voice surges again, louder this time, fueled by a well of anger that seems endless.


    "You think you¡¯ve had it tough? You think you¡¯re the only one who¡¯s suffered?" Karim¡¯s voice dips lower, a growl that is as much sorrow as it is fury. "Our father drowned trying to escape this life, Ayman. Drowned, chasing some dream of fairness in Italy. He abandoned us, left us to pick up the pieces, to fend for ourselves! And I had to step up. I had to take care of you while Mom worked herself into the ground, while she aged faster than anyone should have to!"


    Karim¡¯s words hang in the air like a cloud of smoke, thick and suffocating. His eyes glisten with unshed tears, his anger bleeding into something deeper, something more vulnerable.


    "And now you¡¯re sitting here," he says, his voice quieter but no less biting, "crying about unfairness like you¡¯ve had it worse than anyone else. Like you¡¯ve carried the weight of this family on your back. What the hell is that, Ayman?!"


    For a moment, the car is filled only with the sound of their labored breathing. The streetlights outside blur past them, the city an indifferent witness to the brothers¡¯ storm. Ayman doesn¡¯t respond, his throat tight, his mind a whirlwind of anger, guilt, and shame.


    Karim¡¯s words strike like daggers, each syllable cutting deeper into Ayman¡¯s defenses. They hang in the air, sharp and unyielding, leaving no room for rebuttal. Ayman¡¯s gaze drops, his defiance faltering under the weight of his brother¡¯s fury. His chest tightens, the burn of unspoken guilt creeping up his spine. For the first time since their argument began, the unshakable anger in his heart wavers.


    The dim light of the dashboard casts shadows across Karim¡¯s face, highlighting the lines of tension etched into his features. His hands remain firmly gripped on the steering wheel, the knuckles bone-white against the worn leather. He exhales shakily, trying to wrestle control of his emotions, but the tremor in his voice betrays the storm still raging within.


    "So don¡¯t you dare," Karim begins, his voice low and hoarse, trembling with the strain of years of pent-up frustration. "Don¡¯t you dare sit there and tell me about unfairness."


    His eyes flick briefly toward Ayman, a mixture of anger and heartbreak swirling in his gaze. It¡¯s not just rage fueling his words¡ªit¡¯s pain, disappointment, and the unbearable weight of sacrifice.


    "We¡¯ve been fighting our whole damn lives, Ayman," Karim continues, his tone growing steadier but no less intense. His words carry the burden of a man who has shouldered more than his share of the world¡¯s cruelty. "And for what? For you to turn around and throw it all away, like it means nothing? Like everything we¡¯ve done, everything Mom has done, was just some pointless struggle?"Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    The car feels stifling, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them like a leaden fog. Ayman glances at Karim, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words come. His throat feels constricted, the lump of guilt and shame refusing to dislodge.


    Karim leans back slightly, his grip on the wheel loosening but his shoulders still taut. He stares ahead, his jaw clenched, the rhythmic hum of the car engine the only sound cutting through the tense silence.


    The air between them is thick with unspoken words, a chasm of resentment and love that neither knows how to bridge. Ayman swallows hard, the ache in his chest growing, but he says nothing, the silence heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.


    The words hang in the air between them, a heavy silence falling as the car continues to roll down the empty streets. Ayman doesn¡¯t know how to respond. His anger is still there, but now it¡¯s mixed with a growing sense of shame, the realization of the sacrifices his mother and brother have made for him. He looks out the window, not knowing what to say.


    The car rolls quietly through the dimly lit streets of Tunisia. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the cracked pavement and the faded buildings that line the road. Karim¡¯s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are pale, his jaw clenched as the weight of his emotions presses down on him. He doesn¡¯t speak. The silence between him and Ayman is thick, suffocating, and for the first time in a long while, Karim doesn¡¯t know how to break it.


    Ayman, sitting in the passenger seat, hasn¡¯t said a word since the explosion of anger moments ago. His silence is like a wall, and Karim feels every inch of it. He doesn¡¯t understand how things got so bad between them, how they ended up in this mess. His eyes flicker over to Ayman once more, but the younger man is staring out of the window, his face unreadable, as if the words still hang heavy between them.


    Karim¡¯s eyes shift to the road ahead, but his mind is elsewhere. He can¡¯t shake the thought of Ayman¡¯s words¡ªthe way he threw out the idea of fairness as if it was some abstract concept, something beyond reach. It cuts deeper than Karim lets on. He breathes in, slow and steady, trying to calm the storm inside him. But as the car moves forward, the streets around him begin to blur, and his mind drifts back to everything that¡¯s brought them here.


    The streets of Tunisia stretch out before him¡ªsmall, narrow roads that he¡¯s driven a thousand times before. But tonight, they look different, as if they¡¯re a reflection of everything that¡¯s wrong in his life. The houses are rundown, the streets littered with trash, and the air, thick with the heat of the night, feels stifling. Karim¡¯s thoughts spiral back to his childhood, to the days when they lived without a father. He remembers how, after their father disappeared, it was just him and his mother, scraping by, trying to make a life in a world that had already turned its back on them.


    He watches the familiar sights¡ªthe old market square, the faded streetlights casting long shadows on the cracked sidewalks¡ªand something in him twists. It all feels so broken, so lost. But what hurts more than the brokenness of the city, what hurts more than the lack of opportunities, is the way his brother, his own flesh and blood, can¡¯t see the truth.


    Karim shakes his head, his lips tight with frustration. He¡¯s tired, so tired of the hopelessness that seeps through everything around him. He looks at the streets, the faces of people trudging through their lives, and he wonders how many of them have given up hope. How many of them just go along, accepting their fate, like his brother?


    His eyes narrow as he thinks about Ayman¡¯s words. Unfairness. As if it¡¯s all just some cruel twist of fate, something they have no control over. Karim¡¯s grip on the steering wheel tightens even more as his thoughts race. What does Ayman think? That this world owes him something? That because things have been tough, the world should just hand him an easy way out? Karim¡¯s heart pounds in his chest, and his mind rages.


    But then, as the car rounds a corner, Karim¡¯s gaze falls on a dilapidated building¡ªa crumbling, empty structure where once, long ago, there were families, children running through the streets, people who lived with hope. Now, it¡¯s just a shell, forgotten and ignored. Karim¡¯s thoughts slow for a moment as he stares at it, remembering how, when they were young, it was a place full of life.


    He exhales sharply, his grip on the wheel loosening just a bit. He knows he can¡¯t save the whole world, but damn it, he¡¯s been trying to save his brother. He¡¯s been trying to drag Ayman out of the darkness, out of the mess he¡¯s gotten himself into. But how can he do that when Ayman refuses to see it?


    The car takes a left turn, and the familiar sight of their old house comes into view. Karim¡¯s chest tightens as he slows the car to a stop. The house is modest, small but solid, a roof over their heads, something they fought for, even when everything else felt impossible. It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s theirs. He glances over at Ayman, still lost in his thoughts, staring out of the window. Karim¡¯s jaw clenches again, a mixture of anger, frustration, and disappointment swirling inside him.


    As the engine hums quietly, Karim takes a deep breath, looking out at the house. This place, this city, this life¡ªit¡¯s all he knows. He¡¯s fought for it, and he¡¯ll keep fighting. But right now, he can¡¯t help but wonder: will Ayman ever see it the way he does? Will he ever realize that it¡¯s not about fairness; it¡¯s about surviving, about making something out of the nothing that life gives you?


    Karim slams the car into park and kills the engine, his fingers still trembling slightly on the wheel. He exhales slowly, the weight of the night settling on him. He looks at Ayman again, silently hoping that somewhere deep down, his brother still has it in him to see the truth.


    The car had barely come to a stop before the front door of the house burst open. Ayman¡¯s mother, her face pale and filled with worry, stood in the doorway, her hands clutching the edges of the frame. As soon as her eyes locked on Ayman, the floodgates opened. Without a word, without hesitation, she sprinted toward him, her feet pounding the ground in a desperate rush to reach her son.


    Ayman barely had time to get out of the car before his mother was there, her arms wrapping around him in a protective embrace. Her face was wet with tears, and her breath came in ragged gasps as she clung to him.


    "Ayman, Ayman, are you okay? Are you okay, my son? What happened? Tell me!" Her voice cracked, raw with fear and love, as she pulled him close, almost as if she couldn¡¯t believe he was standing there in front of her, alive.


    Ayman stood frozen for a moment, the weight of her touch sinking in. For a second, he felt like a little boy again, small and fragile in his mother¡¯s arms. But the harsh reality of the world, of everything that had just happened, washed over him, and he pulled away gently, trying to give her some space.


    "I¡¯m fine, mom. I¡¯m fine. Please... I¡¯m okay." His voice was steady, but his eyes told another story. He wasn¡¯t okay. He was far from okay. But he couldn¡¯t bring himself to say it, not to her. She had enough to worry about already. He could see the fear in her eyes, the way her hands trembled as she reached for him again, her expression torn between relief and terror.


    As she held onto him once more, people began to gather around the house, their whispers filling the air. Faces appeared at the windows, peering out into the street, their eyes wide with concern. A few of the neighbors came forward, faces etched with worry, their expressions dark with the same anxiety that Ayman¡¯s mother felt.


    "Ayman, are you okay? What happened?" one of the older men called out, his voice heavy with sympathy.


    Ayman¡¯s childhood friend, Malik, pushed his way through the small crowd, his expression a mix of anger and fear. He was tall, with rough hands that had known hard work, but his eyes now carried something softer¡ªconcern for his friend.


    "What happened to you, Ayman? Tell me, what happened? I¡¯ll... I¡¯ll make them pay. You tell me who did this. Who hurt you?" Malik¡¯s voice trembled with emotion, the loyalty in his words clear as he clenched his fists, ready to take action.


    The crowd shifted, murmurs spreading like wildfire. People who had known Ayman his entire life, who had watched him grow up, were gathering around him now, their faces filled with sorrow and pity. It was clear they all cared for him, but there was a deep sadness in their eyes too.


    Ayman felt the weight of their stares, the pity that hung in the air like a cloud. It was all too much. The anger that had simmered inside him from earlier began to rise again, but this time it wasn¡¯t directed at his brother or the police¡ªit was aimed at the world that had always seen him as a failure. He was supposed to be someone, to be more than this, but here he was, in the same place he had always been¡ªbroken, lost.


    His mother, her hands still clutching him, pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he was truly okay. Her expression softened, but there was an undeniable ache in her gaze.


    "Ayman, I know... I know things aren¡¯t easy. But you¡¯re my son. You¡¯re good. You are good. No matter what the world tells you." Her words were whispered, almost to herself, as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, her fingers gently brushing the dirt from his skin.


    Ayman swallowed hard, nodding slightly as he stood there, letting her words wash over him. He didn¡¯t know how to tell her that he didn¡¯t feel good, that he was far from it. But for her sake, he just nodded, forcing a small smile onto his face.


    "I¡¯m fine, Mom. Please. Let¡¯s go inside." His voice was strained, his emotions in turmoil, but he took a deep breath and turned to walk into the house, his mother close behind him.


    As they entered, the crowd slowly dispersed, the whispers trailing off into the night. But Ayman could still feel their eyes on him, could still hear the unspoken judgment, the silent pity.


    Inside, Karim stood by the door, his arms crossed, watching his mother with a pained expression. He said nothing as she passed, but the tension in the room was palpable. Ayman glanced at him, then looked away, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him again.


    His mother, who had sacrificed so much for them, who had worked herself to the bone to give them a better life, was holding onto him as if he were still the little boy she had protected all those years ago. But Ayman knew something had changed. He had crossed a line, a point of no return, and he wasn¡¯t sure if he could ever go back.


    But for now, in this moment, he was her son, and she was his mother. And that was enough to make him feel, if only for a fleeting moment, that he wasn¡¯t completely lost.

 Chapter 4: The Heart of A Hitman

    Ayman took the salami from his mother, his mind still heavy with the events of the day. He hadn¡¯t eaten much, but the hunger in his stomach felt distant, almost forgotten. His mother¡¯s insistence was clear, but he just needed a moment, a break from everything. ¡°I¡¯ll eat later,¡± he muttered, more to himself than to her, before heading upstairs to the rooftop.


    As he walked through the narrow hallway of the house, the voices of Karim and his wife reached him through the walls. Their words were muffled but clear enough to make out the tension in their conversation.


    "What if he does it again, Karim?" His wife¡¯s voice was anxious, filled with a kind of frustration. "You can¡¯t keep protecting him like this. He¡¯s pushing you to the edge."


    Ayman paused for a moment, his hand resting on the doorframe as he stood still, listening. He heard Karim¡¯s response, low and defensive, but he couldn¡¯t make out the words. He didn¡¯t need to. He could feel the weight of the conversation, the silent judgment.


    Ayman¡¯s heart tightened, but he quickly shook it off. He didn¡¯t want to think about them anymore. He had to get away, even if it was just for a few minutes.


    With a quiet sigh, he pushed open the door to the rooftop, the cool night air brushing against his face. The soft rustle of the wind mixed with the distant hum of the city, but here, above it all, it felt a little quieter. He walked toward the corner where his cats always slept, nestled in a cozy spot near the roof¡¯s edge.


    The little kittens were sprawled out, their fur soft and fluffy, their tiny bodies curled up against the chill. As Ayman approached, one of them stirred, blinking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. He smiled softly, kneeling down to place the salami by their side.


    "Hey, you cuties," he whispered, his voice soft and full of affection, a stark contrast to the hardened tone he¡¯d used earlier. "You¡¯ve grown so big. Soon, you¡¯ll be tigers, huh? Protecting me from all the bad stuff."


    The kittens purred and mewed in response, rubbing up against his hand as he gently fed them. He chuckled quietly, the sound a rare moment of warmth in the otherwise tense air. He scratched behind their ears, feeling their small bodies shift beneath his touch.


    "Look at you," he continued, his voice a little steadier now. "You¡¯re going to be strong. You¡¯ll keep me safe. I know you will."


    The little ones nuzzled into his palm, their tiny faces full of trust, and Ayman felt a flicker of something he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time¡ªpeace. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough to make the noise in his head quiet for a moment.


    He leaned back against the roof, eyes focused on the stars above as he watched the kittens play with each other, their tiny paws batting at the pieces of salami he¡¯d placed for them. For a moment, everything else disappeared¡ªthe anger, the guilt, the frustration with his life. It was just him and the cats, and in that moment, Ayman let himself be nothing but a man, caring for the small creatures that depended on him.


    His thoughts drifted, soft and almost hopeful, as he watched the kittens grow more playful. Maybe, just maybe, he could still find something to protect in this world. Maybe these little guys could teach him something about surviving, about caring, even when the world seemed bent on breaking him.


    "Yeah," he whispered to the night, his voice barely audible. "Maybe you guys are the only ones who get me."


    Ayman sat on the rooftop, the cool night air brushing against his face as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette. The stars above were barely visible through the haze of the city lights, but he didn¡¯t mind. His thoughts drifted, a mix of anger and exhaustion, his mind replaying the conversation with Karim, his mother¡¯s worried face, and the weight of everything he had just gone through. The sound of the city hummed below him, distant but constant.


    As he took another drag, the sharp ring of his phone broke through the quiet. It was his friend, Sami.


    "Yo, Ayman, come out; let¡¯s have some drinks! Come on, man, we¡¯re waiting for you."


    Ayman glanced at the phone, letting out a soft chuckle. His friends never let him rest. But maybe this was what he needed. A distraction. A chance to forget, even if for just a moment. He ran his hand through his hair, then texted back.


    "Okay, I¡¯ll eat and be there in a bit."


    He made his way back downstairs, walking into the kitchen where his mother had already gone to bed. He ate quickly, barely tasting the food, and then left the house, heading toward the small gathering spot near the street where his friends usually hung out. It was late, almost midnight, and the street was quieter than usual, but the sound of distant laughter and the clink of bottles could be heard as he approached.


    Sami was the first to see him, waving him over with a grin. His friend was already holding a bottle of siltia, the familiar Tunisian drink that burned its way down, a comfort of sorts to Ayman.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "Ah, there he is! Come on, bro, we got the good stuff!" Sami grinned, handing him a bottle.


    Ayman took it without hesitation, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig. The burn of the alcohol hit his throat, making him feel momentarily alive in the haze of everything else.


    "So, tell me," Sami said, leaning back on the worn-out crate they used as a seat, "what happened today? We heard about the cops. You good?"


    Ayman paused for a moment, the buzz from the alcohol beginning to cloud his mind. He glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. His other friend, Nadir, had just joined them, settling in next to Sami.


    "Yeah," Ayman said, his voice steady now, a shift from the vulnerable man he had been earlier. "I¡¯m good. But let me tell you what happened. Those cops¡ªman, they were begging me not to do anything."


    His friends leaned in, eyes wide, hanging on to every word as Ayman crafted his story, weaving it into something larger than it was.


    "I kicked their asses, you know?" Ayman said, his voice growing more confident with each word. "They tried to get me, but I wasn¡¯t having it. I was cursing them out, right in their faces. They didn¡¯t know what to do, man. They were scared."


    Sami and Nadir exchanged a quick glance, their mouths dropping open.


    "No way," Sami said, laughing. "You really did that?"


    Ayman nodded, trying to mask the flicker of guilt that rose inside him. This wasn¡¯t how it went, but in this moment, he didn¡¯t care. He was tired of being the kid who never stood up for himself. He was tired of feeling weak. He was going to be the tough guy now. He was going to be the man they¡¯d look up to.


    "Yeah, I told them to back off. Told them they didn¡¯t scare me. I wasn¡¯t going to let them push me around anymore."


    Nadir laughed, slapping Ayman on the back. "That¡¯s my boy," he said. "You¡¯re a real badass, Ayman. Always knew you had it in you."


    Ayman smirked, taking another swig of the siltia. The more they bought into his story, the more it fed the anger he felt inside. He wasn¡¯t going to be the weak one anymore. He wasn¡¯t going to be the victim. Not anymore.


    Sami, still grinning, grabbed the bottle from Ayman¡¯s hand and took a drink for himself. "Man, that¡¯s crazy," he said. "You got the balls to do it, though. The cops? Respect, man. You¡¯re a real one."


    Ayman leaned back, his chest swelling with pride. His friends saw him as something he wasn¡¯t, and it felt good. It felt damn good. For once, he didn¡¯t feel like the one who always got pushed around. For once, he was in control of the story.


    "You should¡¯ve seen it," Ayman continued, a lie spinning effortlessly off his tongue. "I was about to go at them, but then they just backed off. They knew I wasn¡¯t playing around. They knew they were out of their league."


    His friends nodded, clearly impressed, and Ayman felt a sense of power, a fleeting victory over everything that had been dragging him down.


    As the night wore on, the conversation drifted, but Ayman stayed silent, lost in his thoughts. They kept drinking, the laughter ringing through the night, and for the first time in a while, Ayman felt something close to relief. The weight of his lies didn¡¯t feel as heavy, at least not here, with his friends around. In this moment, he was somebody.


    Ayman was in the middle of laughing at one of Sami¡¯s jokes when his attention was suddenly drawn to a group of girls passing by. They looked tired, their faces drawn from a long day of work. They were workers from the nearby factory, coming home after hours of labor, their footsteps heavy on the street. But one of them caught his eye. It was Yasmin, his neighbor. She had always been friendly, but tonight, she looked exhausted.


    "Wait, Yasmin?" Ayman called out, his voice cutting through the hum of conversation. He felt a strange pull to her, a sense of something real, something untouched by the night¡¯s lies and alcohol.


    Yasmin looked up, her eyes brightening a little as she recognized him. She stopped and walked toward him, her footsteps slow, as if each one took effort.


    "Ayman, are you okay?" she asked, concern immediately flooding her face. She was shaking slightly, her body clearly feeling the weight of the long day. "What happened to your face? Are you alright?"


    Ayman quickly brushed it off with a half-smile, though he knew he wasn¡¯t fooling anyone. His friends watched from a distance, their murmurs and jokes starting.


    "Oh, no, I¡¯m fine. Just had a little fight, you know, a bar fight. Kicked some guy¡¯s ass, nothing major," Ayman said casually, trying to sound tougher than he felt. He stepped a little away from his friends, wanting this moment with Yasmin to feel more personal, to separate himself from the lies and the drinking.


    His friends, still watching from a distance, snickered. Sami made a loud, teasing remark.


    "Oh, look at Ayman, going to talk to his lover!"


    Ayman rolled his eyes, but the teasing only made him more determined to maintain his composure in front of Yasmin. Another one of his friends laughed.


    "Yeah, right, ''friends'' with a big ass!"


    Ayman ignored them, his focus solely on Yasmin. He gave a small wave, signaling to his friends to knock it off, before turning back to her.


    Yasmin didn¡¯t seem to notice or care about the teasing. Her concern was genuine, and it softened Ayman, even in his intoxicated state. She stepped closer, looking him up and down, her eyes scanning his face carefully.


    "Ayman, you really don¡¯t look okay. Are you sure you¡¯re alright?" She asked again, her voice laced with worry.


    Ayman nodded quickly, though the tiredness in his voice betrayed his efforts. "I¡¯ll be fine. Really, just a bar fight, nothing serious. Don¡¯t worry about me."


    Yasmin still seemed unsure, but she pulled out her wallet and handed him a few crumpled bills. "Here," she said, pressing the 10 dinars into his hand. "Buy some food for your kittens, okay? They need to be taken care of. Make sure they¡¯re alright."


    Ayman blinked in surprise, his fingers wrapping around the money. It was a simple gesture, but it meant more than he expected.


    "Thanks, Yasmin," he said, his voice softening. "I will, I promise. I¡¯ll take care of them."


    Yasmin gave him a small smile, her eyes warm with kindness. "I¡¯m serious, Ayman. Don¡¯t let yourself get hurt, okay?" She stepped back, her shoulders heavy from her day, but still, she looked at him as though she saw more than just the tough guy fa?ade he had built.


    Ayman watched her walk away, feeling a pang of something unfamiliar stir inside him. He tucked the 10 dinars into his pocket and turned back toward his friends, who were still laughing and joking. He wasn¡¯t ready to go back to the lies just yet, not after that moment with Yasmin.


    As he approached, Sami slapped him on the back with a grin. "So, what did she say, huh? You gonna get that girl?"


    Ayman gave him a smirk but didn¡¯t reply. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the simplicity of Yasmin¡¯s kindness. She saw him¡ªjust him, not the image he was trying to create. For a moment, he felt a little bit more human.

 Chapter 5: Liquor Of Dreams

    The three boys sat cross-legged on the cracked pavement near Ayman¡¯s home, their laughter punctuating the stillness of the Tunisian midnight. The bottle of Celtia sat half-empty between them, its sharp fumes mingling with the faint, salty breeze from the distant sea. Ayman took a swig, his head tilted back, and then handed the bottle to Nadir, who was grinning ear to ear, his words slightly slurred but brimming with excitement.


    ¡°You know,¡± Nadir began, wiping his mouth, ¡°Ahmed, my neighbor, he made it. He¡¯s in Italy now! He¡¯s staying with my brother. He finally met him!¡±


    Ayman leaned in, his interest piqued. ¡°Ahmed? Seriously? And your brother? How¡¯s he doing?¡±


    Nadir puffed out his chest with pride. ¡°He¡¯s doing great! Ahmed told me he¡¯s working at a restaurant, making good money. My brother¡¯s even saving up to open his own place someday.¡±


    ¡°Lucky bastard,¡± Ayman muttered, shaking his head. ¡°If I had the money, I¡¯d be on a boat tomorrow. No more of this life.¡±


    Nadir smirked, taking another sip. ¡°You don¡¯t need that much. I know someone. He can help with the transportation. It¡¯s risky, sure, but it works. I just need to save up, and soon, I¡¯ll be there with my brother.¡±


    Ayman¡¯s eyes lit up, a glimmer of hope cutting through the haze of alcohol. ¡°Then count me in. I¡¯ll do the same. Italy sounds like the dream. Work hard, make money, send some back to Mama... maybe even start something big here when I return.¡±


    Sami, who had been listening in silence, suddenly shook his head and spoke firmly. ¡°Not me. I¡¯d rather stay here, keep working, and go abroad legally. I¡¯ll get my experience, then maybe go to France. But not like this, sneaking on a boat.¡±


    Nadir scoffed, rolling his eyes. ¡°Oh, come on, Sami. Keep working as a medical assistant? And what will you get? A slap to the face when someone¡¯s family attacks you at the hospital because their relative died? Or when they don¡¯t like the test results? That¡¯s your future here.¡±


    Ayman laughed, patting Sami on the back. ¡°Nadir¡¯s right. You know how it is in the public hospitals. You¡¯ll just end up frustrated, broke, and dealing with everyone¡¯s nonsense.¡±


    Sami straightened up, his tone unwavering. ¡°I don¡¯t care. I¡¯m determined. I want a good, honest future. I¡¯ve been learning French for years. I¡¯ll go to France and find work there. It¡¯s better than risking my life on some boat.¡±


    Ayman burst into laughter, throwing his head back dramatically. ¡°France? Are you serious? Man, they don¡¯t want us there. And besides, France sucks. You¡¯ll end up eating croissants alone and paying crazy taxes. Here, let me speak your fancy French.¡± He exaggeratedly mimicked a French accent. ¡°Oui...baguette...bonjour!¡±


    Nadir joined in, slapping his knee as he laughed. ¡°Mon ami! Monsieur Sami! Don¡¯t forget your beret!¡±


    Even Sami couldn¡¯t help but smile at their antics, though he quickly sobered. ¡°Laugh all you want. But the problem isn¡¯t France; it¡¯s us. Our government, our corruption, the way things are run here¡ªthat¡¯s why people are stuck. I don¡¯t care about the past. I just want a chance at a good life.¡±


    Nadir leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. ¡°And I¡¯ll get that good life too. Italy is the land of opportunity. I¡¯ll work hard, make money, and come back a king! You¡¯ll see. I¡¯ll buy a football team right here in the city and name it after myself.¡±


    Ayman raised his bottle in mock toast. ¡°And I¡¯ll be the richest man in the neighborhood. I¡¯ll buy all the houses, fix them up, and sell them. I¡¯ll change this place, man. Help the people here.¡±


    They laughed together, the dreams spilling from their lips as freely as the Celtia from the bottle. Each of them painted their own version of the future¡ªa fantasy of wealth, escape, and transformation. The night stretched on, their voices echoing in the quiet streets.


    For a moment, the weight of their struggles seemed distant. Under the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp, three young men dreamed, laughed, and drank, their hopes soaring high above the crumbling city they called home.


    The air grew heavier as Sami leaned forward, his gaze steady. The slight slur of his words from the drink didn¡¯t mask the seriousness of his tone. ¡°Nadir has a brother in Italy. What about you, Ayman? How are you going to survive there? And are you really willing to leave your mom behind? Your brother is doing well here. He¡¯s a respected cop in the neighborhood. He found his way, so why can¡¯t you? Why throw all of that away just to chase a dream across the sea?¡±


    Ayman froze mid-sip, lowering the bottle slowly. His jaw clenched, and the flicker of annoyance in his eyes quickly turned to fury. Slamming the bottle down, he spat out his words with venom. ¡°My brother? My brother?¡± He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. ¡°You think I give a damn about him? He¡¯s not some hero, Sami. He¡¯s just another guy playing by the rules, living in a system that¡¯ll never let us get ahead.¡±


    Sami tried to interject, but Ayman cut him off, his voice rising with every word. ¡°I don¡¯t want his life. I don¡¯t want to live in anyone¡¯s shadow, especially not his. Everyone looks at me and says, ¡®Oh, that¡¯s Karim¡¯s little brother. He¡¯s good. He¡¯s smart. He¡¯s respectable.¡¯ I¡¯m sick of it! I don¡¯t care about being ¡®good.¡¯ Good doesn¡¯t get you respect. Good doesn¡¯t make you rich. And good sure as hell won¡¯t change this shithole we live in!¡±


    The tension hung thick in the air as Ayman suddenly stood, pacing back and forth. His voice trembled, not just with anger but with the pain buried deep within. ¡°Do you know why I want to go to Italy? Why I need to go? Because my father tried to do the same. He wanted to change our lives. He wanted to escape this mess and give us something better. But he never made it. He drowned, Sami. He drowned when I was just a kid.¡±


    Ayman¡¯s voice cracked, his fists clenching as he turned to face them. ¡°That¡¯s why he left us. He wasn¡¯t a coward. He wasn¡¯t selfish. He wanted a new life, and if he hadn¡¯t died, maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªI wouldn¡¯t be sitting here right now, drinking Celtia with you two and cursing this damn life!¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The words echoed in the stillness of the night, the rawness of Ayman¡¯s pain leaving his friends silent. He grabbed his jacket, his movements jerky, and muttered, ¡°Fuck this. I¡¯m done.¡± He turned to leave, his anger simmering as he took a step away.


    But Nadir was quick, jumping to his feet and grabbing Ayman by the arm. ¡°Hey, hey, hey! Come on, man. Don¡¯t go like this.¡± Nadir¡¯s voice was steady, soothing. ¡°We understand. We get it. Rest in peace to your dad, bro. He wanted the best for you. And look, now it¡¯s your turn. You can go to Italy, but this time it¡¯ll be different. You¡¯ll make it safely. You¡¯ll succeed. But for tonight, just stay with us, alright? We¡¯re your brothers too. Sit down.¡±


    Sami, still shaken, nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for asking, Ayman. I didn¡¯t mean to stir things up. You¡¯re right¡ªyou deserve to build your own life, your own way.¡±


    Ayman hesitated, his chest heaving with the weight of emotions. But after a long pause, he exhaled sharply and sat back down, his anger slowly ebbing. He picked up the bottle, taking a long swig, and then suddenly smirked, breaking the heavy silence.


    ¡°You know,¡± he said, his tone lighter now, ¡°I¡¯ll have to leave Yassmine behind too. She¡¯s a sweet girl, but I¡¯ll find myself an Italian woman. Big boobs, blonde hair¡ªlike the ones in the movies.¡± He grinned mischievously. ¡°Sad, huh?¡±


    Nadir barked out a laugh, slapping Ayman on the back. ¡°You? With an Italian model? You¡¯ll need more than money for that, bro.¡±


    Sami chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯d better brush up on your Italian first. What¡¯s that word again? ¡®Pizza¡¯? ¡®Pasta¡¯?¡±


    The tension melted away as the three boys erupted into laughter, their camaraderie restoring the warmth of the moment. They leaned back, the alcohol softening the edges of their frustrations, as the conversation turned to lighthearted jokes about Italian women and their imagined lives abroad.


    The bottle of Celtia passed between them until the first light of dawn began to creep over the rooftops. Their dreams, their pain, and their hopes mingled with the rising sun, leaving a bittersweet mark on a night they would remember long after the Celtia¡¯s burn faded.


    The morning air carried the remnants of last night¡¯s cool breeze, but the rising sun threatened to bring the oppressive heat of the day. Ayman walked alone down the quiet streets of his neighborhood, the faint buzz of alcohol still coursing through his veins. The laughter and dreams of the night had faded into a hazy memory, replaced by a dull ache in his head and the heavy fatigue settling into his body.


    It was just past 7 a.m., and the streets, though not bustling, showed signs of life. Ayman rubbed his eyes, scanning the familiar roads with their chipped curbs and scattered bits of trash. The early risers of the neighborhood were already out¡ªmen and women dressed in modest clothes, heading to jobs they couldn¡¯t afford to miss, even on a Sunday. He found it strange yet admirable; Sunday was meant to be a day of rest, yet these people were hustling to make ends meet.


    He stumbled slightly, catching his balance before greeting an older man sweeping the front of his small bakery. "Good morning, Uncle Brahim," Ayman called, his voice rough from the night of drinking.


    Uncle Brahim looked up, squinting at him before shaking his head with a chuckle. "Good morning, Ayman. Another long night, eh?"


    "Ah, you know how it is," Ayman replied, shrugging. "Just catching up with the guys. How¡¯s business?"


    "Same as always," Brahim replied, leaning on his broom. "No rest for the wicked, huh?"


    Ayman laughed dryly, nodding. "Yeah, no rest for us either."


    As he continued walking, he passed a young woman carrying a basket of bread, her pace hurried as she made her way toward the bus stop. She glanced at him briefly, and he offered a small wave. "Morning, Zahra. How¡¯s life treating you?"


    "Morning, Ayman. Same old, same old. Just trying to get through the day," she replied, her tone polite but distant.


    "Take care," Ayman said, watching her rush away. He thought briefly about her life, waking up early to make deliveries and help her family. It wasn¡¯t so different from his own struggles, yet he couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang of envy at her sense of purpose.


    Further down the street, Ayman stopped to chat with a small group of laborers gathered near a construction site. They looked tired, their faces lined with the weight of their work. He leaned against a lamppost, listening to their complaints about the rising cost of living and the lack of decent jobs.


    "One day, we¡¯ll all leave this place," Ayman said, his words slurring slightly. "Find something better. Italy, France, wherever. Just... not here."


    The men nodded, some muttering agreements before heading off to start their day. Ayman watched them go, their silhouettes framed by the pale light of the morning sun. His own exhaustion was starting to catch up with him, but he pressed on, determined to grab a pack of cigarettes before heading home.


    Finally, he reached the small grocery store near his house. The metal shutters were halfway open, and the shopkeeper, a wiry man in his fifties, was busy arranging crates of fresh produce outside.


    "Morning, Ayman," the man said without looking up. "You¡¯re up early. Or maybe you¡¯re just not in bed yet, huh?"


    "Something like that," Ayman replied with a weak smile. "Just need a pack of Marlboros, Haji."


    The shopkeeper nodded, grabbing a pack from the shelf behind him and placing it on the counter. "That¡¯ll be five dinars. You should get some rest, boy. You look like a ghost."


    Ayman handed over the money, pocketing the cigarettes and giving the man a small nod. "Thanks, Haji. Take it easy."


    With the cigarettes in hand, Ayman began the short walk back to his house. The streets were quieter now, the early workers having dispersed to their jobs. The faint hum of a radio playing Arabic music drifted from a nearby window, mingling with the distant sound of a rooster crowing.


    By the time Ayman reached the main house, the weight of the night had fully settled on him. His head throbbed, his legs felt heavy, and the slight spinning of the world made everything seem more surreal. The sun was rising higher, its pale light casting long shadows along the worn staircase leading to the upper floor.


    He opened the main door, stepping inside the shared entryway. Just as he approached his own door, he glanced up and froze. His sister-in-law, Karim¡¯s wife, was standing at the top of the stairs, a bucket and rag in hand, cleaning the dusty doorsteps outside her home. Her movements were sharp and purposeful, her expression hard as she glanced down and noticed him.


    Ayman tilted his head back, the alcohol still buzzing in his system. He forced a grin, though it came out crooked and tired. "Good night," he said, his voice slurring slightly. Then, as he glanced around and registered the growing daylight, he laughed softly to himself and corrected, "I mean... good morning. I hope... you will have day, good."


    His words tumbled out in a disjointed mess, his exhaustion and inebriation making it hard to string together a coherent sentence. She didn¡¯t respond. Instead, she gave him a withering glare¡ªa look that held nothing but disdain¡ªand without a word, turned back into her apartment. The door slammed shut behind her with a loud thud.


    Ayman watched her go, the corner of his mouth twitching in frustration. "Whatever, bitch," he muttered under his breath, loud enough for her to hear on the other side of the door. He stumbled into his own small apartment, letting the door creak shut behind him, the last shred of energy draining from his body.


    Upstairs, she heard the insult through the closed door, and anger boiled within her as she set the bucket down harder than she intended. Her hands trembled as she began preparing the morning coffee for Karim, the bitterness in her chest only adding to her resentment.


    Downstairs, Ayman collapsed onto his bed without bothering to take off his clothes, the old mattress groaning under his weight. His mind replayed the encounter briefly, but he dismissed it as unimportant, letting the dark tide of sleep pull him under.


    The faint smell of coffee brewing wafted through the house as the morning fully settled in, but for Ayman, the world was already fading into the stillness of his drunken slumber.

 Chapter 6: Respect Is Earned.

    The morning sunlight filtered through the small window, casting golden streaks across the modest kitchen where Karim sat, sipping his freshly brewed coffee. He was dressed in his police uniform, polished and pristine, a stark contrast to the worn surroundings of their home. His wife moved around the room quietly, her face a mask of irritation, her steps heavier than usual.


    Karim noticed her mood almost immediately. Smiling, he set his cup down and leaned back in his chair. ¡°Good morning, beautiful,¡± he said warmly, his voice soft and teasing. ¡°How¡¯s my little one doing inside there?¡± He reached out to touch her stomach gently, the thought of their unborn child bringing a brief flicker of lightness to the dim atmosphere.


    She glanced down at his hand but didn¡¯t smile. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said curtly, her voice lacking its usual warmth. ¡°We¡¯re fine.¡±


    Karim raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanor giving way to concern. ¡°You sure about that? You seem... off today. What¡¯s wrong?¡± He sipped his coffee, waiting for her to answer as he began preparing to leave for his shift.


    She hesitated, wiping her hands on a dish towel and avoiding his gaze. ¡°No, nothing... I¡¯m just a bit tired, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Karim frowned, setting his cup down. ¡°Tired? Then rest today. I¡¯ll talk to my mom and tell her to handle lunch for us. You shouldn¡¯t push yourself.¡±


    She shook her head quickly. ¡°No, everything is fine. I¡¯ll cook. Your mom had a hard night yesterday, dealing with your... troubled brother.¡±


    Karim let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°Ah, she¡¯s fine. She¡¯s used to him. My brother may be a fool, but deep down, he¡¯s decent. He loves our mom, you know that. I¡¯m sure after seeing her upset like that last night, he¡¯ll straighten out for a while.¡±


    The mention of Ayman made her jaw tighten. She clenched the towel in her hand, trying to contain her anger. She didn¡¯t want to repeat the words Ayman had thrown at her earlier, but they lingered in her mind like a sour taste.


    Karim, sensing her tension, softened his tone. ¡°Look, I know he¡¯s... difficult, but he¡¯s family. He¡¯ll find his way eventually.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t hold back any longer. ¡°Maybe. But we can¡¯t live here forever, Karim. Our child can¡¯t grow up in a place like this. I don¡¯t want them turning out like...¡± She stopped herself, the word this hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken contempt.


    Karim looked at her, understanding her hesitation. ¡°Like this? Like Ayman? Like the others here?¡± He sighed, leaning forward. ¡°Yes, this place is rough. It¡¯s not perfect. Hell, it¡¯s far from it. But it¡¯s where I grew up, and look at me now. Not everyone here ends up like that.¡±


    She crossed her arms, her eyes searching his for reassurance. ¡°I know, but¡ª¡±


    Karim stood, placing his hands on her shoulders gently. ¡°Listen, I can¡¯t force you to love this place, and I understand why you feel the way you do. But give me time. I promise, we¡¯ll move. We¡¯ll find somewhere better, somewhere we can both be happy. Close to both families, maybe even in a place like Marsa if you want. Just give me some time to save enough, and I¡¯ll make it happen.¡±


    She looked up at him, her frustration softening slightly. ¡°Okay,¡± she murmured. ¡°I trust you.¡±


    Karim smiled and leaned down to kiss her forehead. ¡°That¡¯s my girl,¡± he whispered, pulling her into a warm hug. ¡°Call me if you need anything today, alright?¡±


    She nodded, managing a faint smile as he grabbed his things and headed out the door. As the sound of his footsteps faded, she let out a deep sigh, her earlier anger cooling but not disappearing entirely.


    After finishing her chores, she made her way downstairs to visit Fatma, her mother-in-law. She found her sitting in the kitchen, peeling vegetables for the day¡¯s meal.


    ¡°Good morning, Fatma,¡± she greeted, though her tone lacked its usual cheer.


    Fatma glanced up, instantly noticing the shift in her demeanor. ¡°Good morning, my daughter. You look upset. What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    She hesitated for a moment, then sat down across from Fatma. ¡°It¡¯s about Ayman,¡± she began, her voice low. ¡°This morning, he came home drunk and called me... called me a bitch.¡±


    Fatma¡¯s hands stopped mid-motion, her expression darkening. ¡°He what?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not happy about it. I didn''t tell Karim because I know he will be very angry, and he would kick Ayman''s ass¡± she continued, her voice trembling slightly. ¡°I love Karim. And I respect you a lot and treat you as my own mother. I chose your son over a life of comfort in Marsa, but this... this kind of thing can¡¯t continue. I don¡¯t want to raise my child around that kind of behavior.¡±


    Fatma placed the knife down carefully, her lips pressing into a thin line. ¡°That boy,¡± she muttered, shaking her head. ¡°He¡¯s been out of control for too long. Don¡¯t worry, my daughter. I¡¯ll talk to him. He needs to understand that this is unacceptable. Thanks for not telling Karim, I will handle this.¡±


    She reached out and patted her daughter-in-law¡¯s hand reassuringly. ¡°You chose my son because you knew his heart. And I know his heart too. He¡¯ll make things right for you, I promise. But as for Ayman... he¡¯ll hear from me when he wakes up.¡±


    The younger woman nodded, feeling a small sense of relief. As she left to continue her day, Fatma¡¯s resolve hardened. She was determined to speak sense into Ayman, no matter how stubborn he might be.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Ayman groaned as he woke up, his head pounding like a drum, his mouth dry as sandpaper. The afternoon light streamed through the window, cutting into his blurry vision. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the hangover that lingered from last night¡¯s drinking. The events of the day before flashed in fragments in his mind: the chaos at the station, the fight, his mother¡¯s breakdown, and then drowning it all in alcohol with his friends.


    Stumbling out of bed, he made his way to the kitchen, still in yesterday¡¯s wrinkled clothes. His stomach growled, and he opened the fridge, rummaging for anything to quiet the hunger. A few pieces of stale bread, a cup of yogurt, and some broken cookies became his improvised breakfast. He scarfed them down, washing it all down with a glass of lukewarm water.


    As he chewed, he felt a weight in the room. His eyes darted toward the corner, where his mother, Fatma, sat silently in her usual chair. Her arms were folded, her back stiff, and her gaze was fixed on him like a dagger.


    ¡°Good afternoon, Mama,¡± he said with a forced grin, trying to mask his discomfort. She didn¡¯t respond, her eyes narrowing slightly.


    ¡°What¡¯s with the silent treatment?¡± he continued, chuckling awkwardly. ¡°You mad because I ate the last of the yogurt?¡± He tried to laugh, but the sound fell flat in the heavy air.


    Still, she didn¡¯t say a word. Instead, she stood abruptly, her chair scraping the floor, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with his empty plate and a gnawing sense of unease.


    After finishing his meager meal, he followed her to her room. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands resting on her lap, her face turned away from him.


    ¡°Mom,¡± he began softly, leaning against the doorframe. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? What made my lovely mama so angry, huh? Tell me, and I¡¯ll go kick their ass.¡± He approached her with a playful grin, trying to hug her, but she shrugged him off.


    ¡°It¡¯s you, Ayman,¡± she said coldly, her voice trembling with restrained anger.


    His smile faltered. ¡°Me? What did I do now?¡±


    She turned to face him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. ¡°I told you to stay away from trouble. I told you to stay away from people like Farid. And what did you do? You went right to him.¡±


    Ayman raised his hands defensively. ¡°Come on, Mama. I told you yesterday¡ªit wasn¡¯t about Farid! It was Hamza, my friend. He got jumped, and I went to help him. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Your friend?¡± she snapped, her voice rising. ¡°Since when is Farid your friend? That man¡¯s a gangster, Ayman. He spends more time in prison than out of it! I warned you about people like him. But you... you never listen.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t Farid!¡± Ayman shot back, his tone growing defensive. ¡°I was helping Hamza. He¡¯s a good guy, Mom. What was I supposed to do? Just leave him there?¡±


    ¡°And after that?¡± she countered. ¡°You didn¡¯t come home to rest. You went out drinking. All night. Again.¡±


    Ayman sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°I needed it, okay? After the day I had, I needed it. Do you know what they did to me, Mom? Karim¡¯s friends, the ones at the station¡ªthey beat me. They kicked me, humiliated me. And then Karim¡ªhe goes and buys them drinks for letting me go. Can you believe that?¡±


    Fatma¡¯s expression shifted, her anger fading into something heavier, something more painful. She turned her face away, wiping her eyes with the edge of her scarf.


    ¡°Mama?¡± Ayman stepped closer, his voice softer now. ¡°Why are you crying? Don¡¯t... don¡¯t cry. Come on.¡±


    Fatma shook her head, her shoulders trembling. Finally, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. ¡°Ayman... do you think I¡¯m a bitch?¡±


    The question hit him like a slap. His jaw dropped, his mind racing to understand. ¡°What?!¡± he blurted out, his voice rising in shock. ¡°What are you talking about, Mama? Who said that to you?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s breath caught in his throat. He stumbled back a step, his mind reeling. ¡°No... no, Mama, I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°You said it, Ayman,¡± she interrupted, her voice breaking. ¡°And she heard it. And now she¡¯s angry, hurt. And you... you don¡¯t even remember.¡±


    ¡°I was drunk,¡± he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it. I swear.¡±


    ¡°Drunk or not, Ayman, words have meaning,¡± she said, her tone heavy with disappointment. ¡°She¡¯s my daughter-in-law. She left everything for Karim. And you... you insult her? You insult our family? What¡¯s wrong with you?¡±


    Ayman felt the weight of her words pressing down on him. He wanted to defend himself, to explain, but then she turned toward him, her eyes red and wet with tears, and her voice broke as she unleashed the pain buried deep inside her.


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯m a bitch, Ayman?¡± she repeated, her voice trembling. ¡°After everything I¡¯ve done for you, for Karim... do you think I¡¯m a bitch?¡±


    ¡°Mama, no,¡± he stammered, his voice weak.


    She cut him off, her voice rising with raw emotion. ¡°After your father left us, I worked day in and day out to keep you alive! I walked from street to street collecting bottles to sell, scraping together pennies just to make sure you and your brother could eat. Do you think I wanted that life for myself? Do you think I enjoyed it?¡±


    Ayman stood frozen, the words slicing into him like blades.


    ¡°If I was a bitch, I could have walked away!¡± she cried, her hands trembling as she gestured toward him. ¡°I could have left you both to suffer in this harsh, unforgiving world. I could have chosen to live my life, free from all this pain. But I didn¡¯t. I couldn¡¯t. Because I¡¯m a mother, Ayman. That¡¯s what mothers do. They stay. They fight. They sacrifice everything because their children mean more to them than life itself.¡±


    She paused, choking back a sob, her chest heaving. ¡°Marwa... she will be a mother too. She¡¯s carrying your brother¡¯s child. And yet, you have the nerve to call her that? To insult her like that?¡± Her voice cracked with disbelief. ¡°How dare you, Ayman? How dare you?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s throat tightened, his face pale as her words echoed in his mind. His lips trembled as he tried to respond, but the guilt and shame overwhelmed him.


    ¡°I was drunk,¡± he whispered, his voice barely audible. ¡°I... I didn¡¯t mean it. I don¡¯t even know how I said it. At the end, I... I...¡± His words faltered as his eyes filled with tears.


    Fatma shook her head, her disappointment cutting deeper than any punishment could. ¡°Drunk or not, those words came from you. And they hurt, Ayman. They hurt more than you know. Your big brother will be very angry if he learns about this.¡±


    Tears rolled down Ayman¡¯s face as he looked at her, his chest heavy with regret. ¡°Mama, I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said, his voice cracking. ¡°I¡¯ll apologize to her. I swear. I¡¯ll make it right.¡±


    Fatma wiped her tears with the edge of her scarf and sighed deeply. ¡°You¡¯d better,¡± she said, her tone softening but still firm. ¡°Marwa left everything for Karim. She gave up her luxurious life in Marsa to live here because she loves him. She could have stayed in her perfect world, but she chose this... she chose us. And you...¡± She paused, her eyes narrowing. ¡°You disrespected her. That¡¯s not just wrong, Ayman¡ªit¡¯s shameful.¡±


    Ayman nodded silently, his head hanging low, unable to meet her gaze.


    ¡°You must apologize to her,¡± Fatma continued, her voice steady but resolute. ¡°Not just for her sake, but for mine. For this family. Because if you don¡¯t... you¡¯ll destroy what little we have left.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. ¡°I¡¯ll apologize, Mama. I promise.¡±


    Fatma nodded, her face softening, though the pain still lingered in her eyes. ¡°Good,¡± she said, her voice almost a whisper now. ¡°Because this family has been through enough.¡±


    Ayman stood there, tears streaming down his face, as the weight of her words settled in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he felt the full burden of his actions¡ªand the fragile ties that held their family together.

 Chapter 7: Shades Of Tunisia

    Ayman stood at the bottom of the staircase, staring upward. His heart raced as he hesitated. He knew he had to do this, but facing Marwa felt more daunting than any street fight or verbal spar he had ever endured. Swallowing his pride, he trudged up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.


    When he reached the door, Marwa was wiping the edges of a window frame, her movements brisk and sharp, betraying her simmering frustration. She noticed him but didn¡¯t acknowledge his presence, her eyes narrowing slightly before returning to her work.


    ¡°Marwa,¡± Ayman started softly, his voice barely carrying over the morning hum of the neighborhood.


    She turned, her expression unreadable. ¡°What?¡±


    He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. ¡°I¡­ I came to apologize.¡±


    Her posture stiffened, but she didn¡¯t interrupt.


    ¡°I, uh¡­ I don¡¯t even remember saying it,¡± he admitted, his voice faltering. ¡°I was drunk. I was stupid. And I swear, I didn¡¯t mean it. I¡¯d never mean something like that. Never.¡±


    Marwa¡¯s gaze was steady, cool, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes¡ªhurt, perhaps? Disappointment?


    Ayman took a deep breath and continued. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Really. And thank you for not telling Karim. I know he¡¯d¡­ I know he¡¯d kill me if he found out.¡± He tried to smile, but it faltered under her stony expression. ¡°I know I don¡¯t deserve it, but¡­ I just needed to say it.¡±


    Marwa finally spoke, her tone measured but clipped. ¡°You don¡¯t even remember what you said, and yet here you are, apologizing for it. Do you even understand how much it hurt?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s head drooped. ¡°I don¡¯t. I don¡¯t know why I said it. I just¡ª¡± He sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°I¡¯ve been an idiot. I¡¯ve been¡­ lost. I let my frustrations out the wrong way, and you didn¡¯t deserve that. None of you did.¡±


    Marwa looked away, her hands gripping the cloth she was using to clean. She let the silence hang for a moment before finally saying, ¡°Fine. Apology accepted. But Ayman¡­¡±


    Her tone softened slightly, but her eyes bore into his with unwavering intensity. ¡°Don¡¯t let it happen again. And for your own sake, stay sober. For once.¡±


    He nodded quickly, relieved but still weighed down by shame. ¡°I promise. I¡¯ll try.¡±


    Marwa turned back to the window, dismissing him with her silence. Taking the hint, Ayman mumbled a quiet ¡°thank you¡± and stepped back.


    As he reached the stairs, he heard her voice again, quieter this time.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I didn¡¯t tell Karim. He deserves better than this mess.¡±


    Ayman hesitated at the top of the stairs, unsure if he should leave or say something more. Marwa¡¯s dismissive tone lingered in his mind, but he couldn¡¯t let it end like this. He cleared his throat softly.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Marwa?¡± he started.


    She glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised. ¡°What is it now?¡±


    ¡°Do you need anything? I mean, I can help if you need something¡­ you know, anything at all,¡± he offered awkwardly, his voice filled with genuine concern.


    Marwa sighed, her hand resting on her belly. For a moment, her hardened expression softened, and she shook her head. ¡°No, Ayman. I don¡¯t need anything. All I want is for you to stop drinking, stop getting into trouble, and be better than this. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Her words cut through him like a blade, but he nodded. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ll try. I promise.¡±


    Marwa sat down on the edge of her bed, resting her hands on her lap. ¡°Do you even realize what I gave up to be here?¡± she said, her tone reflective.


    Ayman frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    She looked out the window, her gaze distant. ¡°My family, my friends, my life¡­ I left everything behind to be here. To marry your brother. To live in this neighborhood, where people look at me with pity sometimes, or worse, with judgment. My family begged me not to marry Karim. They told me he wasn¡¯t good enough. That this place wasn¡¯t good enough. But I didn¡¯t care. I chose him over all of it.¡±


    Her voice cracked slightly, but she composed herself quickly.


    ¡°The only reason I stayed, the only reason I¡¯ve been able to live here, is because of the people,¡± she continued. ¡°They¡¯ve been respectful to me. They treat me well. They look at me like I¡¯m some kind of hero for choosing to live here with Karim, for choosing love over pride or status.¡±


    Ayman listened intently, guilt settling deeper into his chest. ¡°Marwa, I¡ª¡±


    She held up a hand, silencing him. ¡°Let me finish,¡± she said.


    She leaned back slightly, her eyes flickering with the faintest glimmer of a smile. ¡°You know why I fell in love with your brother? It wasn¡¯t because he was strong, or handsome, or anything superficial like that. It was because he cared. Truly cared.¡±


    Ayman tilted his head, curious.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never forget the day I met him,¡± Marwa said, her voice soft with nostalgia. ¡°I was in the city, rushing home after work, and someone snatched my purse. I was panicked, completely helpless, calling out for help. And then, there he was. Karim.¡±


    Her smile grew slightly as she spoke.


    ¡°He was still a police officer back then, remember? He saw what happened, and he didn¡¯t just stand by. He ran after the thief, chased him through the streets, and brought my purse back to me. But it wasn¡¯t just that,¡± she said, her voice thick with emotion. ¡°It was how he treated me afterward. He didn¡¯t just hand me the purse and leave. He asked if I was okay, made sure I got home safely, and even called me the next day to check on me.¡±


    She looked down, her hands resting protectively on her belly. ¡°That¡¯s who your brother is, Ayman. He¡¯s not just a good man; he¡¯s a rare one. He didn¡¯t just help me that day¡ªhe made me feel seen, cared for. He made me believe in people again. That¡¯s why I fell in love with him.¡±


    Ayman swallowed hard, his throat tightening. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said quietly, his voice shaky. ¡°That sounds like him. He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s always been like that. Always helping people, always doing the right thing.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Marwa nodded. ¡°And that¡¯s why I stayed. Because I love him. And I love this baby we¡¯re having. But, Ayman¡­¡± She looked up at him, her eyes piercing. ¡°If you keep going down this path, you¡¯re going to break his heart. He looks up to you in ways you don¡¯t even realize. He¡¯d never say it, but you mean a lot to him. So don¡¯t let him down. Don¡¯t let me down. Don¡¯t let yourself down.¡±


    Ayman¡¯s eyes burned with unshed tears. He nodded, wiping his face quickly so she wouldn¡¯t see. ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he said, his voice firm despite the emotions threatening to spill over. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll do better. I promise.¡±


    Marwa studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. ¡°Good,¡± she said simply. ¡°That¡¯s all I want.¡±


    Ayman lingered for a moment, then turned to leave. As he reached the door, Marwa called out, her voice softer now.


    ¡°And Ayman?¡±


    He stopped and glanced back.


    ¡°Thank you. For apologizing.¡±


    He gave her a small, earnest smile. ¡°You deserve better than that. I¡¯ll prove it.¡±


    With that, he left, his heart heavy but his resolve stronger than it had been in a long time.


    Ayman walked down the cracked, uneven pavement of the neighborhood, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The cool breeze brushed against his face, but his thoughts were much heavier than the air around him. Marwa''s words echoed in his mind, each one hitting him like a hammer.


    Be sober. Be better. Don¡¯t let him down.


    He felt a pang of something deep inside¡ªhurt, guilt, and maybe even jealousy. She wanted him to be better, but not for himself. She wanted him to be like Karim, the hero, the provider, the man who always did the right thing. Ayman¡¯s jaw tightened at the thought. How could he live up to someone like that?


    She¡¯s right, though, he admitted to himself. He glanced up at the rows of small, weathered houses lining the street. A couple of old men sat on a stoop nearby, chatting about the latest football match, their laughter carrying through the air. A little farther ahead, a woman was sweeping her doorstep, pausing every so often to wave at the children playing soccer in the dusty alley.


    The ball rolled toward Ayman¡¯s feet, and he stopped it instinctively with the tip of his shoe. One of the kids¡ªa boy no older than ten¡ªran up to him, his face bright with a mix of sweat and joy.


    ¡°Thanks, Ayman!¡± the boy said, taking the ball and running back to his friends.


    Ayman watched him go, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. These streets, this neighborhood¡ªit wasn¡¯t perfect, but it had life. It had people who cared for each other, who looked out for one another.


    He kept walking, his thoughts circling back to what Marwa had said. Her child¡ªKarim¡¯s child¡ªwould grow up here. And that child deserved more than a reckless uncle who couldn¡¯t keep his life together.


    She¡¯s going to be a mother, he thought, his heart sinking a little. And I¡¯m supposed to be part of this family. I should¡¯ve never called her that. Never.


    He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. ¡°What the hell is wrong with me?¡± he muttered under his breath. He hated how much her words hurt, but he hated even more that they were true.


    The sounds of the neighborhood filled his ears¡ªthe laughter of children, the distant clatter of pots and pans, the faint hum of a radio playing an old Tunisian tune. It all brought a strange warmth to his chest, a reminder of the simple beauty of life here.


    As he walked past the corner shop, the owner, an older man with a kind face, waved at him. ¡°Ayman! How¡¯s your mother?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s good, Si Abdelkader,¡± Ayman replied, forcing a small smile.


    ¡°Tell her to let me know if she needs anything!¡± The man called back.


    ¡°I will,¡± Ayman said, continuing down the street.


    He felt a strange mix of emotions¡ªa heaviness from Marwa¡¯s words, but also a flicker of hope. This neighborhood, these people¡ªthey weren¡¯t rich, but they had something money couldn¡¯t buy. They had each other. And Marwa was right. If he wanted to be part of that, part of this family, he needed to be better.


    He stopped at the edge of the neighborhood, where the houses gave way to a sprawling view of the city below. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the rooftops. Ayman took a deep breath, letting the moment sink in.


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± he said softly to himself. ¡°I can do better. I have to do better.¡±


    For the first time in a long while, Ayman felt a sense of clarity. The road ahead wouldn¡¯t be easy, but maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªhe could walk it. For his brother, for Marwa, for the baby. For himself.


    The neighborhood¡¯s usual buzz of chatter and laughter was pierced by the shrill cries of children. Ayman¡¯s steps faltered as he turned toward the source of the commotion. His eyes narrowed at the sight unfolding before him. A man¡ªa drunkard by the unsteady sway of his movements¡ªwas kicking a woman sprawled on the dusty street. Her thin cries for mercy cut through the air, each one met with the sickening thud of his boot.


    Two small children stood a few feet away, tears streaming down their faces as they screamed, ¡°Stop! Baba, stop! Please, stop!¡± But their father¡¯s rage only deepened, his curses louder, his blows harder.


    Ayman froze, his stomach twisting in knots. ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± he muttered, his voice trembling with anger.


    He spotted an older man nearby, one of the neighbors watching silently, arms crossed as though this was just another day in the neighborhood. Ayman marched up to him. ¡°Si Tahar, what the hell is this? Why isn¡¯t anyone stopping him?¡±


    The older man shrugged, his face passive. ¡°That¡¯s Rachid. He came home drunk again. His wife asked him to bring groceries, and instead, he brought back a bottle. She told him to stop drinking, and, well, you see how he reacted.¡±


    ¡°This is how he reacted?¡± Ayman¡¯s voice rose, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. ¡°Why isn¡¯t anyone doing anything? Look at his kids! Look at her!¡±


    Si Tahar sighed, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. ¡°It¡¯s not the first time. He does this when he¡¯s drunk. He¡¯ll sober up and calm down.¡±


    ¡°Calm down?¡± Ayman¡¯s voice cracked with disbelief. ¡°You think this is normal? She¡¯s bleeding, for God¡¯s sake! The kids¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lower your voice,¡± Si Tahar interrupted, glancing nervously around. ¡°It¡¯s not our place to interfere. They¡¯ll sort it out. Besides, you don¡¯t know what kind of trouble you¡¯ll invite if you get involved.¡±


    Rachid drags his wife by her hair outside and kicks her, even as his own kids try to stop him. "You whore! I should kill you if you ask me that again..." Screams loudly as he continues to drag her out to the middle of the street while everyone is watching and kindly requesting him to stop.


    Ayman stared at him, his chest heaving. ¡°This isn¡¯t sorting it out! This is wrong! I should call my brother. He can send some cops to handle this bastard.¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± Si Tahar said quickly, gripping Ayman¡¯s arm. ¡°Don¡¯t bring the police here. It¡¯ll only make things worse. You know how these things go. Let it be. Just keep walking, Ayman. Don¡¯t make trouble for yourself.¡±


    Ayman yanked his arm away, his head spinning with rage and disgust. He looked back at the scene¡ªthe woman on the ground, her trembling hands shielding her face; the children wailing helplessly; the man who seemed more monster than human in that moment.


    The world around him blurred as he turned and started walking again, his pace quick and unsteady. Each step felt heavier, as though the weight of what he had seen was dragging him down. His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, the pain a poor distraction from the fury burning inside him.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve done something,¡± he thought, his mind racing. ¡°I should¡¯ve stepped in, punched that bastard, and dragged him off her. I should¡¯ve called Karim. I should¡¯ve called the cops. I should¡¯ve done anything.¡±


    But he hadn¡¯t. He had walked away, just like everyone else.


    His thoughts spiraled, dark and unrelenting. ¡°If I had power¡­ If I had the means¡­ I¡¯d kill that son of a bitch myself. I¡¯d make him pay for what he¡¯s done, for what he¡¯s doing to her, to those kids.¡±


    The image of the woman on the ground haunted him with every step¡ªthe pleading in her voice, the hopelessness in her eyes. And the kids¡­ God, the kids.


    His stomach churned as he remembered their cries. ¡°Stop, Baba. Please.¡± Their voices kept ringing in his mind, each word carving a deeper wound into his conscience.


    The world around him felt suffocating, the air too thick to breathe. He glanced at the familiar streets, the crumbling walls, the children playing just blocks away, blissfully unaware of the horrors their peers were witnessing. This was his neighborhood¡ªa place where people like Rachid could beat their wives in broad daylight, and everyone would turn a blind eye.


    Ayman¡¯s jaw tightened. He wanted to scream, to hit something, to do anything to rid himself of the helplessness clawing at his chest. But all he could do was keep walking, his thoughts a storm of anger and guilt.


    The thought lingered in his mind again and again: If I had power¡­ if I had the means¡­ things would be different.


    For the first time, the idea didn¡¯t seem so impossible.

 Chapter 8: New Chance

    The buzz of Ayman¡¯s phone snapped him out of his restless thoughts. He glanced at the screen. Farid¡¯s name blinked back at him. With a sigh, he answered.


    ¡°Come to the old factory,¡± Farid¡¯s voice was cold, businesslike. ¡°We need to talk.¡±


    Before Ayman could respond, the line went dead.


    Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Ayman¡¯s chest tightened. He didn¡¯t want to go. He didn¡¯t want to face the weight of his decisions, the dark corridors of his thoughts. But there was no choice. He had nowhere else to turn.


    As he stepped outside, the air of the poor neighborhood hit him¡ªthick, suffocating, and filled with a silence that spoke louder than words. The uneven streets, littered with remnants of forgotten dreams, mocked him at every step. Images of his nephew¡¯s laughter mingled with an overwhelming fear: What if he grows up to feel the same hopelessness?


    That thought cut deep. It twisted inside him, dragging out every ounce of anger he had buried within. His fists clenched involuntarily, his pace quickening. Each step filled up with his rage, his despair, and his darkness.


    The streets weren¡¯t kind to anyone here. Ayman knew that better than most. The people who lived in these crumbling homes were hardened, not by choice, but by necessity. Life here didn¡¯t give second chances. It was a battlefield, and Ayman had been losing for far too long. Not anymore.


    Determination burned in his eyes as he neared the abandoned factory. The building loomed like a shadow over his thoughts, a symbol of what his life had become. But tonight, he told himself, he would take control. He would walk into that hideout and seize whatever opportunity came his way. No matter the cost.


    Ayman walked toward the old factory, his footsteps echoing faintly on the cracked pavement. The building loomed in front of him, a massive, decaying structure with broken windows and rusted doors. The walls were streaked with years of grime, graffiti sprawled across them like an unspoken language of rebellion. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of alcohol, sweat, and faint traces of smoke. The dim light from a few dangling bulbs created flickering shadows that danced across the abandoned machinery scattered around.


    The gangsters lounged carelessly on old crates and rusted metal beams, bottles in hand, their laughter and jeers bouncing off the hollow walls. Farid sat in the center, an old, oil-stained workbench acting as his makeshift throne. His sharp eyes immediately locked onto Ayman as he entered, and the chatter in the room died down.


    Ayman nodded a general greeting. ¡°Hey, how are you guys?¡±


    The gangsters stared at him, their gazes cold and assessing, as though he were a stranger. Farid motioned him over with a crooked finger, his lips curling into a sly smile. ¡°Come here, Ayman.¡±


    Ayman approached, weaving through the group, their watchful eyes making him uneasy. He stopped in front of Farid, who leaned back casually, his presence commanding the room.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Ayman asked, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.


    Farid gestured for him to sit on a crate nearby, leaning forward slightly. ¡°You did good three days ago,¡± he began, his tone measured. ¡°When you stayed behind with your friend¡ªhe was injured, yeah?¡±


    Ayman nodded quickly. ¡°Yeah, how¡¯s he doing now?¡±


    Farid smiled faintly, though it didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s fine. Recovering. Thanks to you.¡±


    Relief washed over Ayman. ¡°That¡¯s good to hear.¡±


    Farid¡¯s expression turned serious as he leaned closer, his voice dropping. ¡°But listen to me, Ayman. Next time, don¡¯t let yourself be captured so easily. When we run, you run. No exceptions.¡±


    Ayman blinked, caught off guard. ¡°But he needed help. I couldn¡¯t just leave him there¡ª¡±


    Farid raised a hand to cut him off. ¡°This isn¡¯t about what you could or couldn¡¯t do. This is about survival.¡± He tapped a finger against the table, each tap ringing out in the stillness. ¡°Out there, you can¡¯t protect everyone. Sometimes, you have to make a choice¡ªsave yourself or die trying to save someone else. And if you¡¯re dead, you¡¯re no good to anyone.¡±


    The words hit Ayman like a punch to the gut. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. ¡°But that¡¯s not right,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Leaving someone behind¡­¡±


    Farid leaned back again, shrugging. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not right, but it¡¯s the way it is. You think the world cares about what¡¯s right? It doesn¡¯t. You need to be smarter, faster, and stronger. And you can¡¯t let your emotions weigh you down. Got it?¡±


    Ayman nodded slowly, the weight of Farid¡¯s words settling heavily on him. He glanced around the room at the others, who were watching him with silent approval, as if Farid¡¯s lesson were one they¡¯d all learned the hard way.


    Farid clapped him on the shoulder, breaking the tension. ¡°Good. Now grab a drink and relax. You¡¯ll need your head clear for what¡¯s coming next.¡±


    Ayman hesitated before stepping away, the lesson still churning in his mind. The laughter and jeers resumed, but he barely heard them. As he picked up a bottle and sat on the edge of a rusted conveyor belt, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something inside him was shifting¡ªa growing understanding of the world he was now part of and the sacrifices it demanded.


    The factory grew quieter as Farid stood, his presence commanding everyone¡¯s attention. He paced slowly, his boots crunching against the debris-littered floor. ¡°The real problem,¡± he began, his voice calm but laced with tension, ¡°isn¡¯t that the cops came after us. It¡¯s how they knew. How did they know about our operation?¡±


    The room fell silent, a heavy stillness hanging over the group. Farid¡¯s gaze swept over each face, his sharp eyes searching for any hint of guilt or nervousness. ¡°This wasn¡¯t just bad luck,¡± he continued. ¡°Even the other crews didn¡¯t know about this job. Yet the cops did. That¡¯s not a coincidence.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Ayman stood near the back, leaning against a rusted pillar, but he could feel the weight of their stares. One by one, the gang members turned to look at him. At first, it was subtle¡ªa quick glance, a side-eye. But soon, the suspicion became palpable.


    ¡°What the hell is this?¡± Ayman said, pushing himself off the pillar. ¡°Why are you all looking at me like that?¡±


    Farid held up a hand, silencing the murmurs before they could grow. ¡°Relax, Ayman. No one¡¯s blaming you. Not yet.¡±


    ¡°Not yet?¡± Ayman shot back, his voice rising. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean? You think I called my brother? Is that it?¡±


    Farid sighed, stepping closer to Ayman. ¡°Listen, I¡¯ve known you for a while now. You¡¯ve worked with us; you¡¯ve been reliable. I know your brother¡¯s a cop; he is a decent cop, unlike the other bastards in blue, if I may add. Besides, I also know you¡¯re not stupid enough to sell us out during the same job where you got caught and beaten. That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±


    Ayman crossed his arms, his anger simmering beneath the surface. ¡°Exactly. So why are we even having this conversation?¡±


    Farid turned to address the group, his voice steady but firm. ¡°Because it¡¯s weird. It¡¯s too weird. The cops showed up like they knew exactly where we¡¯d be. They were ready. But here¡¯s the thing¡ªyour brother wasn¡¯t with them. He will not allow them to harm you like that. He pointed at Ayman. ¡°That¡¯s what makes me think it wasn¡¯t you. If you¡¯d tipped them off, your brother would¡¯ve been leading the charge. But he wasn¡¯t.¡±


    Ayman exhaled sharply, trying to calm his racing thoughts. ¡°So what are you saying?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m saying,¡± Farid said, pacing again, ¡°that we¡¯ve got a problem. Either someone¡¯s talking, or we¡¯ve got a leak somewhere we didn¡¯t see coming. But until we know for sure, everyone needs to stay sharp. And next time, Ayman¡­¡± He stopped and locked eyes with him. ¡°You need to be more cautious about who knows what. Your connection to your brother puts you in a tricky spot, whether you like it or not.¡±


    One of the gang members, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek, scoffed. ¡°I still think it¡¯s too much of a coincidence. His brother¡¯s a cop, and now this happens?¡±


    Ayman stepped forward, his fists clenched. ¡°Say that again.¡±


    ¡°Easy,¡± Farid said, stepping between them. He turned to the scarred man. ¡°We¡¯re not here to start pointing fingers without proof. Got it?¡±


    The man grumbled something under his breath but nodded, retreating to his corner.


    Farid looked back at Ayman. ¡°I trust you, but trust only goes so far. Watch your step, Ayman. If anything else happens, you¡¯ll be the first person everyone looks at. Understand?¡±


    Ayman nodded stiffly, his jaw tight. ¡°Yeah. I understand.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Farid said, his tone softening slightly. He gestured for everyone to gather closer. ¡°Now, let¡¯s talk about how this happened and how we¡¯re going to make sure it doesn¡¯t happen again. We¡¯ve got work to do.¡±


    As the group huddled to discuss strategies and possibilities, Ayman stood on the edge, his mind racing. The accusations, the mistrust¡ªit all weighed heavily on him. He wasn¡¯t sure what hurt more: the suspicion of his so-called allies or the nagging thought in the back of his mind that his brother might somehow be involved, even indirectly.


    Farid¡¯s words stayed in his head: You need to be more cautious. Ayman didn¡¯t just need to watch his step¡ªhe needed to figure out who was pulling the strings before it was too late.


    Farid leaned back on his chair, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his face. He lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and stared at Ayman, his expression calm but laced with urgency. ¡°Listen, Ayman,¡± he began, his voice low and steady. ¡°I know things have been tense lately, but I need you on this. You¡¯re one of the best we have when it comes to scouting. Your eye for detail, your ability to blend in¡ªyou¡¯re perfect for this job.¡±


    Ayman nodded, his curiosity piqued. ¡°What¡¯s the mission?¡±


    Farid exhaled a cloud of smoke, then stubbed the cigarette out on the edge of the table. ¡°There¡¯s a new guy in town. Wealthy. Drives an expensive car. The kind that doesn¡¯t belong in our alleys. He rented¡ªor maybe even bought¡ªa house in one of the poorer neighborhoods. It¡¯s suspicious, to say the least.¡±


    ¡°Who is he?¡± Ayman asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing¡ªwe don¡¯t know much,¡± Farid admitted, his tone sharp. ¡°No one does. He¡¯s keeping a low profile, but his presence doesn¡¯t make sense. He only shows up occasionally, and when he does, people notice. A man like that doesn¡¯t settle in a place like this without a reason. We think he might be hiding something¡ªmoney, valuables, maybe even something more dangerous. We need to know who he is, why he¡¯s here, and how we can get into his house without being noticed.¡±


    Ayman leaned forward, his brow furrowed. ¡°You want me to scout his place?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Farid said. ¡°I need you to find us a way in. Study the area, the routines, and the layout of the house. Find out where the weak spots are¡ªwindows, doors, any blind spots. And keep an eye on him. Where he goes, when he¡¯s there, who he¡¯s with."


    Ayman accepted this mission, then Farid added to that by saying


    ¡°You know, we¡¯ve all got our talents. Some fight. Some plan. But you? You see things most of us can¡¯t.¡±


    Ayman raised an eyebrow but said nothing.


    ¡°I mean it,¡± Farid continued, his voice firm. ¡°Remember that time with the weeds? You spotted their pattern before any of us even noticed it.¡±


    A flicker of memory stirred in Ayman¡¯s mind. It was an old job, months ago, when they were trying to take control of a turf from a rival gang. The weeds were the gang¡¯s symbol, scattered across their claimed territory. Everyone else saw chaos, random scrawls on walls, and hastily marked spots. But Ayman had seen the connections¡ªhow the distribution formed a grid, leading directly to the gang¡¯s hidden stash.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t just see weeds,¡± Farid said, smirking. ¡°You saw a map. And when you broke it down for us, we had the whole place figured out. Hell, if it wasn¡¯t for you, we¡¯d still be stumbling around in circles.¡±


    Ayman shifted uncomfortably, but he couldn¡¯t help feeling a small swell of pride. Back then, he hadn¡¯t thought much of it¡ªjust another task, another day trying to survive. But hearing it now, framed as brilliance, made him pause.


    Farid stopped pacing and leaned closer, his voice low but intense. ¡°That¡¯s why I know you¡¯re the best at scouting. You don¡¯t just look¡ªyou see. And we need that, Ayman. I need that.¡±


    The words lingered in the air, heavy with expectation. Ayman felt the weight of them, the silent challenge hidden behind Farid¡¯s praise. He wasn¡¯t just being complimented¡ªhe was being called to action, reminded of his worth in their twisted world.


    For a moment, Ayman let himself believe it. Believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be more than the anger and hopelessness gnawing at his soul.


    But then Farid¡¯s tone grew serious, and he leaned closer. ¡°But be careful. Don¡¯t let anyone follow you. Don¡¯t let anyone see you. This guy could be dangerous. He could have connections, people watching his back. If you get caught snooping around, it won¡¯t just be the cops you¡¯ll have to worry about.¡±


    Ayman nodded slowly, taking in the weight of the mission. ¡°When do I start?¡±


    ¡°Tonight,¡± Farid said. ¡°The sooner, the better. But don¡¯t rush it. Take your time, stay out of sight, and get us the information we need. I¡¯m trusting you with this, Ayman. Don¡¯t let me down.¡±


    Ayman stood, his mind already racing with possibilities and strategies. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. You¡¯ll have your answers.¡±


    Farid smirked, leaning back in his chair. ¡°I knew I could count on you. Now go talk to Samir; he will tell you where this house is. And remember¡ªdon¡¯t get caught.¡±


    After talking to Samir and finding out the location of this house, Ayman left the factory; the night air hit his face, cool and sharp. The streets were quiet, but his mind buzzed with the challenge ahead.


    A new target, a new mystery. And the weight of Farid¡¯s trust resting squarely on his shoulders. This wasn¡¯t just a mission¡ªit was a test. And Ayman wasn¡¯t planning to fail.

 Chapter 9: The Plan

    The house loomed in the distance, its shadow stretching across the dimly lit street. Ayman kept his distance, blending into the quiet of the night as he approached the location. He had spent enough nights like this to know how to disappear¡ªhow to become just another piece of the background.


    Finding a safe vantage point, he settled in, his eyes scanning every detail of the property. From his position, he could see an opportunity. The house next door stood close, almost too close, and Ayman noticed something immediately¡ªa narrow gap on the side, just enough for someone like him to slip through.


    His gaze followed the line of the wall. If he could climb it, the rooftops connected. It wouldn¡¯t be hard to cross from one to the other and find his way inside the target house. The idea sat in his mind, taking root like a seed.


    He leaned back and shifted his attention to the surrounding neighborhood. The street was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Only a few cars rolled by, their headlights cutting briefly through the shadows before disappearing again. Occasionally, a lone figure would pass on the sidewalk, their steps echoing in the silence.


    Perfect for a thief, Ayman thought to himself.


    Memories of past jobs surfaced¡ªhe had done this before with Farid and the gang. Scouting, breaking in, slipping out unnoticed. It wasn¡¯t just survival; it was a skill, one he had honed to an art form.


    As he watched, the rumble of an engine drew his attention. A sleek, expensive car pulled up in front of the house. Ayman¡¯s eyes narrowed as a man stepped out, dressed sharply, his movements precise. The man carried a briefcase, its polished surface gleaming under the streetlights.


    Ayman froze, his instincts flaring. He watched as the man approached the house, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside. Five minutes later, the door opened again, and the man emerged¡ªwithout the briefcase.


    Ayman¡¯s mind raced. What¡¯s in the briefcase? Money? Something else? Why leave it behind?


    As the man walked back to his car, Ayman shifted his position, blending into the shadows. He decided to follow, pretending to stroll casually down the street. As he neared the car, he caught the man¡¯s voice¡ªa phone call.


    ¡°Okay, dear, I¡¯m coming to pick you up right now¡­ Yes, I¡¯ll be there in one hour. Just prepare yourself and wait¡­ Okay, sweetie.¡±


    The man hung up, got into the car, and drove off. The hum of the engine faded as the car sped down the street.


    Ayman stopped, watching the taillights disappear into the night. His thoughts churned. An hour¡¯s drive? That means he¡¯ll be gone for a while. Plenty of time to slip inside. The plan began to take shape in his mind. This was a good opportunity¡ªbetter than most.


    He needed to stay sharp. Walking down the street, he bought a pack of cigarettes from a nearby vendor, letting the taste of smoke calm his nerves. Hunger gnawed at him, so he stopped to grab some food¡ªa simple meal, enough to keep him awake and focused.


    He waited, watching the street for the man¡¯s return. But the hours stretched on, and the man never came back.


    By dawn, Ayman¡¯s patience wore thin. He exhaled a plume of smoke, glancing up at the pale morning sky. He¡¯s not coming back tonight. Disappointed but not deterred, he pushed his hands into his pockets and headed home.


    As he walked, the plan replayed itself in his mind. He had time to refine it, to prepare. The briefcase, the house, the opportunity¡ªit all pointed to something big. Something he couldn¡¯t let slip away.


    When Ayman finally reached his bed, exhaustion overtook him. He closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him, already dreaming of what his next move would be.


    Ayman¡¯s eyes fluttered open as he felt a hand shake his shoulder. His mother¡¯s voice cut through his groggy state.


    ¡°Wake up! Your big brother wants to talk to you about something important,¡± she said firmly.


    He groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. ¡°Why? I want to sleep more¡­¡±


    But she didn¡¯t budge. ¡°Ayman, get up now. This is serious!¡±


    Reluctantly, Ayman dragged himself out of bed, his legs heavy with exhaustion. He shuffled toward the hallway, rubbing his eyes as he noticed Karim sitting in a chair, waiting for him. Karim held a croissant in his hand, extending it toward his younger brother.


    ¡°Come, eat this as your breakfast,¡± Karim said. ¡°My wife bought it for me earlier, but I was already full.¡±


    Ayman blinked in surprise. ¡°Ah, you brought me a¡­ corrisan¡­ corriass¡­¡± He stumbled over the word, then grinned slyly. ¡°Croissant! Should I say it like the French people? Like Marwa when she buys it?¡±


    He mimicked his sister-in-law¡¯s accent, exaggerating it comically, but Karim didn¡¯t crack a smile. ¡°Okay, eat it and sit down. We need to talk.¡±


    Ayman noticed the seriousness in Karim¡¯s tone. Swallowing his teasing, he sat down, wolfed down the croissant, and took a long sip of water. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asked.


    Karim leaned forward, his expression unyielding. ¡°I talked to Ammar¡ªsomeone I know¡ªand asked him to help find you a job. He told me there¡¯s a group of construction workers who need help in the neighborhood alley. It¡¯s the building behind the school. They¡¯re hiring, and they need men to work. Tomorrow, you start sleeping normally because the day after, you¡¯ll be working with them.¡±


    Ayman froze, his mouth hanging open. ¡°Construction worker? No way!¡± he blurted, his voice filled with disdain.


    His mother, sensing the tension, stepped in. ¡°Please, son. It¡¯s a decent job, and you¡¯ll earn good money after that!¡±


    Ayman shot to his feet, his frustration boiling over. ¡°Money? After I break every bone in my body? No way!¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Karim¡¯s voice rose, matching Ayman¡¯s intensity. ¡°You will do it! You¡¯ve been jobless for months, and all you do is cause problems. Two days ago, you were apprehended by the police, and if it weren¡¯t for me, you¡¯d still be locked up! You need to stay away from Farid and his stupid gang!¡±


    Ayman¡¯s fists clenched as he shouted, ¡°No way!¡± He caught himself before cursing, glancing at his mother¡¯s disapproving face. ¡°Fu¡­ I mean, look¡ªI can¡¯t do this! I can¡¯t work like this. I need a better job!¡±


    Karim smirked, his eyes hard. ¡°A better job? With what experience? With what diplomas? You know how hard it is to find work without those! At least with construction, you¡¯ll be surrounded by decent, hardworking men¡ªmen who sacrifice every day to feed their families. That¡¯s what I did years ago before I became a policeman!¡±


    Ayman shook his head, his voice defiant. ¡°I don¡¯t care! I¡¯m not doing it!¡±


    His mother stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Ayman, please listen to your brother. This could be a new beginning for you.¡±


    But Ayman¡¯s anger drowned out her gentle plea. Karim, meanwhile, was losing his patience.


    ¡°Stop being stubborn!¡± Karim shouted. ¡°Do you think life is easy? Do you think you¡¯ll just stumble upon some miracle? Wake up, Ayman! You¡¯re not a kid anymore. It¡¯s time to take responsibility!¡±


    The hallway buzzed with tension as the two brothers locked eyes, neither willing to back down. Ayman could feel the weight of their expectations pressing on him, suffocating him. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but he held himself back, his chest heaving with suppressed frustration.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± he muttered finally, storming back to his room and slamming the door behind him.


    His mother sighed, looking at Karim with concern. ¡°He¡¯s just lost, Karim. Be patient with him.¡±


    Karim shook his head, his face stern. ¡°He doesn¡¯t have time to be lost anymore. He needs to wake up before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    Karim ran his hands through his hair, his face flushed with frustration as his mother stood quietly beside him. His voice rose, sharp and cutting through the air.


    ¡°Does he think he¡¯s better than me and the other men who worked construction? Does he?¡± Karim¡¯s voice cracked, the words tinged with both anger and pain. ¡°I worked my ass off in construction! I broke my back helping neighbors with their projects, even for less money¡ªjust to help them, to help you, and to help him! Yes, I did it for you, Ayman!¡±


    He shouted his brother¡¯s name toward the closed door, his voice reverberating through the small house.


    His mother placed a hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. ¡°Karim, please¡­¡±


    But Karim pulled away, pacing furiously. ¡°No, Mom, I¡¯m done with this nonsense. He thinks he can waste his life and drag us down with him? I swear, if he stays with Farid and his gang, I¡¯ll send the police over there myself! I¡¯ll have them apprehend everyone¡ªincluding your son!¡±


    His mother gasped, clutching her chest as though the words struck her physically. ¡°Karim, no! Please, don¡¯t do that. He¡¯s still your brother. Please¡­¡± Her voice broke with desperation.


    But Karim wouldn¡¯t relent. His eyes burned with conviction as he continued, his tone firm and resolute. ¡°Sooner or later, Farid is going to jail for his actions. You know it, Mom. And if Ayman stays with him, he¡¯ll end up in the same place. Is that what you want?¡±


    Ayman, sitting in his room, could hear every word. The heated argument pierced through the thin walls, each word landing like a blow. His fists clenched, and his jaw tightened. Anger brewed inside him¡ªnot just at Karim, but at himself. He hated feeling trapped, hated being judged, hated how helpless he felt.


    His mother¡¯s voice trembled as she called out to him. ¡°Ayman, you heard that! Please, son, stay away from Farid and start this work. Do it for me, if not for yourself.¡±


    Ayman took a deep breath, his voice flat and emotionless as he replied through the door. ¡°Yeah, sure.¡±


    Karim, still simmering with anger, marched toward Ayman¡¯s room. He pushed the door open, glaring down at his younger brother. ¡°And one more thing,¡± he said sharply. ¡°If my wife hears you swear again, I¡¯ll kick your ass!¡±


    Ayman blinked, caught off guard. ¡°What? She told you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Karim replied, his voice laced with irritation. ¡°It was Mom. She told me you cursed while she was cleaning. That¡¯s why she was upset yesterday morning.¡±


    Their mother appeared in the doorway, wringing her hands nervously. ¡°Karim, I told you¡ªhe didn¡¯t mean it! He didn¡¯t even see her upstairs. He was talking to his friends when he came through the door!¡±


    Ayman¡¯s eyes widened as he realized his mother had covered for him with a lie. He looked at her, stunned, and then back at Karim, whose face softened only slightly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Karim said firmly. ¡°He should never curse around the house like that. I won¡¯t let my future child grow up around a drunk loser uncle who swears all the time.¡±


    The words hit Ayman like a punch to the stomach. The weight of them sank deep into his chest, tearing at his pride and resolve. Tears began to well in his eyes, and he quickly looked away, trying to hide them.


    Karim turned on his heel, his mother following him anxiously. ¡°Please, Karim, calm down,¡± she begged. ¡°He¡¯ll start working. Don¡¯t worry, son.¡±


    But her reassurances felt hollow to Ayman. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving him alone in the suffocating silence of his room. He buried his face in his hands, the tears coming freely now. The truth hurt more than he could bear¡ªno matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to prove himself, he was still just a loser in their eyes.


    For the first time, he didn¡¯t feel angry at Karim. He felt ashamed. The weight of his brother¡¯s words and the disappointment in his mother¡¯s eyes crushed him.


    As the morning sun streamed weakly through the window, Ayman sat there, his shoulders trembling. His tears were silent, but the anguish they carried was deafening.


    Ayman sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. His brother¡¯s words echoed in his mind like a hammer striking an anvil, over and over. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. The humiliation, the shame, the burning anger¡ªit all churned inside him like a storm, and he felt like he would explode.


    With trembling hands, he reached for his phone, his vision blurry from the tears still streaming down his face. He wiped them away roughly, taking a sharp breath to steady himself. Scrolling through his contacts, he found Nadir¡¯s name and pressed the call button.


    It only rang once before Nadir picked up. ¡°Yo, Ayman! What¡¯s up?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s voice cracked as he started to speak, but he quickly masked it with a tone of cold determination. ¡°You still wanna go to Italy illegally, right?¡± he said, his voice low but firm.


    Nadir sounded surprised. ¡°Uh, yeah. Why?¡±


    ¡°I got you the money,¡± Ayman continued, his voice tightening as the words left his mouth. ¡°And I¡¯m coming with you. Tonight.¡±


    There was a pause on the other end of the line. ¡°Wait, are you serious?¡± Nadir asked, his tone now a mix of excitement and disbelief.


    Ayman¡¯s throat tightened as he forced himself to continue. ¡°Go make your calls. Prepare yourself. Tell your brother¡­¡± His voice faltered at the word brother, the pain slicing through him like a knife. He swallowed hard, pushing the emotion down, and continued. ¡°Tell your brother to expect us tomorrow.¡±


    Nadir hesitated, sensing the tension in Ayman¡¯s voice. ¡°You sure about this, man?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s response was immediate, filled with anger and hatred, not just for his family, but for himself and the situation that had brought him to this point. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure!¡± he barked. ¡°I¡¯ve got a plan to get the money. We do it tonight. Get ready, and tomorrow we¡¯ll be celebrating with champagne in Palermo.¡±


    Nadir¡¯s tone shifted, now matching Ayman¡¯s intensity. ¡°Hell yeah! Okay, man, I¡¯ll make the calls. Meet you tonight.¡±


    Ayman ended the call abruptly, his hands shaking as he dropped the phone onto the bed beside him. He stared blankly at the wall, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The words he had spoken replayed in his mind, the finality of them sinking in.


    ¡°Fuck this,¡± he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with rage and despair. He stood up, pacing the small room, his fists still clenched. ¡°They want me to be a man? I¡¯ll show them how to be a fucking man!¡±


    The weight of his decision pressed down on him, but it was too late to turn back now. Ayman had made his choice¡ªa choice born of anger, desperation, and the deep, gnawing need to prove himself.

 Chapter 10: The Heist

    Ayman sat alone in his room, the hum of the city faint in the distance. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment. His mind raced, thoughts of the unknown future intertwining with the weight of what he was leaving behind. He had made up his mind¡ªit was time to leave, to escape the life that had consumed him, to seek something better, even if it meant plunging into uncertainty.


    A soft knock at the door startled him. It was his mother, her voice gentle and filled with a mother''s unyielding warmth.


    "Come, Ayman. Marwa has made a cake. She says it¡¯s her best one yet. We¡¯re making tea. Why don¡¯t you join us for a while? It¡¯ll be nice."


    Her attempt at lightheartedness was clear, her words laced with an undercurrent of concern. Ayman hesitated, glancing toward the door.


    "Maybe later, Mama," he replied, his voice low and distant.


    She lingered for a moment, her sigh almost imperceptible, before retreating back to the others. Ayman heard the faint murmur of voices and laughter from the apartment above, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall, letting the quiet envelop him once more.


    Hours passed, the room growing colder with the night. Ayman remained still, lost in his thoughts, until his phone buzzed beside him. He glanced at the screen¡ªNadir''s name flashed across it. The message was simple:


    "Are you ready?"


    Ayman stared at it for a moment before typing his reply:


    "Yes."


    Nadir¡¯s response came quickly:


    "Let¡¯s meet at our spot. Everything is set. We leave tonight."


    Ayman exhaled deeply, the finality of it sinking in. He stood, gathering his resolve. He grabbed a small, worn bag, carefully packing the few belongings he could take with him. A change of clothes, some cash, and the precious few mementos he couldn¡¯t bear to leave behind. He paused for a moment, his hand lingering on a family photo¡ªthe four of them together, smiling, before everything had changed. He hesitated, then tucked it carefully into the bag.


    The room felt heavier now, the walls closing in as if they knew he was about to leave. He looked around one last time, his heart aching with a bittersweet mix of regret and determination.


    ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± he muttered to himself, slinging the bag over his shoulder.


    As he prepared to slip out, the sounds of life from upstairs continued¡ªthe faint laughter, the clinking of cups. Ayman froze for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to turn away. Nadir was waiting. Tonight, his life would change forever.


    Ayman went quietly to the rooftop, his heart heavy. The dim moonlight bathed the city in silver, and the cool night air brushed against his face as he crouched near a wooden crate. Inside, his tiny kittens mewed softly, their small bodies curling together for warmth. He gently lifted the crate, cradling it against his chest.


    He paused for a moment on the downstairs, looking down at the window of Karim¡¯s home. Through the glass, he saw them: his mother, Marwa, and Karim, sitting together. They were laughing, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of the room. His mother was sharing a story about Karim¡¯s mischievous childhood¡ªhow he once got into trouble sneaking out for an adventure.


    "You were a bit naughty when you were kid, thank god you are changed now." Marwa telling Karim how surprise she is from hearing those tales about him.


    "Yes I was. I think I was a bit like Ayman" then Karim laughed with rest.


    The laughter was soft and pure, a fleeting glimpse of the life Ayman had always longed to protect. His throat tightened as he watched them, tears forming in his eyes. He etched the image into his memory, knowing this was a moment he would carry with him forever¡ªa memory of what he was leaving behind, what he could never return to.


    He forced himself to look away, clutching the crate as he descended the narrow stairwell to the streets below. The weight of his decision bore down on him as he crossed the neighborhood, heading to a familiar door. He knocked softly, and Salma, a kind-hearted girl from the block, answered.


    "Salma," Ayman said, his voice shaky, "Can you give this to Yasmin? These are my kittens. She¡¯s good with animals. Tell her I¡¯ll be gone for a few weeks, but I¡¯ll come back for them."


    Salma looked at him with curious concern but nodded, taking the crate. "Of course, Ayman. But are you okay? You look¡ª"


    "I¡¯m fine," he interrupted, forcing a smile. "Thank you."


    As he turned to leave, he heard the faint mewing behind him. He stopped and turned back, seeing the kittens scrambling out of the crate, their tiny paws pattering on the ground as they followed him. Their small tails stood upright, their eyes wide with trust and affection.


    "Go back," Ayman whispered, his voice breaking. "Go back to Salma. Stay with her."


    The kittens continued to follow, their soft cries flying in the quiet night. Salma crouched, calling to them gently. "Come on, little ones, I have tuna for you. Come here."


    But they didn¡¯t stop. To them, Ayman was everything¡ªtheir protector, their world. He knelt down, tears streaming down his face as he gently pushed them back toward Salma. "Go, go back," he whispered. "I can¡¯t take you with me. I¡¯ll come back one day, I promise. You¡¯ll be big by then, and I hope¡­ I hope you¡¯ll still remember me."


    The kittens meowed again, as if protesting, their tiny faces full of innocence. Ayman stood abruptly, wiping his tears as he turned away, his footsteps growing heavier with each step.


    Behind him, Salma scooped up the kittens, her soft reassurances mingling with their cries. But their little voices stayed with Ayman, haunting him as he walked into the shadows. For a moment, he felt as though they were the only beings in the world who truly saw him as someone important. And now, he had let them go.


    Ayman walked through the dim streets, his thoughts swirling in chaos. The weight of his past life pressed heavily on his mind¡ªhis childhood in the slums, the endless grind of working in low income jobs, and the sight of his mother growing older, still struggling to keep the family afloat. The future loomed before him, bleak and unchanging.


    "Is this it?" he thought bitterly. "Is this all my life will ever be? Breaking my back on construction sites for scraps, barely surviving, while everyone else moves ahead?" He clenched his fists, the frustration simmering within him.


    He thought about his mother¡¯s tired hands, the sacrifices she had made to hold their family together. He thought about the empty promise of hard work in a world where opportunity seemed reserved for others. He needed more. He needed freedom. He needed money.


    This wasn¡¯t a life¡ªit was a slow death, one day at a time. That thought pushed him forward. Every step he took felt heavier than the last, not from doubt, but from the grim determination to break free. He couldn¡¯t stay stuck in this cycle. Not anymore.


    When he finally arrived, Nadir was waiting, leaning casually against a lamppost, his face barely visible in the shadows. His expression brightened when he saw Ayman approaching.


    "You¡¯re here," Nadir said, straightening up. "So, are you ready?"


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.Ayman nodded, his voice firm despite the storm in his heart. "Yeah, I¡¯m ready. Let¡¯s go."


    They walked together to a quieter corner, where Ayman shared the details of the plan. "We¡¯re going to rob a house," he said, keeping his voice low. "It¡¯s an easy job. The guy is wealthy. He drives an expensive car, and I¡¯ve seen him carrying a briefcase. He¡¯s definitely hiding something valuable in there."


    Nadir¡¯s eyes widened with excitement. "A briefcase? Are you serious? This could be big!"


    "Yeah," Ayman continued, his tone measured. "If we find money, we¡¯re out. We leave tonight. Straight to Italy. But listen carefully¡ªif we don¡¯t find any cash, we leave everything as it is. We don¡¯t take anything. We can¡¯t risk it."


    Nadir frowned slightly, his excitement tempered by Ayman¡¯s seriousness. "Are you sure about this? What about Farid? He¡¯ll come after us if he finds out."


    Ayman shook his head. "Farid won¡¯t find out about it now. The cops are already looking for him after what happened in the attack we did few days ago. He¡¯ll probably end up in jail before he even realizes we¡¯re gone to Italy."


    "But what if we¡¯re wrong?" Nadir pressed. "What if there¡¯s nothing there?"


    "Then we leave," Ayman said firmly. "No money, no theft, no Italy. We¡¯ll stay low until the heat dies down. And I will report to Farid, my alanyse so he can do the robbery instead.But if we find something, it¡¯s our chance. We can¡¯t let it slip away."


    Nadir studied Ayman¡¯s face for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, I trust you. Let¡¯s do this."


    The two exchanged a look of determination before heading toward the wealthy man¡¯s house. The weight of the night pressed down on them both, but Ayman clung to one thought: this was his chance to escape the life he had always hated. It had to work. Tonight, everything would change¡ªor it wouldn¡¯t.


    As they walked through the streets, their footsteps can be heard in the silence of the night. Ayman broke the silence, his voice carrying a mixture of frustration and determination. "You know, Nadir, I can¡¯t stay here anymore. This life, this... this constant struggle, it¡¯s killing me. I¡¯ve been stuck in the same place, doing the same things, and it¡¯s like I¡¯m going nowhere. I¡¯m tired of it."


    Nadir nodded, his face somber. "I get it, man. I feel the same. I¡¯ve worked so many jobs¡ªconstruction, factories, even that mechanic shop. My body¡¯s already breaking down, and I¡¯m not even old. My brother? He¡¯s in Italy, living good. My cousins, too, all over Europe. They¡¯re making something of themselves. They keep telling me life there is different, better. And here... there¡¯s just nothing."


    Ayman glanced at him, his expression softening. "You¡¯ll get there, Nadir. Your brother and cousins will help you. They know what it¡¯s like. But me? I don¡¯t have anyone there. I¡¯ll make my own path. We¡¯ll make it together."


    Nadir smiled faintly, but his eyes held a glimmer of hope. "Still, I hope one day we¡¯ll be like your brother. He¡¯s respected here, man. Everyone talks about him. Even Farid¡ªcan you believe that? He respects your brother, and you know how much he hates cops. But he always says, ''Your brother is a good man, a real man.'' That¡¯s something to admire."


    Ayman¡¯s jaw tightened, his pace quickening. "My brother? Come on, Nadir, no. We¡¯ll be better than him. You hear me? Better. We won¡¯t just be respected¡ªwe¡¯ll be rich, powerful. Your brother will help us get started in Italy, and then we¡¯ll build something bigger than anything my brother ever had. He can stay here, be the hero cop everyone loves. Good for him."


    He paused, his voice rising slightly with the heat of his emotions. "But do you know what it¡¯s like, Nadir? To always be compared to him? To never be good enough? Even Farid told me that too and to my face, ¡®Your brother is a respected cop.¡¯ Do you know how that feels? My own brother, always judging me, always looking down on me because I¡¯m not like him. Well, you know what? Let him have his little kingdom here. I¡¯m done trying to fit into a world that doesn¡¯t want me."


    Ayman stopped for a moment, his eyes burning with conviction as he turned to Nadir. "We¡¯ll leave this place. We¡¯ll go to Italy. We¡¯ll get rich. And then, when we come back, they¡¯ll all see. They¡¯ll respect us. They¡¯ll respect me. Not because I¡¯m someone¡¯s brother, but because I built something for myself."


    Nadir watched him quietly for a moment before nodding. "You¡¯re right. We¡¯ll make it. Together."


    The two of them continued walking, their determination growing with every step. They both knew tonight would change everything¡ªfor better or for worse. But for now, they clung to their shared dream of a life beyond the streets of Tunisia. A life where they could finally be free.


    Ayman¡¯s mother carried a small plate of cake to his room, her footsteps soft against the floor. She knocked lightly on the door, waiting for a response, but there was none. She opened it slightly, peeking inside, but the room was empty. With a small sigh, she placed the plate on his desk and closed the door gently. Returning to the sitting room, she rejoined Karim and Marwa.


    ¡°He¡¯s not there,¡± she said, settling into her seat.


    Karim glanced up, his expression calm. ¡°He¡¯s probably out with his friends or maybe he went to see Farid to settle everything so he can start working tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°I hope so,¡± she replied, a hint of worry in her voice. ¡°I just want him to stay focused, work hard, and keep himself in line.¡±


    Marwa, her tone sharper than usual, interrupted, ¡°Why would you put him in such a job? Couldn¡¯t you find him something better? If you¡¯d asked around in my hometown, they could¡¯ve found him a decent job, maybe in security or something stable.¡±


    Karim shook his head firmly, his voice carrying a mix of authority and conviction. ¡°No, Marwa. Ayman has to learn. He has to know what it¡¯s like to struggle, to endure, to feel the weight of earning every meal he eats. This job will teach him discipline and resilience. It¡¯s important for his growth.¡±


    His mother nodded in agreement. ¡°I have faith in him. Ayman is a good boy. He will succeed. This experience will make him stronger.¡±


    Karim leaned back, his tone softening. ¡°I promise, after two or three months, if he does well, I¡¯ll get him something better. Something that pays well and suits him. But for now, he needs to understand the value of hard work and perseverance. It¡¯ll make him appreciate his future more.¡±


    The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Karim¡¯s words settling over them. Ayman¡¯s mother smiled faintly, a mix of hope and pride filling her expression. Marwa, though skeptical, said nothing further, her mind occupied with thoughts of Ayman¡¯s future.


    Karim leaned forward, his voice softening as he turned to Marwa. ¡°You know, Ayman is a good person. He has always been decent, with a kind heart. He takes care of everyone, even those tiny kittens up on the roof. He feeds them every day and looks after them like he¡¯s their parent. He really is a good soul.¡±


    Marwa nodded, her expression easing. ¡°Yeah, I know. He¡¯s always been like that.¡±


    Karim sighed, a hint of regret in his tone. ¡°I also want to apologize for his behavior yesterday. He said some bad words, and I promise it won¡¯t happen again. Don¡¯t worry about our son. He won¡¯t follow in the footsteps of a ¡®loser uncle.¡¯¡±


    Marwa shook her head gently. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Karim. It¡¯s okay.¡±


    Karim¡¯s mother, sitting quietly nearby, looked saddened but spoke up with quiet conviction. ¡°Ayman will be better than this, no matter what. He has a good heart, just like you, Karim. Don¡¯t worry about him.¡±


    Karim nodded in agreement, a faint smile playing on his lips. ¡°You¡¯re right. You remember how he couldn¡¯t even hurt small animals? He¡¯s always been like that.¡±


    Marwa rolled her eyes playfully, raising a hand to stop him. ¡°No, don¡¯t remind me of that flying cockroach! I don¡¯t even want to think about it.¡±


    The memory made Karim chuckle. ¡°Oh, come on! You were screaming so much, and Ayman wouldn¡¯t let me kill it. He was like, ¡®No, no, don¡¯t kill it! Let¡¯s just push it outside!¡¯¡±


    Marwa couldn¡¯t help but laugh, shaking her head at the ridiculous scene. ¡°I was losing my mind! That little thing jumped on me, and you two were just arguing about whether to kill it or not!¡±


    Karim grinned. ¡°I wanted to end it right there, but Ayman insisted. We ended up kicking it out of the house like some kind of unwanted guest.¡±


    Their laughter filled the room, the tension lifting as they shared the fond memory. Even Karim¡¯s mother smiled softly, her sadness replaced by a glimmer of pride.

 Chapter 11: Dark Fate

    As they approached the house, Ayman stopped abruptly, pointing toward their target. "That¡¯s it," he whispered. "You see the house over there? The big one with the expensive car in the driveway? That¡¯s where we¡¯re going. But first, look at the house next to it¡ªit¡¯s still under construction. We can use it to sneak in."


    Nadir glanced at the unfinished building, nodding. "Yeah, that could work. What¡¯s the plan?"


    Ayman motioned toward the crates piled up at the back of the construction site. "We use those crates to climb up to the second floor, cross the rooftop, and jump over to the target house. From there, we¡¯ll find a way in."


    They moved cautiously, sticking to the shadows. The air was cool, and the faint hum of distant cars filled the silence. Ayman led the way, keeping his head low and gesturing for Nadir to follow. As they reached the crates, Ayman inspected them quickly.


    "These should hold," he muttered, stacking a smaller crate on top of a larger one. He tested it by pressing down with his foot, ensuring it wouldn¡¯t collapse under their weight. Satisfied, he started climbing.


    The wood creaked under him, but it held firm. Ayman reached the top of the pile and stretched out his hand to Nadir. "Come on, your turn."


    Nadir hesitated for a moment before gripping Ayman¡¯s hand and pulling himself up. Together, they scaled the ledge of the unfinished house, climbing onto the first floor.


    From there, Ayman pointed to the scaffolding along the side of the building. "We climb that to get to the second floor. Careful, though¡ªit looks unstable."


    They began their ascent, each movement calculated and cautious. The scaffolding swayed slightly with their weight, but they pressed on, the target house growing closer. Ayman reached the top first, pulling himself onto the flat concrete rooftop of the unfinished house.


    As Nadir joined him, Ayman suddenly paused, leaning against the edge of the roof. "Wait a second," he said, his voice low.


    "What¡¯s up?" Nadir asked, crouching next to him.


    "Farid..." Ayman hesitated, his mind racing. "Does Farid have a brother? I mean, another brother?"


    Nadir frowned, clearly caught off guard. "What? No, man. I¡¯ve known Farid for years. I used to buy from him¡ªyou know, weed and other stuff. He¡¯s a good smuggler, always reliable. I¡¯ve never heard of him having another brother. He¡¯s got one brother, sure, but that guy¡¯s been in jail for years. Murdered his wife or something."


    Ayman nodded slowly, his thoughts tangled. "Yeah, I know about that. My brother told me the same story. But listen, my brother also told me something else. He said Farid has another brother¡ªa different one. That¡¯s how my brother knew about me going with them to attack the other gang. His so-called brother called him three days ago and tipped him off. What if this brother knows about our plan too?"


    Nadir looked uneasy, shaking his head. "I don¡¯t know, man. I¡¯ve never heard about any other brother. Farid¡¯s got a sister, though. She¡¯s a teacher or something, but another brother? Nah. The one he¡¯s got has been locked up for years."


    Ayman rubbed the back of his neck, his anxiety growing. "I don¡¯t like this. What if something goes wrong? What if someone¡¯s watching us right now?"


    Nadir placed a hand on Ayman¡¯s shoulder. "Relax, bro. Don¡¯t psych yourself out. It¡¯s just nerves. We¡¯ll be fine. Look, we¡¯re almost there. We jump to that rooftop, climb down, and we¡¯re in. Easy."


    Ayman took a deep breath, nodding as he pushed his doubts aside. "Yeah, okay. No problem. Let¡¯s do this."


    Together, they moved to the edge of the rooftop. Ayman jumped first, landing with a soft thud on the roof of the target house. Nadir followed closely, and the two of them crouched low, peering over the edge as they prepared for the final part of their plan.


    From their vantage point on the rooftop, Ayman and Nadir crouched low, their eyes locked on the house below. The man they had been waiting for emerged at last, accompanied by a woman who was unlike anyone Ayman had ever seen in their poor neighborhood.


    She was stunning, with long, sleek hair cascading over her shoulders. Her clothes were designer¡ªclean, sharp lines that spoke of money and power. Her heels clicked softly on the pavement as she walked beside the man, her posture confident, her movements graceful. Gold jewelry glinted under the faint glow of the streetlights, and her perfume seemed to linger in the air even from this distance.


    The man, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, spoke to her, his voice carrying faintly in the still night. "Tonight¡¯s going to be a great party," he said with a smug grin, opening the car door for her. She smiled, her perfectly painted lips curving as she slid into the passenger seat.


    He got in after her, revving the engine of his expensive car. Its sleek black body gleamed like a panther under the moonlight, and the sound of the engine purred as they drove off into the night.


    Ayman exhaled sharply, nudging Nadir. "Look at that woman, man. She¡¯s out of this world. Did you see her?"


    Nadir nodded, his mouth slightly open. "Yeah, dude. And that car? That¡¯s no joke. This guy is seriously loaded. What the hell is he even doing in this neighborhood?"


    "I¡¯ve been wondering the same thing," Ayman said, shaking his head. "But whatever. Let¡¯s go. He¡¯s gone now, and he¡¯s probably going to be out for hours. We need to move before he comes back."


    "You think he¡¯s staying out all night?" Nadir asked, his voice laced with doubt.


    "At least until morning," Ayman replied confidently. "He¡¯s not coming back anytime soon. We¡¯ve got plenty of time to search the house. But remember¡ªif there¡¯s no money, we don¡¯t take anything. Not even a TV. Nothing. If he comes back and notices anything missing, he¡¯ll call the police, and then Farid will know about this and hunt us down. We can¡¯t afford that. We¡¯re only here for the cash. If we find it, we take it and leave for Italy immediately."


    Nadir nodded firmly. "Got it. No money, no problem. Let¡¯s do this."


    They climbed carefully from their rooftop to the next, using the narrow ledges and beams for support. Moving like shadows, they crossed to the target house, careful to stay out of sight. Reaching the roof of the target house, they paused briefly to steady their breaths.


    Ayman peered over the edge, scanning the surroundings. "All clear," he whispered, motioning for Nadir to follow.


    They descended quietly, their footsteps soft on the outer stairs leading to the house. Ayman reached the back door first, pulling a small crowbar from his jacket. He inserted it into the doorframe and applied pressure until the lock gave with a soft crack.


    "Easy," he murmured as he eased the door open.


    Inside, the house was eerily silent. The scent of polished wood and leather lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the dusty streets outside. They stepped cautiously into the living room, their eyes scanning for cameras or alarms. There were none.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.The house was furnished with expensive taste¡ªsleek, modern furniture, abstract art on the walls, and a large flat-screen TV dominating one side of the room. Nadir whistled softly, his eyes wide.


    "Man, this guy is living large," he said under his breath.


    "Focus," Ayman hissed, already moving toward the hallway.


    They split up, searching room by room. The house seemed normal¡ªno safes in plain sight, no obvious places to stash large amounts of cash. As they moved upstairs, Ayman¡¯s heart pounded in his chest. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was off.


    Still, he pressed on, determined. "Check the closets, the drawers, anything that might have money," he whispered to Nadir.


    Nadir nodded, opening a cabinet and rummaging quietly. The house was theirs, for now, but every second felt like borrowed time.


    As they crept through the house, their search finally brought them to a closed wardrobe in one of the bedrooms. Nadir opened it cautiously, revealing nothing out of the ordinary at first¡ªjust neatly hung clothes and shelves. But something caught Ayman¡¯s eye at the back of the closet: a metal door embedded in the wood.


    ¡°Wait, wait,¡± Ayman said, squinting in disbelief. He pushed some clothes aside, revealing the small safe. ¡°Look at this. What? There¡¯s a safe in here!¡±


    Nadir stepped closer, his eyebrows raised in surprise. ¡°No way! Jackpot, man. This is it!¡±


    They crouched near the safe, inspecting it. It was a simple design, not the kind with a complicated number dial, but one that required a physical key.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a regular safe,¡± Ayman muttered, frowning. ¡°No code or anything. We just need the key.¡±


    ¡°Okay, where would he hide the key?¡± Nadir whispered, already glancing around the room.


    They checked the drawers, behind the wardrobe, and even under the mattress. Finally, Nadir got on his knees and reached under the bed. His fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. He pulled it out¡ªa small, ordinary key.


    Nadir burst out laughing. ¡°Dude, look at this. The key was under the bed! What a genius hiding spot.¡±


    Ayman shook his head, incredulous. ¡°Are you kidding me? He hid the key to his safe under the bed in the same room with the safe. That¡¯s like the first place anyone would look!¡±


    Nadir grinned, waving the key in the air. ¡°Hey, let¡¯s not complain about his brilliance. Lucky for us, right?¡±


    They both laughed softly, their nerves easing for a moment. But as Nadir approached the safe, Ayman¡¯s smile faded.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Ayman said, his voice low. ¡°This is weird. Who leaves the key to their safe in the house, under the bed, where anyone can find it? If he¡¯s keeping something valuable in here, shouldn¡¯t he take the key with him?¡±


    ¡°Who cares, man?¡± Nadir replied impatiently. ¡°Maybe he¡¯s just careless. Let¡¯s open it and see what¡¯s inside.¡±


    Reluctantly, Ayman nodded. Nadir slid the key into the lock and turned it. The safe opened with a soft click, and they both leaned in, expecting to see stacks of cash or valuable items.


    Instead, they found papers. A stack of old, yellowed documents with strange writing on them, symbols and characters that neither of them could decipher.


    ¡°What the hell?¡± Nadir said, pulling out one of the papers. ¡°Where¡¯s the money?¡±


    Ayman picked up another sheet, frowning deeply. ¡°This¡­ this isn¡¯t even in Arabic. Is it French?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Nadir replied, his face pale. ¡°It¡¯s not French. It¡¯s something else. Something¡­¡±


    His voice trailed off as he stared at the papers, his hands trembling slightly. Ayman noticed and grabbed his shoulder. ¡°What? What is it? Do you recognize this language?¡±


    Nadir hesitated, his breathing quickening. ¡°We need to leave,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°What?¡± Ayman said, his frustration rising. ¡°No! What is this? What does it say? Where¡¯s the money?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no money!¡± Nadir snapped, his voice almost breaking. ¡°We need to go. Right now.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡± Ayman pressed, shaking one of the papers. ¡°What¡¯s this language? Why are you so scared?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter!¡± Nadir hissed, his eyes darting around the room as if someone was watching them. ¡°We¡¯ve messed up. This isn¡¯t normal.


    This isn¡¯t just some random safe. Please, let¡¯s go before it¡¯s too late.¡±


    Ayman stared at him, bewildered. Nadir was visibly shaking now, his face pale as he stuffed the papers back into the safe. Something was wrong¡ªterribly wrong¡ªand Nadir knew what it was but wouldn¡¯t say.


    Reluctantly, Ayman nodded. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    They closed the safe and left the room quickly, their earlier confidence replaced by a growing sense of dread. Whatever they had stumbled upon, it was clear that it was something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.


    As Ayman and Nadir hurriedly shut the room''s door, Nadir''s hands were trembling. His voice was a whisper, but the urgency in it was palpable.


    ¡°This language,¡± he stammered, ¡°it¡¯s not Arabic, not French, not English. It¡¯s not even Romanic. This is¡­¡±


    Before he could finish, a deep, cold voice cut through the room like a blade.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    They froze. Slowly, they turned to see a man standing in the doorway. He was dressed entirely in black¡ªa sharp suit, a long coat, gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat that cast shadows over most of his face. Only his piercing eyes were visible, glinting with an unsettling calm. In his gloved hand, he held a pistol with a silencer attached to it, pointed directly at them.


    Nadir raised his hands instinctively, his voice quivering. ¡°Please¡­ don¡¯t shoot.¡±


    Before Ayman, in shock, said, "A gun?" and before he could react, a second man emerged silently from the shadows behind him. With a swift, brutal motion, he struck Ayman on the back of the head. The room spun as Ayman fell to the floor, his vision blurring.


    Nadir screamed, ¡°No! Please! Don¡¯t hurt him!¡±


    The first man in black stepped forward, his movements eerily deliberate. Without saying a word, he motioned for the second man to grab Nadir.


    ¡°No! Wait!¡± Nadir pleaded, his voice cracking as the second man seized him and began dragging him toward another room.


    Ayman, struggling to stay conscious, saw Nadir being pulled away. He tried to push himself up, but his body wouldn¡¯t respond. Through the haze, he could hear Nadir¡¯s desperate voice fading into the distance.


    ¡°Please! Don¡¯t do this! I¡¯ll do anything! Just¡ª¡±


    The door slammed shut.


    Ayman lay there, gasping, as silence enveloped the house. Then, faintly at first, he heard sirens.


    ¡°Police?¡± he muttered weakly, trying to make sense of the chaos.


    The sound grew louder, accompanied by voices shouting from outside. Ayman¡¯s heart raced. Were they here for him?


    The front door burst open, and heavy boots stomped through the house. Ayman, still on the floor, felt rough hands grab his arms and hoist him up.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got him!¡± a voice barked.


    ¡°No, wait¡ª¡± Ayman tried to explain, but his words were drowned out by the commotion.


    The officers restrained him, cuffing his hands tightly behind his back.


    They marched him out of the house and into the flashing blue lights of the waiting police cars.


    As he was shoved into the back seat, Ayman¡¯s mind raced. ¡°Where¡¯s Nadir?¡± he demanded, but the officers ignored him, slamming the car door shut.


    Through the window, he caught one last glimpse of the house. In a moment, he thought he saw the two men in black, standing silently in the shadows. Their eyes seemed to follow him as the car drove away.


    Ayman¡¯s world collapsed. They were too late. Nadir was gone. The cops, oblivious to the men in black and the real danger, seized him roughly, taking him to the police station, and what about Nadir''s fate?


    He was gone. No trace of him. No one seemed to care about his disappearance. To them, Ayman was just another petty criminal caught in the act.


    But Ayman knew the truth. Whatever was in that safe, whatever language was on those papers, it had brought something far more dangerous than the police. Something that had taken his friend¡ªand left him with a growing sense of dread that he would never escape.

 Chapter 12: The Arrest

    The car rattled over the uneven streets as Ayman slumped against the cold, hard seat of the police car. The voices of the officers swirled around him, muffled and distorted, as if they were coming from underwater. His vision blurred, and he struggled to stay conscious, his head throbbing with pain and confusion.


    ¡°Hey, kid! What the hell were you doing there?¡± one of the officers demanded, his tone sharp and accusatory.


    Ayman¡¯s lips moved, but his words were barely audible. ¡°Nadir¡­ Nadir¡­ what happened to Nadir?¡±


    The officer turned to his partner, perplexed. ¡°Who¡¯s Nadir? What¡¯s he talking about?¡±


    ¡°There was no one else there,¡± the other officer replied, shaking his head. ¡°The place was empty when we arrived.¡±


    Ayman¡¯s body jolted as the car hit a pothole, pulling him back into the present moment. His eyes fluttered open, wild and desperate. ¡°No¡­ no, there were men. Two men. Men in black. They¡­ they had guns. Where¡¯s Nadir? What happened to him?¡±


    The officers exchanged skeptical glances. One of them picked up the radio. ¡°Unit 3 to base, confirm search results. Was anyone else found at the scene?¡±


    A crackle of static followed before the response came. ¡°Negative, Unit 3. The house is empty. No signs of anyone else.¡±


    The officer sighed and looked back at Ayman, who was now trembling. ¡°Listen, kid. Stop with this nonsense. There¡¯s no ¡®Nadir,¡¯ and no ¡®men in black.¡¯ You¡¯re only making this worse for yourself.¡±


    The police station stood in the heart of the city, an old, decaying building that had seen better days. The walls, cracked and peeling, whispered the weight of years of neglect. The dim light flickered above, casting uneven shadows that seemed to dance across the grimy floors. Dust clung to every surface, and the air was thick with the musty scent of stale wood and rusted metal. Even in the midst of this ruin, the buzzing sound of activity could be heard as officers shuffled from desk to desk, their faces as tired as the building itself.


    But it was the cockroaches that gave the place its true character. They scurried along the floors in the corners, darting into the crevices where light never reached, as if the shadows themselves offered them refuge. The officers, too accustomed to the presence of these small invaders, hardly seemed to notice. The only thing that mattered was the job, and for Ayman, this place felt like an echo of his own despair.


    The car pulled into the station, its tires screeching to a halt. Ayman was dragged out, barely able to stand, his knees buckling under him. They took him into the interrogation room, where the harsh, flickering fluorescent lights only added to his disorientation.


    Seated at the cold, metal table, Ayman¡¯s head hung low as the officers fired questions at him. ¡°Why were you there? Were you stealing? Who was with you? Who is this Nadir?¡±


    He groaned, his voice hoarse and weak. ¡°They kidnapped me¡­ men in black¡­ two men¡­ one had a pistol¡­


    The officers exchanged amused smirks. ¡°Men in black? Really? You been watching too many movies, kid? Or are you high on something?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s head snapped up, his eyes wide and filled with desperation. ¡°No! No! I¡¯m telling the truth. They were there! They¡ª¡±


    One officer interrupted with a mocking tone. ¡°Kid, the house was empty. We¡¯ve got nothing there except you. No Nadir. No men in black. Nothing.¡±


    Ayman shook his head violently, his voice breaking. ¡°No, no, no¡­ You¡¯re lying! They were there! I saw them¡­ I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± one of the officers barked, slamming a hand on the table. ¡°Stop wasting our time. You want to talk sense, or do you want to spend the night in a cell?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s shoulders slumped, his mind spiraling deeper into confusion. The faces of the men in black, the image of Nadir, the sound of his own voice screaming¡ªit all swirled in his mind, becoming a chaotic blur. He didn¡¯t know what to believe anymore.


    The officers watched him, waiting for a coherent response, but all they got was a faint whisper, almost inaudible: ¡°Nadir¡­ Where are you?¡±


    The fluorescent lights in the interrogation room buzzed faintly as the officers leaned closer to Ayman, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. One of them tossed a small bottle onto the table, the sound echoing in the silent room.


    ¡°This was in your bag,¡± the officer said, his voice sharp. ¡°A bottle of Celtia. You¡¯ve been drinking, haven¡¯t you? That¡¯s why you¡¯re acting like this. Are you drunk? Is that why you ended up breaking into a house? Tell me, what¡¯s your excuse?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s head felt heavy as he struggled to lift it. His voice was slurred, almost incoherent. ¡°No¡­ no, I¡¯m not that drunk. Nadir¡­ we¡­ we were attacked. Men in black¡­¡±


    The officer slammed his hand on the table, causing Ayman to flinch. ¡°Enough with the men in black nonsense! Stop lying! What the hell were you doing in that house? Do you even know whose house that is?¡±


    Ayman blinked, his mind struggling to piece together the fragments of memory. ¡°I¡­ we¡­ we wanted to find money¡­ but we didn¡¯t. We tried to leave, but then¡­ then two men¡­ they attacked us.¡±


    The second officer leaned in, his tone dripping with skepticism. ¡°Attacked you? Kid, you¡¯ve got to be kidding me. We received a call from the neighbors. They heard someone on the rooftop. They didn¡¯t say anything about two people or attackers. Just one person sneaking around.It was you.¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± Ayman stammered. ¡°Nadir¡­ he was with me. We were¡­ we didn¡¯t mean¡­


    The officer interrupted, his patience wearing thin. ¡°Listen to me. That house belongs to a Tunisian family living in France that recently moved there. They¡¯re immigrants. They left it under protection, and you thought you could just sneak in and steal whatever you wanted? Do you even understand what you¡¯ve done?¡±


    ¡°France¡­¡± Ayman muttered, his voice distant as if trying to grasp onto something. His eyes widened slightly, a spark of recognition breaking through the fog in his mind. ¡°Wait¡­ the man¡­ the rich man in the car¡­ and the woman¡­ What about them?¡±


    ¡°What man? What woman?¡± the officer snapped, now visibly annoyed. ¡°What are you talking about? Are you just making this up as you go?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s breathing quickened, panic setting in as he tried to explain. ¡°No, no! There was a man! In a car! With a woman¡­ they¡­ they had something to do with this. I saw them¡­ I saw¡ª¡±


    The officer cut him off with a groan, leaning back in his chair. ¡°This is ridiculous. First, it¡¯s Nadir, then it¡¯s men in black, and now it¡¯s some mysterious rich guy and his girlfriend. Do you even hear yourself right now?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s eyes darted around the room, desperation etched across his face. ¡°You have to believe me¡­ I¡¯m not lying. I¡¯m not¡­¡±


    The officer shook his head, muttering under his breath. ¡°Kid, you¡¯re digging yourself into a deeper hole. Either start making sense, or prepare for the consequences.¡±


    But Ayman¡¯s mind was elsewhere, spinning in circles as he tried to piece together the fragments of a night that had spiraled into chaos.


    The officer leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he stared at Ayman. ¡°Now we¡¯re getting somewhere. So, you admit it? You¡¯ve been drinking, and it made you lose control, right?¡±


    Ayman hesitated, his eyes darting between the two officers. His mind raced as he weighed his options. If I tell the truth, they won¡¯t believe me. If I keep pushing, they¡¯ll think I¡¯m crazy or worse¡­ He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their stares.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I think¡­ I think the drinks got to me. I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t remember much. Maybe I¡­ maybe I fell. I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    One of the officers smirked, a look of triumph flashing across his face. ¡°See? Wasn¡¯t so hard, was it? Just tell the truth next time, kid. You¡¯re lucky you didn¡¯t actually steal anything, or this would¡¯ve been a much bigger problem.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Ayman began, but the officer cut him off.


    ¡°No buts. You were drunk, you messed up, and now you¡¯re here. That¡¯s the story, right? That¡¯s what we¡¯re going with?¡±


    Ayman nodded slowly, feeling his stomach churn. The guilt of lying about what had happened gnawed at him, but he could see no other way out. ¡°Yeah¡­ that¡¯s what happened. I¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The other officer scribbled a few notes on a pad and glanced at his partner. ¡°What do you think? Release him with a warning? We can¡¯t hold him for trespassing if he didn¡¯t actually steal anything.¡±


    The first officer shrugged. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s process him and let him go. But, kid,¡± he said, leaning closer to Ayman, his voice low and firm, ¡°stay out of trouble. You¡¯re lucky this time. Next time, you might not walk out so easily.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Ayman nodded, his voice barely audible. ¡°Understood.¡±


    As the officer prepared to finalize Ayman¡¯s release, the interrogation room door swung open again. Four men in dark suits stepped inside, their presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. The lead officer blinked in surprise. "Who the hell are you?"


    One of the men stepped forward, flashing a badge. "French Embassy. These matters concern us. This house belongs to a Tunisian family living in France, and their property is under our protection. We¡¯ll take it from here."


    The officer hesitated. ¡°Embassy agents? Look, this kid didn¡¯t steal anything. He¡¯s probably just some drunk trying to make trouble. Don¡¯t make this a diplomatic circus.¡±


    The agent didn¡¯t respond, his cold stare silencing the officer. After a moment, the Tunisian police left the room, closing the door behind them.


    Inside the room, the agents split into two groups. Two men stood by the door, their eyes scanning the room silently, while the other two took the lead. One of them approached Ayman, standing directly in front of him. The second agent whispered with his colleagues by the door, their conversation inaudible.


    The man in front of Ayman leaned in, his tone calm but firm. ¡°Alright, Mr. Ayman, let¡¯s not waste time. What were you doing in that house? What was your aim to get inside it?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s eyes darted between the agents, his heartbeat quickening. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. I was drunk. I just¡­ I just ended up there trying to find some money.¡±


    The agent¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Don¡¯t play games. You were inside a private residence that belongs to a family we protect. This isn¡¯t some random house. We need the truth, and we need it now.¡±


    Ayman swallowed hard. ¡°I¡­ I wasn¡¯t alone. I was with someone. My friend, Nadir. We were just¡­ we were looking for money. But then these men¡­ these men in black, they came out of nowhere. They had guns, and they attacked us. I¡ªI swear!¡±


    The agent raised an eyebrow. ¡°Men in black with guns? Do you think this is a joke? This is Tunisia. Guns aren¡¯t just floating around, and neither are mysterious armed men.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true!¡± Ayman insisted, his voice trembling. ¡°They knocked me out. That¡¯s why I was on the floor when the police found me. They took Nadir! They kidnapped him!¡±


    The agent¡¯s expression remained stoic as he exchanged a brief glance with his colleague by the door. Then, leaning closer, he said, ¡°Let me make something clear. If you¡¯re lying, this won¡¯t end well for you. Tell me the truth, or you¡¯ll face consequences far worse than whatever you¡¯re imagining.¡±


    Ayman hesitated, his thoughts spiraling. Should he keep telling the truth? Or was it time to lie his way out of this mess?


    The atmosphere in the room grew heavier as the agent questioning Ayman leaned closer. The other agent, who had been quietly whispering to the two men at the back, occasionally glanced at Ayman, seemingly translating his responses for his colleagues. Their low murmurs and glances made Ayman feel cornered, like a rat under a magnifying glass.


    The lead agent¡¯s voice hardened. ¡°Stop lying. What were you doing in that house?¡±


    Ayman hesitated before blurting out, ¡°I was searching for money! We¡­ I thought we could find something, but we didn¡¯t find anything. We tried to leave¡ª¡±


    The agent cut him off sharply, his tone rising. ¡°We? Who is ¡®we¡¯? The police report states you were alone in that house. Alone. There was no one else. So stop with this Nadir nonsense! There is no Nadir. It¡¯s just you, caught in the act. Now tell me the truth. Why that house? Who sent you there? Was this Nadir who told you to go to this exact house?¡±


    ¡°No one sent me! and no Nadir was with me! We picked this house by luck, Ayman stammered, sweat forming on his brow.


    The agent¡¯s voice turned ice-cold. ¡°Again, who sent you? Out of all the houses on that block, why did you choose this one? What makes this house special?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! I swear, I don¡¯t know. I thought¡ªthere was this man¡­ a man in an expensive car. He looked rich, like he lived there, so we thought he had some money there,¡± Ayman said desperately.


    "Look, sir, my friend and I... we are... losers from poor streets in the town. If we see such a wealthy man in such a house, we thought, why not go there and steal it? But we didn''t steal anything in the end; that''s all. I swear," Ayman said, eyes in tears, telling the motivation behind their actions.


    At this, the interrogating agent¡¯s demeanor shifted. His voice dropped, steady and calculating. ¡°I don''t care! Just answer me, what man? Who is this man you¡¯re talking about?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know him. I saw him outside the house. He looked like he was rich, like maybe he lived there or owned it or something,¡± Ayman said, his voice shaky.


    The agent exchanged a sharp glance with the whispering man at the back, who immediately turned and whispered more urgently to his colleagues. The agent questioning Ayman narrowed his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re lying. This house belongs to a family living in France. No one has lived there for months. So who is this man? Do you know him?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t! That¡¯s the problem! I don¡¯t know who he is or why he was there. He just¡­ he looked like he belonged there,¡± Ayman said, almost pleading now.


    The agent leaned back slightly, his gaze piercing. ¡°Are you sure you didn¡¯t take anything from the house?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t take anything! I swear!¡±


    The agent suddenly asked, his tone probing, ¡°What about the briefcase? Did you find the briefcase?"


    Ayman blinked in confusion. ¡°Briefcase? What briefcase? There was no briefcase!"


    Now, the tension in the room shifted. The two agents at the back stopped whispering and stared at Ayman more intently. The lead agent leaned forward again, his tone shifting from accusatory to almost curious. ¡°Tell me more about this man you saw. What did he look like? What kind of car was he driving?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know,¡± Ayman stammered. ¡°It was a fancy car, black, maybe¡­ and he was wearing a suit. That¡¯s all I remember.¡±


    The agent tapped his fingers on the table, his expression unreadable. ¡°This house belongs to a French family. No one else. If there¡¯s a man involved, you better tell us everything you know. Because if you¡¯re lying, this will go very badly for you.¡±


    The questions continued, oscillating between inquiries about the house and the mysterious man, leaving Ayman caught in a web of confusion and fear. The agents seemed less interested in his supposed burglary now and more focused on extracting information about something¡ªor someone¡ªelse entirely.


    The room felt colder as the second man approached, speaking lowly to the lead interrogator, his words sharp and deliberate. "Ask him about the safe. Did they find it? Did they open it? Did they take the papers?"


    Ayman''s heart sank. He wasn¡¯t just scared anymore¡ªhe was terrified. Something about these men didn¡¯t feel right. Their suits were immaculate, their demeanor too calculated. He started to think, These aren¡¯t embassy agents¡­ Who are these people?


    The lead interrogator turned back to Ayman, his eyes narrowing. ¡°What about the safe? Did you find it? Did you see the papers?¡±


    ¡°What? What safe? I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about!¡± Ayman stammered, his voice shaking again.


    The second man stepped closer, his presence imposing. ¡°We know the safe was opened. Someone took a look at the papers. Was it you? Did you see them?¡±


    Ayman, now visibly sweating, shook his head furiously. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know anything about a safe or papers! I was just¡­ I was just looking for money! That¡¯s it! I swear!¡±


    The second man¡¯s tone turned colder, almost a growl. ¡°Stop lying. The safe was open. You were there. Tell us the truth. Did you read the papers?¡±


    ¡°What papers?!¡± Ayman cried, his voice rising in panic. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about papers or a safe! I was just drunk! I¡­ I thought there was money in the house, that¡¯s all! I didn¡¯t see anything!¡±


    The second man leaned in closer, his face inches from Ayman¡¯s. ¡°You¡¯re lying. Did you see the papers or not?! Do you know about the Dark Caesar? Tell me now.¡±


    Ayman, desperate and overwhelmed, started to babble. ¡°No! I swear! I didn¡¯t see anything! I was just trying to steal money, but I fell! That¡¯s it! There was no man in black, no safe, nothing! I¡­ I was drunk, okay? It¡¯s my imagination! I¡¯m sorry!¡± crying loudly


    The men exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. The lead interrogator stood silently for a moment, his gaze piercing through Ayman, while the second man continued to study him intently.


    The silence was suffocating. Ayman felt like he was drowning in their scrutiny. The second man finally straightened, his cold eyes fixed on Ayman. ¡°If you¡¯re lying, you¡¯ll regret it. You won¡¯t leave this room until we know everything.¡±


    Ayman, trembling, could only repeat, ¡°I don¡¯t know anything¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    The men didn¡¯t respond, their silence more ominous than their words. Ayman couldn¡¯t tell if they believed him or if they were merely biding their time. The air in the room grew heavier, and the sense of unease deepened as he realized these men weren¡¯t here to release him¡ªthey were here for something far more dangerous.


    Ayman, still shaking, stammered, ¡°I was just there for the money, I swear. I didn¡¯t find anything, so I tried to leave. But I tripped in the house, and that¡¯s when the cops caught me. I panicked and told them some lies. I didn¡¯t know it was a French family¡¯s house¡ªI didn¡¯t even know they weren¡¯t there. Maybe I was wrong about the man and the car. Maybe I imagined it. I¡¯m sorry, okay? I¡¯m really sorry!¡±


    The four men stood in silence, their gazes piercing him. One of them turned to the others and started speaking in a language Ayman didn¡¯t recognize. It wasn¡¯t French, and it wasn¡¯t Arabic. The sounds were sharp, alien, and unsettling. Ayman¡¯s fear grew. What the hell is going on?


    The two men at the back kept repeating words Ayman could understand from their strange language that he had never heard before as he listened carefully: "Kaiser... Al Dalem... Dark... Caesar... Hitman..."


    While they stare at him. Then the man who had been asking him all these questions returned with a voice icy and calm and said, ¡°Be quiet. You will not mention anything about the questions we asked. If the police ask, you tell them we were investigating your involvement in a simple theft. That¡¯s it. Nothing about a man with a car. Nothing about papers or a safe.¡±


    The other leaned closer, his tone dropping to a menacing growl. ¡°If you say anything¡ªanything¡ªabout the man or the safe, you will be in serious trouble. Do you understand, kid? You¡¯ll spend the rest of your life in a cell, or worse. So keep your mouth shut.¡±


    Ayman nodded frantically, his throat dry, his heart pounding. ¡°Yes, yes, I understand! I won¡¯t say anything, I promise. I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    The men stared at him for a long, chilling moment, then turned and left the room. The door closed behind them with a metallic click, leaving Ayman alone with his thoughts.


    Who the hell are these people? He wondered, his terror now mixed with confusion. This isn¡¯t normal. These aren¡¯t just embassy agents. What have I gotten myself into? Hitman? Black Caesar? What is this?


    Ayman sat across from the mirrored glass, his hands cuffed tightly to the cold metal chair. The sterile white walls were suffocating, the air thick with the tension of the looming interrogation. But as his eyes shifted, his attention caught on something moving across the floor: a cockroach, its black body darting across the linoleum in a hasty zigzag.


    Ayman''s lips curled into a wry smile as he stared at the creature, his nerves suddenly giving way to dark humor.


    "Ah," he murmured under his breath, "You¡¯ve been captured too, huh? Maybe those agents are looking for you as well."


    He let out a low chuckle, his mind briefly slipping from the harsh reality of his situation to the absurdity of the moment. It was a small escape, a joke that felt out of place but strangely necessary in the midst of everything.


    Moments later, the door opened again, and a police officer stepped inside, a smirk on his face. ¡°Well, kid, looks like you¡¯re good to go. Lucky for you, huh?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s head snapped up, and his fear momentarily subsided. ¡°My brother¡­ is he here?¡±


    The officer grinned and nodded toward the door. ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s waiting outside. Try not to get into more trouble, okay?¡±


    Ayman nodded quickly, practically stumbling out of the room. But even as he stepped into the sunlight and saw his brother waiting for him, the words of the strange men still in his mind. Their warning, their strange language, and the unsettling presence¡ªthey would haunt him for a long time to come.

 Chapter 13: Troubled Brother

    During the investigation of Ayman, Karim sat in the living room with his wife and mother, sipping tea and sharing laughter. The atmosphere was warm and light, a rare reprieve from the struggles of their daily lives. His mother smiled, her tired eyes glowing as she recounted old stories. Karim¡¯s wife chimed in with jokes, and for a moment, everything felt normal.


    Then Karim¡¯s phone buzzed. Once, twice, three times. The persistent ringing shattered the calm, and everyone turned to look at him.


    Karim frowned, seeing ¡°Unknown Number¡± flash on the screen. His heart skipped a beat. It wasn¡¯t the first time this number had called him. He hesitated but eventually stood, muttering, ¡°Excuse me for a moment.¡±


    He walked out of the room, stepping onto the balcony for privacy. The cold evening air brushed against his face as he answered. ¡°Hello? Who is this?¡±


    A familiar voice crackled on the line. ¡°It¡¯s me, Anis.¡±


    Karim¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°Anis? Wait¡­ Anis, the brother of Farid?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, it¡¯s me,¡± Anis replied hurriedly, his voice low and tense. ¡°Listen, Farid sent Ayman to do a job. To steal from a house. But Ayman got caught. The cops have him now. He¡¯s under arrest.¡±


    Karim froze. The words didn¡¯t make sense. ¡°What the hell are you talking about? Ayman? Stealing? Are you out of your mind? What house?¡±


    Anis didn¡¯t answer. His tone changed, growing sharper, almost threatening. ¡°Go get your brother. He¡¯s in deep trouble. Fix this.¡± Then the line went dead.


    ¡°Wait, wait!¡± Karim shouted, but the call had already ended. He stared at his phone, his mind racing. He tried calling back, but the number didn¡¯t connect. Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair and dialed the only people who could help: his friends in the police force.


    ¡°Hello? It¡¯s Karim. Can you check if my younger brother Ayman is under arrest? Please, it¡¯s urgent. I heard he went to rob a house or something.


    The officer on the other end paused. ¡°Give me a moment.¡±


    Karim paced the balcony, his thoughts spiraling. After a few agonizing minutes, the officer returned. ¡°Yeah, it seems your brother is under investigation. He¡¯s being held at the station on the north side. You used to work there, and yes, it¡¯s for a house robbery.¡±


    Karim¡¯s chest tightened. ¡°Are you sure? Ayman¡­ a robbery? No, no, this can¡¯t be true.¡±


    ¡°Look, that¡¯s all I know,¡± the officer replied. ¡°If you want more details, you¡¯ll have to go there yourself.¡±


    Karim hung up, his anger boiling over. What the hell have you done, Ayman?


    He stormed back inside, grabbing his jacket. His wife and mother looked at him in surprise.


    ¡°Karim, what¡¯s wrong?¡± his wife asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a work mission,¡± he said quickly, masking his frustration. ¡°It¡¯s urgent. I¡¯ll be back soon.¡±


    ¡°Okay, take care,¡± his mother called as he headed for the door.


    Karim didn¡¯t look back. He sprinted down the stairs, his mind racing with questions. He had to get to the station, to his brother, to figure out what had happened. Whatever Ayman had gotten himself into, Karim knew one thing for sure: he wouldn¡¯t let his brother face it alone.


    Karim burst out of the apartment building, his feet pounding against the stairs as he descended two at a time. His thoughts raced as fast as his legs. What the hell is Ayman doing? Robbing a house? Working with Farid again? After everything we talked about?


    By the time he reached the ground floor, his breathing was ragged, though not from exhaustion but from frustration. He pushed open the building¡¯s main door and headed toward his car parked on the narrow street, a quiet neighborhood now rattled by his storming presence.


    Sliding into the driver¡¯s seat, he slammed the door shut. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. His chest heaved as he tried to make sense of it all. Ayman had been on the verge of turning his life around, and now this.


    The key rattled in his shaky hands as he shoved it into the ignition. He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, closing his eyes. How could you do this, Ayman? He started the engine, its roar matching the turmoil in his chest.


    Just as he was about to pull away, a voice called out behind him. ¡°Mr. Karim! Mr. Karim!¡±


    Karim turned to see Yasmin, a neighbor from down the street, running toward him. She was out of breath, her hair disheveled from a long day at work.


    ¡°What is it, Yasmin?¡± he asked, rolling down the window, impatient but not wanting to be rude.


    ¡°I just got back from work,¡± she said, panting. ¡°And my sister¡ªSalma, you know her¡ªshe told me that Ayman gave her his kittens. She said Ayman told her he¡¯d be gone for a few weeks. Is he traveling somewhere? He didn¡¯t even tell me goodbye!¡± Her voice broke slightly, her disappointment evident.


    Karim stared at her, stunned. ¡°What? His kittens? He gave them away? And he said he¡¯s traveling?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Yasmin replied, frowning. ¡°That¡¯s what my sister said. I haven¡¯t seen him yet, so I thought I¡¯d ask you. Is he going on vacation or something?¡±


    Karim¡¯s mind whirled. What in God¡¯s name is going on? Ayman wouldn¡¯t just give away his kittens. And traveling? No, that doesn¡¯t make sense. He¡¯s been here, hasn¡¯t he?The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    He shook his head quickly, trying to reassure her. ¡°No, no, Yasmin, he¡¯s not traveling. He¡¯s probably just around the neighborhood. I¡¯ll call him later and tell him to come back and take his kittens. Don¡¯t worry, okay?¡±


    Yasmin nodded hesitantly, her face still clouded with confusion. ¡°Alright¡­ but tell him I¡¯m upset he didn¡¯t say goodbye.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± Karim muttered, already turning his attention back to the road.


    As Yasmin stepped away, Karim hit the gas pedal, his frustration mounting. Ayman, what the hell are you doing? Giving away your kittens? Talking about traveling? And now you¡¯re sitting in a police station because of a robbery?


    The car sped through the dimly lit streets of Ettdhamen, past rows of whitewashed houses and olive trees. His destination: the nearby police station on the north side of the town, the old police station he worked in years ago. A place he never thought he¡¯d visit for Ayman.


    With every turn of the wheel, Karim¡¯s anger boiled hotter, but beneath it all was something else: fear. Fear of what he¡¯d find when he got there, fear of what his brother had truly gotten himself into.


    Karim parked his car outside the police station, the building¡¯s familiar facade stirring a wave of emotions. He stepped out, his face tight with frustration, disbelief, and a tinge of shame. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed as he adjusted his jacket and headed inside.


    The moment Karim walked through the glass doors, the familiar smell of coffee and worn-out leather chairs greeted him. He paused for a second, taking it all in. This was where he had started his career years ago, before moving on to other assignments. Memories flooded his mind: long shifts, shared jokes with colleagues, and his first interrogation.


    ¡°Officer Karim! Is that you? Look who¡¯s back!¡± a voice called out from the desk.


    Karim turned to see Ahmed, one of his old colleagues, grinning at him. Several other officers glanced up, recognizing him immediately.


    ¡°Well, well, if it isn¡¯t Karim!¡± Ahmed continued, walking over to greet him, then hugging him. ¡°What brings you back here in such a rush? brother! It¡¯s been, what, three years? How¡¯s the family? How¡¯s your wife? Your mom? Mrs. Fatma, how is she doing? And¡­ oh, how¡¯s Ayman?¡±


    At the mention of his brother, Karim¡¯s frustration resurfaced. ¡°I heard Ayman is here, so where is he?¡± he asked sharply, skipping the pleasantries.


    Ahmed blinked, surprised at Karim¡¯s tone. ¡°Wait¡­ Ayman? Your younger brother is here? Oh¡­¡± He suddenly realized. ¡°You mean the kid we brought in tonight? That¡¯s your brother?¡±


    Karim clenched his fists. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened, but I need to see him. Now.¡±


    Ahmed frowned and leaned closer. ¡°Karim, are you telling me the boy we picked up was trying to rob a house? The one who¡¯s been talking nonsense? Is your brother?¡±


    Karim stiffened, his jaw tightening. ¡°I don¡¯t care what he said. Just tell me where he is. I will deal with him by myself.


    Ahmed sighed. ¡°Alright, alright. He¡¯s in the investigation room. But, uh¡­ there¡¯s something you should know. The French embassy was involved. Actually, they are talking to him right now. Seems like the house belongs to some diplomat or something.¡±


    Karim¡¯s heart sank further. What the hell, Ayman? What have you gotten yourself into?


    Ahmed gestured to one of the officers near the desk. ¡°Hey, go tell the team in the investigation room that Karim¡¯s here for the boy. And he will be free when the embassy men are out.¡±


    A few moments later, another officer approached. ¡°Karim, welcome back, man. Didn¡¯t know the kid was your brother. Relax, we¡¯ll get this sorted. Honestly, he didn¡¯t steal anything. Looks like he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.¡±


    Karim let out a shaky breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. ¡°Thank you. I need to see him.¡±


    The officer nodded. ¡°The French guys just finished their questioning. They¡¯ve left, so we¡¯ll get Ayman out now.¡±


    Karim followed the officer down the corridor, his footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. His mind was still racing. How did this happen? He couldn¡¯t decide whether to scold Ayman or embrace him. Maybe both.


    The door to the interrogation room creaked open, and two officers stepped in. One of them, a stocky man with a stern face, glanced at Ayman and shook his head. ¡°Well, kid, you¡¯re lucky. Your brother¡¯s here to bail you out.¡±


    Ayman exhaled sharply, relief flooding through him. ¡°Thank God he¡¯s here,¡± he muttered under his breath, sitting back in his chair.


    The other officer, a younger man with a softer demeanor, raised his eyebrows as he looked at Ayman. ¡°Wait¡­ You¡¯re Karim¡¯s brother? Seriously? Karim worked here for years! He¡¯s one of the best cops I¡¯ve ever known. Decent, honest, hardworking. And you? This is insane.¡±


    The stocky officer, however, wasn¡¯t as impressed. He sneered at Ayman. ¡°Karim¡¯s brother, huh? What a shame. Your brother was respected here, kid. Everyone admired him, and now¡­ this. You¡¯re a disgrace. You¡¯re nothing like him.¡±


    Ayman¡¯s face burned with anger and humiliation. His fists clenched as he glared at the officer. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything,¡± he growled, though the words sounded hollow even to him.


    The stocky officer waved dismissively. ¡°Whatever. Just get out of here, kid. Don¡¯t let me see your face around this station again. You¡¯re free to go.¡±


    They handed Ayman his bag, his belongings shoved carelessly inside, and motioned for him to leave. Ayman grabbed it, his movements jerky with frustration. His head was pounding, his mind spiraling. The humiliation of being compared to his brother¡ªthe golden cop of the station¡ªwas too much to bear.


    He stormed out into the hallway, where Karim stood waiting. The moment Karim spotted him, his face contorted with a mix of anger and disappointment.


    ¡°Ayman! What the hell are you doing here?!¡± Karim¡¯s voice boomed through the corridor, startling a few officers nearby.


    Ayman stopped in his tracks, clutching his bag tightly. He looked up at his brother, his face a mix of anger and shame.


    ¡°What are you doing, Ayman?!¡± Karim shouted again, stepping closer. His voice was raw with emotion, his frustration boiling over. ¡°You have any idea what this looks like? What the hell were you thinking?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with defiance. But he couldn¡¯t speak. He couldn¡¯t explain himself. The weight of everything¡ªthe accusations, the comparison to his brother, the humiliation¡ªpressed down on him like a crushing wave.


    The officers in the background exchanged glances, murmuring among themselves. Karim noticed but didn¡¯t care. His focus was solely on Ayman, whose silence only stoked his fury.


    ¡°Do you realize how much I¡¯ve done to make sure you had a better life?¡± Karim continued, his voice breaking slightly. ¡°And now this? This is what you do?¡±


    Ayman swallowed hard, his throat dry. He couldn¡¯t look his brother in the eye. He couldn¡¯t bear the weight of Karim¡¯s disappointment.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t steal anything,¡± Ayman finally muttered, his voice barely audible.


    Karim stepped closer, his glare intense. ¡°Then what were you doing, Ayman? Huh? Explain it to me!¡±


    Ayman couldn¡¯t answer. His anger, his shame, his confusion¡ªthey all tangled together, choking him. He shook his head, clutching his bag, and looked away.


    Karim sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still filled with frustration. He turned and began walking toward the exit, leaving Ayman to follow.


    Karim stood frozen for a moment, his hand raised mid-air, ready to slap Ayman. His face was red with anger, his frustration reaching its peak. But as he looked closer, his hand faltered. Ayman¡¯s face told a different story¡ªhis wide, haunted eyes and trembling lips made it clear he wasn¡¯t present. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in something Karim couldn¡¯t see or understand.


    Ayman, silent and dazed, let himself be led out of the station. They walked to the car, Karim practically dragging his younger brother. He opened the passenger door and shoved Ayman inside before slamming it shut.

 Chapter 14: Dreams To Ashes

    As soon as Karim got into the driver¡¯s seat, he started the car and began driving. The air inside was thick with tension, the hum of the engine the only sound for a while. But Karim couldn¡¯t hold it in.


    ¡°What the hell, Ayman?¡± Karim exploded, gripping the steering wheel tightly. ¡°What the hell were you doing? Breaking into a house? Working again with that thug Farid? Are you out of your mind?¡±


    Karim glanced at him, his frustration boiling over. ¡°Say something! Damn it, Ayman, what¡¯s going on with you? Why were you trying to rob a house? And what¡¯s this nonsense the cops told me about you talking gibberish, making up stories about men in black?


    Ayman finally spoke, his voice shaky. ¡°Nadir was kidnapped by men in black.¡±


    Karim slammed the brakes momentarily, causing the car to jolt. ¡°Kidnapped? By whom? What the hell are you even talking about?¡±


    ¡°Men in black,¡± Ayman said, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°They had guns. One of them had a pistol. They were inside that house. They were¡­¡± He paused, looking down at his trembling hands. ¡°They weren¡¯t normal, Karim. They were like ghosts.¡±


    Karim let out a short, disbelieving laugh. ¡°Ayman, are you listening to yourself? Pistols? Men in black? Ghosts? You sound like you¡¯re quoting some action movie. The cops told me the French embassy agents were involved. There was no report of any ¡®men in black¡¯ or guns. Just you being drunk and your wild imagination.¡±


    Ayman turned to face his brother, his expression desperate. ¡°No, Karim! They weren¡¯t French agents! I know the French language. I¡¯m not stupid!¡± His voice cracked. ¡°They were speaking some other language, something I didn¡¯t recognize. They weren¡¯t there to help. They were dangerous.¡±


    Karim stared at him, his mouth slightly open, trying to process the words. ¡°Ayman, what language? Are you even listening to yourself? The report doesn¡¯t mention any of this. You think everyone¡¯s lying?¡±


    Ayman leaned forward, gripping his knees as if trying to steady himself. ¡°They weren¡¯t lying¡ªthey didn¡¯t see them! These men are dangerous, Karim. They¡­¡± His voice trailed off, his face contorted with fear.


    Karim shook his head, his grip tightening on the wheel. ¡°Ayman, stop it. You¡¯re not making sense. You¡¯re scared, fine, but this¡­ this is madness.¡±


    Aymen in tears again, he looks above and murmurs, "Me...Nadir...Money...Italy...Tonight!"


    Karim slammed on the brakes, pulling the car over to the side of the street. The tires screeched, and the car jolted to a halt. He turned to Ayman, his face a mixture of fury and disbelief.


    ¡°What the hell did you just say?¡± Karim¡¯s voice was sharp, cutting through the tense silence. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you left your kittens with Yasmin because you were planning to leave for Italy? Weeks, Ayman? How?! Illegally, like our father did?¡±


    Ayman avoided his brother¡¯s piercing glare, staring at his hands. ¡°Yes,¡± he mumbled.


    Karim gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. ¡°And this¡­ this was Farid¡¯s idea? That bastard? I told you to stay away from him! How many times did I warn you about him? He¡¯s trouble!¡±


    Ayman took a deep breath, his voice trembling but steady enough to spill the truth. ¡°Farid told me about the house and told me to scout it. He said there is a guy who was carrying a briefcase, always going in and out of the neighborhood, looking suspicious. He said there was money inside. A lot of it.¡±


    Karim¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°So, what? You just decided to team up with Nadir and rob him?¡±


    Ayman nodded hesitantly. ¡°We thought it was the perfect chance. We thought we would go in quickly, steal any money we find, and then go to the boat Nadir''s friend prepared so we can go to Italy tonight!"


    Karim rubbed his temples, trying to keep his composure. ¡°And? What did you find? Was it worth throwing your life away?¡±


    Ayman¡¯s voice broke as he explained. ¡°There wasn¡¯t money. Just papers. A bunch of papers in some weird language. It wasn¡¯t French, Karim. I swear, I know French. This was something else. And then¡­¡± He paused, his eyes wide with fear. ¡°And then those men showed up all of a sudden. Men in black. They had guns, Karim. I swear I''m not lying.


    Karim slammed his hand against the dashboard, causing Ayman to flinch. ¡°I never heard of men in black having guns in Tunisia. But what the hell is wrong with you? You were ready to risk everything to go to Italy?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know it would end like this!¡± Ayman shouted back, tears streaming down his face. ¡°I just¡­ I just wanted to get out, Karim. Out of here. Away from this life!¡±


    Karim¡¯s anger softened slightly, but his disappointment was clear. ¡°You think this is the way to do it? By stealing? By putting your life in danger?"


    Ayman wiped his tears, his voice quieter now. ¡°Whatever! I would never be like you anyway, and how the hell did you find me?"


    Karim leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process everything. ¡°Dangerous or not, you¡¯ve put yourself in a mess that¡¯s bigger than you can handle. You¡¯re lucky you didn''t steal anything. And it was Anis who warned about you. Wait, does Farid have a brother called Anis?¡±


    "No, he doesn''t have another brother, Nadir confirmed it to me. Ayman answered, then he asked, "Do you know about someone named Dark Caesar? And have you heard of Hitman?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Karim quickly answered with anger, "Hitman? Dark Caesar? Again with your fiction stories? Have you been watching too many movies lately? Only Caesar I know is Julius Caesar."


    "Jul...what? Is he dark? Is he a hitman? Is he respectable like you? Maybe he can''t pass Mister Perfect Policeman? Can I have the same respect?" Ayman keeps asking weird questions.


    Karim gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening as Ayman''s questions made him angery. His voice trembled with anger as he barked, "Stop talking nonsense and tell me what the hell you mean, respect? You think running off to Italy, stealing from people, and hanging around with criminals will earn you respect? You''re out of your damn mind!"


    Ayman, already overwhelmed, snapped back, his voice rising. "At least there, I¡¯d be someone! I¡¯d be respected! Not stuck here, living in your shadow, listening to everyone talk about how great you are. ''Karim this, Karim that.'' I¡¯m sick of it!"


    Karim''s eyes narrowed as he turned to face his younger brother, his voice dripping with frustration. "Oh, so this is about me now? You think being compared to me is an excuse to ruin your life? You don¡¯t have to be me, Ayman, but you sure as hell don¡¯t have to be a thief either!"


    Ayman''s emotions boiled over, and he gestured wildly. "You don¡¯t get it! You¡¯ve always been the golden boy, the hero, the one everyone respects. But me? I¡¯m nothing. I¡¯m just the screw-up brother. No one even looks at me unless it¡¯s to remind me how much better you are!"


    Karim slammed his fist on the dashboard, his voice cracking as he yelled, "You think I don¡¯t feel the pressure? You think I don¡¯t have my own struggles? But I don¡¯t use them as an excuse to destroy my life. You¡¯re blaming me for your choices? Grow up, Ayman!"


    The car fell silent for a moment, save for the faint hum of the engine. Both brothers were breathing heavily, the tension palpable.


    Ayman finally broke the silence, his voice quieter but laced with pain. "You don¡¯t understand, Karim. I¡¯ve been trying to find my own way, to be my own person. But no matter what I do, it¡¯s never enough. I¡¯m tired of being invisible."


    Karim sighed deeply, his anger softening as he looked at his younger brother, seeing the pain in his eyes. "Ayman, I¡¯m not trying to overshadow you. I just want you to make something of yourself. Something real. Running away to Italy illegally, chasing some dream of respect and glory, is not the way. It¡¯s dangerous. You¡¯ll end up like¡­"


    He trailed off, but Ayman finished the thought bitterly, "Like Father?"


    Karim nodded, his voice heavy. "Yes. Like Father. He thought he was doing what was best for us, but he left us with nothing but pain. He left us when you were born; that''s why you don''t remember him. I don¡¯t want to lose you too, Ayman."


    As the tension between the two brothers reached its breaking point, Karim sat silently for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. His anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by something softer, something almost paternal. He turned to Ayman, his face lined with frustration but also a deep, unspoken love.


    ¡°You¡¯re losing your way, Ayman,¡± Karim said, his voice steady but tinged with sadness. ¡°You¡¯re drowning in this darkness, in this anger. But¡­¡±


    He paused, searching for the right words. ¡°I hope¡­ I pray that one day, through all the shadows you see now, you¡¯ll find the light. No matter how far you¡¯ve fallen, no matter how lost you feel, there¡¯s always a light at the end of the tunnel.¡±


    Ayman, seething with anger and despair, couldn¡¯t hold back. ¡°Fuck your light, Karim! You think you¡¯re better than me? You think your fucking lectures mean anything? Just go! Leave me alone!¡± Then Aymen gets out of the car.


    Karim sighed deeply, the weight of Ayman¡¯s words pressing down on him. ¡°You don¡¯t get it now. Come back in, please.¡± But Aymen refuses and walks away.


    Without another word, Karim started the car. The engine roared to life, and as the headlights illuminated the road ahead, he glanced back at Ayman one last time. His face was shadowed, but his eyes carried an unspoken message¡ªa mix of love, regret, and hope.


    Then, he drove off, the taillights disappearing into the distance. Ayman stood there, shaking with rage and sorrow, tears welling in his eyes.


    The cold air of the night was heavy with the feelings of anger and regret. Ayman staggered along the narrow road, his chest tight with pain. His breaths were shallow, his hand clutching at his chest as if trying to stop his heart from breaking apart.


    ¡°Fuck him,¡± he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking with despair. ¡°Fuck everything.¡±


    His tears blurred his vision, but as he stumbled forward, something caught his eye¡ªa glimmer of movement on the other side of the road. He froze, wiping his eyes hastily, and saw them.


    It was him and Karim.


    Two boys, no older than seven and ten, laughing, running, playing football. Karim¡¯s voice rang out, clear and bright, untouched by the weight of adulthood. "Come on, Ayman! Pass me the ball!"


    The younger Ayman, full of life and innocence, kicked the ball to Karim, and they laughed as it bounced off the uneven pavement. The sound of their joy filled the air, filling the empty tunnel with life.


    Ayman¡¯s breath caught in his throat. ¡°What¡­ What is this?¡± he whispered, his voice trembling.


    He turned his head, searching for the source of this vision, but it was just him. Alone. When he looked back, the scene had shifted¡ªKarim had his arm around Ayman¡¯s shoulders, ruffling his hair as the younger boy laughed.


    "You¡¯re my little brother, okay? I¡¯ll always protect you," Karim¡¯s voice echoed from the memory.


    Ayman¡¯s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest as sobs wracked his body. ¡°Karim¡­ I¡­ I didn¡¯t mean it¡­ I didn¡¯t mean it¡­¡±


    The vision faded, replaced by the cold, harsh reality of the empty tunnel. Ayman blinked through his tears, trying to focus. That¡¯s when he heard it.


    The roar of Karim¡¯s car engine.


    Ayman¡¯s head snapped up just as Karim¡¯s car barreled into the tunnel. The headlights cut through the darkness, but something was wrong. The engine was roaring too loudly, the car swerving slightly. Ayman screamed, "Karim! Stop!"


    And then it happened.


    The car exploded in a deafening roar, the blast shaking the tunnel and sending a wave of heat and debris toward Ayman. He was thrown backward, his body hitting the cold pavement.


    ¡°No!¡± Ayman screamed, scrambling to his feet. Flames engulfed the car, the fire dancing wildly, illuminating the tunnel in a horrifying glow. ¡°Karim! No!¡±


    He ran toward the wreckage, his voice hoarse with desperation, but his legs felt heavy, his steps slow. The smell of burning fuel and metal filled the air, choking him.


    As he neared the inferno, a shadow emerged from the flames.


    Ayman froze.


    The figure was tall, cloaked in darkness, with no discernible features. It moved slowly, deliberately, stepping over the shattered remains of the car as if unaffected by the heat and chaos.


    ¡°Who¡­ Who are you?¡± Ayman stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    The shadow didn¡¯t answer. It just stood there, motionless, as the fire reflected in its outline, casting an eerie glow.


    Ayman took a step back, his entire body trembling. His mind raced, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His brother was gone¡ªKarim was gone¡ªand now this. This shadow, this harbinger of something he couldn¡¯t understand, was all that remained.


    ¡°Karim¡­¡± Ayman whispered, tears streaming down his face as he fell to his knees, the weight of everything crushing him. The flames roared louder, and the shadow began to fade, consumed by the light of the fire.


    Ayman was left alone, the image of the burning car and the shadow etched into his soul, a memory he would never escape.