Zaid stands nervously at the iron gates of Al-Tadweerya Preparatory Academy, his suitcase weighing heavily in his hand. He's here because he ranked first last year with nearly perfect grades across all subjects - a feat that earned him this prestigious scholarship. His mother's tearful embrace when the acceptance letter arrived still burns in his memory. Despite the disturbing rumors about the school's strange hierarchy, despite wanting to stay with his childhood friends, he'd folded his dreams away to honor his mother's wishes."Documents." A bored administrator at the entrance gate doesn't even look up.Zaid hands over his paperwork. The man's eyebrows shoot up when he sees the scholarship stamp. "Ah. One of those." He jerks his thumb toward the courtyard. "Get your level card over there."In the sunbaked courtyard, an officious-looking man in a crisp uniform stands behind a folding table, distributing plastic cards to arriving students. Zaid observes how most students receive blue

The ancient ceiling fans of the school library rotated with a persistent squeak, their blades pushing around stale air that smelled of old paper and wood polish. Dust particles floated in the slanted sunlight coming through the high windows as Zaid nervously tapped his fingers against the worn wooden table. Even in the library they weren't allowed in the air conditioned hall, they couldn't focus from how hot the room was but they had no choice. His textbook lay open to page forty-three, but he hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.Bassam sat across from him, his dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled notes in the margins of his notebook. The rhythmic scratching of his pen was the only sound between them until Zaid cleared his throat."Bassam," Zaid began, his voice slightly higher than usual. He swallowed and tried again. "Bassam, can I ask you something?"Bassam didn't look up immediately. He finished writing a complete sentence first , the period at the end a firm

The art classroom door swung shut behind Zaid and Bassam as they stepped into the hallway, the smell of acrylic paint and clay still clinging to their clothes. Bassam carried his sketchbook carefully under his arm, its pages filled with precise charcoal drawings that had earned him an approving nod from their teacher."The teacher said he'll give me top marks for my portfolio," Bassam said, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "This should pull my average up significantly."Zaid kicked at a loose floor tile with his worn sneaker, his own sketchbook stuffed carelessly into his bag. "At least one of us can draw," he muttered. "I can't even make a straight line without a ruler. And you heard what he told me.'Just pretend it's art. Convince yourself first, then convince me.'" He made air quotes with his fingers, his voice taking on a mocking tone."Since when is passing a class about acting skills?" Zaid exclaimed.Bassam slowed his pace as they turned down the less crowded west corridor

The dormitory door clicked shut behind them, sealing Zaid and Bassam in the familiar, cramped space that smelled of old textbooks and the faint mildew of their shared bathroom. Bassam immediately slumped onto his narrow bed, the springs creaking under his weight, while Zaid remained standing, arms crossed."What did Fares want with you?" Zaid asked, his voice low but urgent. He kept glancing at the door as if expecting someone to burst through it.Bassam ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "His father," he began, his voice carefully controlled, "is some hotshot businessman. Used to be one of my father's biggest rivals." He reached under his pillow, pulling out a worn photograph of a serious-looking man in glasses. "My uncle warned me about people like this."Zaid moved closer, sitting on the edge of his own bed. The mattress sagged beneath him. "So what? What do they want from you?""Fares didn't know who I was that first day," Bassam explained, his fingers tightening aroun

The weekend sun hung high in the sky as Zaid walked through the familiar streets toward his mother's apartment, a small gift bag swinging from his fingers. He had used some of the money from his completed tasks to buy her something nice, a small token of appreciation for everything she had done for him. His heart swelled at the thought of surprising her.But as he turned the corner onto her street, his steps faltered.There, standing near the entrance of the apartment building, was his father, a man he hadn't seen in years. Beside him stood a woman Zaid didn't recognize, her arm linked with his father's in a way that made his stomach twist.Zaid ducked behind a nearby wall, his pulse quickening. He didn't understand what was happening, but he needed to know.The woman's voice carried softly through the air. "Are you sure this is the right place, dear?"Zaid's breath caught. Dear?His father nodded, his expression unreadable. "This is it."They approached the door to his mother's apart