Zaid and Khamis were busy setting up for Zaid’s first vlog video. Tripods were being adjusted, and Khamis was fiddling with a microphone, telling Zaid to speak up for a sound check.Suddenly, Zaid’s phone buzzed loudly on the desk. He picked it up, his eyes scanning a new message on the screen. It was from the system.[New Quest: Viral Launch][ Objective: Get over 50,000 views on your first video. ][Reward: 150 Dinars.]A huge, determined grin spread across Zaid’s face. He shot up from his chair, nearly knocking over a lamp.“YES! Today is the day!” he shouted, pumping his fist in the air. “We are going to break the internet! I’m going to pull myself together and make this the best video ever!”Khamis flinched at the sudden noise, clutching his chest dramatically. “Will you keep your voice down!” he hissed. “You’ve been jumping around and startling me since the day I met you! My heart can’t take it!”But he couldn’t help but smile a little at Zaid’s sudden burst of energy. ___The

Bassam was quietly sketching at his desk, but for unknown reasons, his art was odd and abstract, a sharp contrast to his usual realistic style.Zaid, watched from his bed, he frowned as he failed to connect the lines and understand where this art was going to. "Hey, Bassam. What's all that?" he asked, pointing at the sketchbook. "It looks... different."Bassam didn't look up. "It's just how I feel today," he mumbled, his pencil moving in quick, agitated strokes.Zaid tried to understand, leaning closer. "Yeah, but what does it mean? Is something wrong?"Before Bassam could answer, Zaid's phone buzzed loudly. A bright notification flashed on the screen:[Quest Complete: Viral Launch!][Reward: The reward has been transferred to your wallet.]"Yes! We did it!" Zaid yelled, jumping up from the bed, his focus entirely on the phone. "The first video hit 50,000 views!"He was so excited he completely forgot about Bassam. When he finally looked up, he saw Bassam silently gathering his drawin

The sweet, syrupy residue of the iced tea felt like a lie on Zaid’s tongue. He watched Salim shuffle away, his shoulders permanently curved as if against a constant, invisible wind. The victory of the live stream, the thrill of the 200 dinars now sitting in his digital wallet,.it all felt hollow. He had chased off the wolves with a flash of light, but the sheep was still trembling.He was halfway back to his dorm, the mental list of Eid gifts (a sleek new phone for his mom, a soft, embroidered abaya for his grandmother) failing to lift his spirits, when his phone buzzed. It wasn't the sharp, social media alert he was used to. This was the distinct, soft chime of the System.[New Quest: The MentorObjective: ][Guide a fellow student to find their inner strength. Help them achieve a public act of confidence.][Reward: 300 Dinars. ]Zaid stopped dead in his tracks. The money was, as always, a powerful lure. 300 dinars was more than he'd ever gotten. But it was the objective that made hi

The graph on Zaid’s laptop screen was a soul-crushing sight. After the high of the live stream and the genuine success with Salim, the analytics for his channel had plateaued, then nosedived. The line representing his views was less a mountain peak and more a sad, flat desert.“We’re dying, Khamis,” Zaid groaned, slumping over his desk. “It’s over. We had one viral moment and now we’re back to being losers.”Khamis, peering over his shoulder, clicked his tongue. “We’re not dying. We’re… slowing down. The algorithm is a tricky beast. It needs to be fed, constantly. We just don’t have any good meat to throw at it right now.”“What about the ‘Genuine Resolve’ stuff? The heartfelt journey?” Zaid asked, though he already knew the answer.“That’s a slow burn, Zaid. A side dish. Right now, we need the main course. We need something loud, flashy, and immediate to remind people we exist.” Khamis snapped his fingers. “A gaming live stream. Just like old times. My followers will come, your few f

The familiar scent of home hit Zaid the moment he stepped through the door, a comforting blend of Rose air freshener and the faint smell of last night’s dinner. It was the scent of his mother, of his grandmother's olive oil, of safety and comfort. His backpack felt lighter than it should have, its usual weight of textbooks replaced by two carefully wrapped packages that represented months of secret effort.A slow, proud smile spread across his face as he hurried to his room. He stashed the gifts at the back of his closet, buried under a pile of sweaters. The new smartphone for his mom, and the new brown abaya for his grandmother. He could already picture their faces. This Eid would be different. This year, he was the provider.The sound of gentle humming drew him to the kitchen. There, standing at the counter with her back to him, was his grandmother. Flour dusted the air around her like a soft halo, and the rich, sweet aroma of dates and flour filled the room. She was kneading the do