The moment they stepped back into the apartment, the scent of their abandoned mamoul cookies was a cruel reminder that their work was far from over. Zaid dropped the shopping bags filled with his "perfect" new clothes, hoping to collapse on the sofa, but his mother was already tying her hair back with a determined look."Okay, the fun is over," she announced, handing him a bucket filled with cleaning supplies. "The guest room first. While I go check under your bed."Zaid groaned. "Mama, the guests won't check for dust under my bed.""They will feel the cleanliness in the air," she retorted, pushing him toward the hallway. "And after that, we need to wipe down the top of the door frames and the inside of the cabinets.""Who is going to check the top of the door frame?" he pleaded, his voice rising in despair. "And who cares if the inside of a vase is clean? You look at the outside!"She fixed him with a stare that could strip paint. "I care. And while you live under my roof, you will c

The first light of the second day of Eid filtered through Zaid’s window, but it failed to bring the warmth of the previous morning. Instead of the sounds of celebration, he was pulled from the edges of sleep by a low, tense murmur that seeped through his bedroom door. He lay perfectly still, the sheets tangled around him, and listened. The argument was in the kitchen, a fierce, hushed war waged between the two most important women in his life.“I will not allow it!” His mother’s voice was a sharp, strained whisper, yet it carried the force of a shout. “He cannot just waltz back in after a decade and demand a day! On Eid! Why now? What game is he playing?”His grandmother’s reply was a steady, calming counterpoint, a stream trying to wear down a rock. “Listen my dear , and lower your voice. He is still his father. However late, however flawed, that blood does not change. Can you not see? Your son must be yearning for this, even if his pride locks the words inside his heart. It is his

The North Wing of the dormitories had a different smell. It wasn't the faint scent of mildew and old varnish that clung to the Red Card corridor, but a neutral, clean odor of industrial floor wax and fresh paint. Zaid found Room 314 and swiped his new green card. A soft, confident beep greeted him, and the lock clicked open with a satisfying solidity.He stepped inside, letting his duffel bag slide from his shoulder to the floor with a soft thud. The room was silent, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking it in.It wasn't Fares's room. There was no plush carpet, no minimalist designer furniture, no private balcony overlooking the gardens. It also wasn't the room he'd shared with Bassam. The plaster on the walls was smooth and uncracked. The ceiling was a uniform white, no water stains mapping forgotten leaks. The linoleum floor was a bland beige, but it was clean and intact. A single, decent-sized window let in the afternoon light, illuminating a standard-issue desk, a chair,

The air in Khamis's dorm was thick with the frantic energy of a live stream. Colored Lego bricks were scattered across the floor. Zaid and Khamis were standing on stools, they were locked in a race against the clock to build the tallest, most unstable-looking tower possible."Ten minutes, people! The pressure is on!" Khamis yelled into the camera, his voice a practiced pitch of hysterical excitement. Zaid, beside him, forced a grin, carefully placing a single blue brick on a teetering spire. His heart wasn't in it. It was just plastic on plastic.The live chat scrolled rapidly on a secondary screen. A notification, highlighted in gold, popped up.'Desert_Sun 92' gifted 200 Roses!Message: "Forget the tower! Build me a castle!I want to see a big one!"Khamis's eyes lit up with dollar signs. "Whoa! A castle! You hear that, Zaid? The people want a castle! We'll get to that right after this tower my friend! You just wait and see!"A moment later, another notification, this time from a use

The familiar comfort of his mother's living room on a Friday evening was a balm to Zaid's soul. The lingering unease from the charity stream and the sterile silence of his green card dorm room seemed to dissolve in the warm, cluttered space. He was sitting on the sofa, his grandmother in her favorite armchair, the soft murmur of a historical drama on television filling the room. It was a perfect, peaceful moment.Then, a firm knock echoed from the front door."I'll get it," Zaid said, heaving himself off the couch. He expected a neighbor, maybe one of his new friends stopping by unexpectedly. But when he pulled the door open, he found himself staring down at his twelve-year-old cousin, Sami, who stood on the doorstep with a small, wheeled suitcase and a backpack slung over his shoulder."Sami?" Zaid blinked, thoroughly confused. "What are you doing here? I thought you and your dad were heading back home after Eid."Sami shuffled his feet, his eyes wide and a little lost. "Hey, Zaid.