A new, profound sense of pride had taken root in Zaid’s chest, a feeling far more solid and sustaining than the fleeting high of viral views or the hollow satisfaction of a green card. For the first time, the money he’d earned from the streams, from the System, from all the performative challenges had a tangible, noble purpose. He wasn't just a consumer or a clown; he was a provider. He was helping his mother shoulder a burden she should never have had to carry alone, and he was ensuring his cousin, his new little brother would have a chance he himself had been denied.The morning of Sami’s first day at the academy, Zaid felt a nervous energy that rivaled his own first day. He fussed over Sami’s uniform, making sure the tie was straight, his shoes were polished.“You look good, kid,” Zaid said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.Sami, ever the pragmatist, just shrugged. “It’s itchy.”The trip to the campus was long and Zaid was talkative, he kept pointing out lan

The night before the make-up exam, the air in Hossam's room was thick with a potent cocktail of fear, pizza grease, and desperation. This was it. The final study session. Their last stand against the tyrannical forces of Advanced Algebra.Bassam stood before the whiteboard, which was now a chaotic tapestry of equations, frustrated scribbles, and a single, dramatic drawing of a skull Hossam had added during a particularly confusing moment. Bassam's eyes had a wild, sleep-deprived gleam, and a muscle in his jaw twitched rhythmically."Okay," Bassam began, his voice hoarse. "For the tenth, and I swear to you, the final time. The quadratic formula. What is it?"Zaid, Karam, and Hossam sat in a row on the floor like chastened schoolchildren."x equals... negative b..." Zaid started, hesitantly."Plus or minus!" Karam chimed in, a little too proudly."The square root..." Hossam added, his brow furrowed in intense concentration."Of b squared..." Zaid continued."MINUS 4ac!" Karam finished w

The morning after the scandal broke, a strange silence hung over the school. It was a digital silence, one that Zaid felt the moment he woke up and reached for his phone. His first instinct was to check Khamis's channel, to see if the storm had calmed overnight.But the channel was gone.Instead of the familiar page with its highlight reels and subscriber count, there was a blank, generic error message. A cold knot tightened in Zaid's stomach. He threw on his clothes and practically ran to Khamis's dorm room.He found the door unlocked. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight against the morning sun. Khamis was sitting on the edge of his bed, still dressed in the clothes from the day before, staring at a blank wall. The usual chaotic energy of the room, once a command center for content creation, had been replaced by a heavy, depressive stillness."Khamis?" Zaid said softly, closing the door behind him. "Your channel... it's gone. Why did you do that?"For a long moment, Khamis di

The school auditorium was filled with a polite, restrained energy typical of academic award ceremonies. Zaid sat in the audience, feeling a mix of boredom and pride. He was there for one reason: Bassam.When the category for "Visual Arts" was announced, Zaid straightened up. The presenter listed off the third and second-place winners to polite applause. Then, he cleared his throat. "And the first-place prize, for his stunningly detailed and emotionally resonant charcoal series, 'Portraits of Silence,' goes to... Bassam Al-Jafari."A genuine smile spread across Zaid's face as he clapped loudly, a stark contrast to the reserved applause around him. Bassam walked to the stage, accepting the certificate and a small trophy with his usual quiet dignity, offering only a slight, formal bow to the audience. His eyes, however, scanned the crowd as he descended the steps. Zaid followed his gaze, noticing the empty seat where his uncle was supposed to be. A familiar, cold disappointment settled o

The silence in Zaid’s room was broken only by the frantic, futile clicking of his mouse. He was trying to edit a simple vlog about his day, but the footage was a mess, the audio was out of sync, and the final product looked amateurish. The 20,000-follower goal loomed like a distant mountain, and he was stuck at the base with no climbing gear. The 400-dinar reward for Sami’s tuition felt further away with each passing, unproductive day.He slammed his laptop shut. There was only one person who could do this. The one person he dreaded asking.He found Khamis not in his room, but in a secluded corner of the library, surrounded not by textbooks, but by thick volumes on business management and marketing. He looked up as Zaid approached, his expression neutral, guarded.“Khamis,” Zaid began, his voice low. “I need your help.”Khamis closed his book with a soft thud. “No.”“Just hear me out—”“I said no, Zaid,” Khamis interrupted, his voice flat but firm. “I’m done with that life. I’m not a