The air in the small, off-campus shawarma shop was thick with the scent of garlic sauce and grilled meat. Zaid pushed the food around his plate, his appetite soured by a lingering guilt he couldn't shake. Bassam, observing his friend's mood, ate in his usual quiet manner before breaking the silence."I talked to mother about you," Bassam said casually, wiping his hands on a napkin.Zaid looked up, surprised. "You did? Why?""Because you're trying to run a business with a clown as your manager," Bassam replied, his tone dry but not unkind. "She was impressed, actually. She said building a personal brand from nothing at your age shows initiative. She said if you're serious about it, she has some... what did she call it... 'business hacks.' She offered to give you some advice, if you want it."The offer cut through Zaid's gloom like a spotlight. Om Salah wasn't just kind; she was a sophisticated, successful woman. Her advice wouldn't be about algorithms or content ideas—it would be abou

The weeks that followed their walkout from Amera's villa were not glamorous. There were no limousines or glittering villas. There was only the quiet, relentless grind of the plan. Khamis, humbled and refocused, became a machine of efficiency. The whiteboard in his room was a mosaic of color-coded content calendars, analytics reports, and strategic goals. Zaid, trusting his manager completely, devoted himself to being the best on-screen talent he could be.They followed Om Salah's advice to the letter. They drafted a formal partnership contract with the help of the lawyer she recommended, a dry, meticulous man who made them define every possible contingency. It was boring, but it made their alliance feel legitimate and secure. They diversified, creating short, punchy clips for other platforms, and Zaid only accepted affiliate deals for products he actually used and liked. The growth was no longer a dramatic spike, but a steady, upward-trending line on a graph, a line built on a found

The school week felt like wading through thick, heavy fog. For Zaid and Sami, the grand, echoing halls of the academy had become a place of muffled sounds and distant concerns. Their minds were sixty kilometers away, in a small apartment with a sickroom smell and the soft, ragged sound of their grandmother's breathing.In class, Zaid stared at textbooks, the words blurring into meaningless shapes. He’d pull out his phone, not to check his channel, but to see if his mother had sent any updates. Sami, usually a diligent student, fared worse. The pressure of a new school combined with the gnawing worry at home was a toxic mix. When he got his math test back, a stark, red "F" was circled at the top. He stared at it, his lower lip trembling, not in anger, but in a profound, helpless shame."I studied," he whispered to Zaid after class, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I really did. But I just... I kept thinking about Teta. I couldn't remember the formulas."Zaid put a hand on his should

The return to school felt like moving through a world painted in shades of gray. The familiar routines, the walk to class, the chatter in the halls, felt hollow and distant. Zaid and Sami moved through their days like ghosts, the fresh grief for their grandmother a heavy cloak they couldn't remove.A few days after their return, Zaid was stopped in the hallway by the principal's assistant, his expression as pinched and impersonal as ever."Zaid. See me in my office after your last class," the man said, not breaking his stride.A cold knot of dread tightened in Zaid's stomach. He nodded mutely, the carefree student he'd once been feeling like a character from an old story.When the final bell rang, he walked the now-familiar path to the administrative office. The assistant sat behind his desk, not inviting Zaid to sit."Your tuition for next semester is now overdue," the man stated, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "You have one week from today to settle the account. Any furthe

Zaid spent the entire next day sulking within the four walls of his dorm room. The world outside his door, the chatter in the halls, the bells marking the change of classes, the distant roar of the cafeteria felt like it was happening on a different planet. He was a prisoner in a cage of his own shame and disgust. He didn't answer his phone, which buzzed intermittently with ignored calls, a frantic insect trapped against the wooden surface of his nightstand. He just lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the police officer's words and the memory of his own violent sickness playing on a nauseating loop. The first to try and breach the fortress was Bassam. A soft, persistent knock came at the door. "Zaid?You missed all classes. Are you alive in there?" Zaid didn't move.He didn't make a sound. He just squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the silence would be a wall Bassam would respect. After a long minute,he heard a soft sigh from the other side of the door, and then retreating footsteps