The engine of Khamis's new motorcycle was a low, angry growl that tore through the quiet of the campus night. Zaid clung to the back, the vibrations coursing through him, a physical sensation so intense it momentarily silenced the chaotic noise in his head. The wind whipped at his clothes and hair, forcing him to squint, and in that sensory overload, he made a conscious decision: he would not think. He would not think about the police, the 2,000 dinars, his father's face, or the lies he had told his mother. For these few minutes, he would just be a passenger on a fast machine in the dark.He remained silent for the entire first part of the ride, his body leaning with the bike's turns, his mind a blessed, empty blank. After about an hour, Khamis pulled over at a small juice kiosk by the sea. They took their glasses of sweet, cold mango juice and sat on plastic chairs facing the dark, rhythmic waves.Khamis took a long sip. "Look, if you don't want to talk, you don't have to. I just wan

Zaid returned to his room and locked the door behind him, the click of the bolt a final, decisive sound. And then, suddenly, the full weight of the reality crashed down upon him. A dark, suffocating feeling seized control of his entire being.His father, to him, was now a monster. His marriage to his mother, Ahlam, had been a con from the start, and Zaid himself was nothing more than the unintended byproduct of that scheme. For his father, he and his mother were just tools he had used and then discarded with casual ease, leaving them behind without a second thought.His entire life, he had been waiting for his father. That ghostly figure he both longed to see and was terrified of confronting. And when the ghost finally appeared, it had only succeeded in destroying his life all over again.A new feeling, cold and sharp, began to eclipse the disgust and the despair: pure, unadulterated hatred. It was a venom that crystallized his resolve. He decided, right then and there, that he would

The air in the taxi to the zoo was thick with a tense silence. Zaid stared out the window, his knee bouncing with a nervous energy that had nothing to do with excitement. He was chasing a ghost, a memory of a man who had called his father by another name. Khamis sat beside him, a steady, pragmatic presence, his phone already open to a maps app.When they arrived, the scent of popcorn and animals felt unnervingly familiar, a sensory echo from a fractured childhood memory. They asked several attendants about the tiger trainer, following vague directions until they finally found him near the big cat enclosures, a large man in a uniform hosing down a concrete area.Zaid approached him, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Excuse me?"The man turned, wiping his brow. "Yes?""My name is Zaid," he began, his voice tighter than he intended. "About ten years ago, I came here with my father. You saw him and called him 'Hussain.'"The man, who introduced himself as Abu Ibrahim, squinted, his g

Khamis was given the address of Fahed Al Ghawali by a man who used to go to school with him. He posted on the group and talked to people who knew him. The address they found led them to a modest but tidy apartment building. Zaid's heart was a frantic drum against his ribs as he and Khamis stood outside the door. This was it. The first real connection to his father's bloodline. He knocked.The door was opened by a man in his late thirties, with kind, tired eyes behind glasses. He looked at the two teenagers on his doorstep. "You must be Zaid and Khamis? I am Fahad Al-Ghawali. Please, come in."He welcomed them warmly into his home, a space filled with books and the quiet hum of family life. Once they were seated in the living room, Fahad studied Zaid's face intently. A look of surprise, then soft recognition, crossed his features."You look very much like him," Fahad said quietly. "I can see it. You are definitely his son."Zaid was taken aback. It was the first time anyone had ever s

The decision had settled into Zaid’s bones, not as a joyful resolution, but as a heavy, necessary truth. He felt the quiet exhaustion of a soldier who has just declared a ceasefire. For two days, he moved through his apartment with a deliberate calm, letting the new reality solidify. On the third morning, he picked up his phone. It was time to close the official loop.He dialed Khamees, he answered on the second ring, his voice as neutral as ever. “Khamees speaking.”“Khamees, it’s Zaid. I wanted to inform you of my decision.”“Go ahead, Zaid.”“I… I am withdrawing, let's not carry on with it, I've realized there's no point.” He spoke the words clearly, though his throat felt tight.There was a brief pause on the other end, the rustle of papers. “I see. This is, of course, your right. I believe it's better to stop too.”Zaid looked out his window at the sun-washed city. “ It’s not about innocence or guilt. It’s about… a different path.” He struggled to find the right words. “Thank you