A Chance To Rise

Chapter 7, The Engineer's Legacy.

The dormitory door clicked shut behind them, sealing Zaid and Bassam in the familiar, cramped space that smelled of old textbooks and the faint mildew of their shared bathroom. Bassam immediately slumped onto his narrow bed, the springs creaking under his weight, while Zaid remained standing, arms crossed.

"What did Fares want with you?" Zaid asked, his voice low but urgent. He kept glancing at the door as if expecting someone to burst through it.

Bassam ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "His father," he began, his voice carefully controlled, "is some hotshot businessman. Used to be one of my father's biggest rivals." He reached under his pillow, pulling out a worn photograph of a serious-looking man in glasses. "My uncle warned me about people like this."

Zaid moved closer, sitting on the edge of his own bed. The mattress sagged beneath him. "So what? What do they want from you?"

"Fares didn't know who I was that first day," Bassam explained, his fingers tightening around the photo. "Not until his father made some calls." He gave a humorless laugh. "That 'apology'? That was daddy's orders."

Zaid's brow furrowed. "So he's just being nice because his father told him to? Still that doesn't explain it."

The light above them flickered as Bassam hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "My father...he wasn't just any engineer. He was working on a confidential AI system before he died. Cutting-edge stuff." His eyes met Zaid's. "Companies would kill for his research notes."

The air in the room suddenly felt heavier. Zaid's throat went dry. "And they think you...?"

"Have them? Know where they are?" Bassam finished, shaking his head. "I told Fares the truth , I don't know anything about it. Even if I did..." His jaw set in a hard line. "I'd never sell my father's work to people like that."

Zaid swallowed hard. Outside, the distant sound of laughter from other dorms filtered through the thin walls. "But Fares didn't believe you."

Bassam's smile was bitter. "Would you? If billions were potentially on the line?" He tucked the photograph away carefully. "This isn't over. They'll keep pushing."

The sound of the mini-fridge in the corner seemed suddenly loud in the silence that followed. Both boys stared at the peeling paint on the opposite wall, each lost in their own thoughts about what this revelation might mean for their already precarious situation at the school.

___

Zaid balanced his tray carefully, the weight of his books and the meager school lunch making his arms ache. Beside him, Bassam scanned the room with his usual guarded expression, his dark eyes flicking from table to table in search of their usual spot near the back, where the noise was quieter and the stares were less frequent.

But today, their table wasn't empty.

Before they could take another step, Fares' voice cut through the din, smooth and deliberate. "Over here!"

He waved them over with a grin that didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. His group, Ayman, Hussam, and Karam were already seated, their postures relaxed but their attention was sharp, like predators who had already marked their prey. Two chairs had been left conspicuously open beside Fares.

Zaid hesitated, his fingers tightening around his tray. Bassam didn't move either, his jaw set in a hard line.

Fares chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "What, you're not going to join us?" His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, a challenge. "After yesterday, I thought we were past this."

Ayman smirked, twirling a fork between his fingers. "Yeah, don't be rude. We saved you seats."

Bassam exhaled through his nose, then nudged Zaid forward with a barely perceptible tilt of his head. "We're fine where we usually sit," he said, his voice even.

Fares' smile didn't waver, but something in his gaze hardened. "Come on," he said, spreading his hands in surrender. "After all that bonding over PlayStation? I thought we were practically friends now."

Before either of them could respond, Fares didn't even glance at them as he ordered. "Two steaks, medium rare and make it quick."

Zaid's stomach twisted. They hadn't asked for this. They hadn't asked for any of it.

Bassam's fingers curled into fists at his sides, but he didn't argue. Instead, he slid into the chair Fares had saved for him, his movements stiff. Zaid had no choice but to follow.

Fares finally turned to them, his smile widening. "Trust me," he said, his voice dripping with false warmth. "You'll love it."

Zaid and Bassam exchanged a glance. The message was clear: This isn't optional.

____

The final bell rang, its shrill tone cutting through the drowsy afternoon air. Zaid shoved his books into his bag with more force than necessary, his mind still replaying the uncomfortable lunch. Bassam was already waiting by the door, his expression unreadable.

They stepped outside, the sun glaring off the pavement, only to find Ayman's sleek black car idling at the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Ayman's sharp grin. "Get in," he said, jerking his chin toward the back seat. "We're hitting the arcade."

Bassam didn't move. "We've got homework."

Fares appeared beside the car, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. "No arguments," he said, his tone light but firm. "You're coming."

Zaid opened his mouth to protest, but Fares clapped a hand on Bassam's shoulder, his grip just a fraction too tight. "You can't study all the time, you're a teenager, you need to have some fun."

The drive was silent save for the low thrum of the engine and the occasional muttered comment between Fares and his friends. Zaid stared out the window, his stomach churning.

The arcade was a neon-lit maze of flashing screens and blaring sound effects. Fares paid for everything tokens, sodas, even a round of air hockey that Ayman lost spectacularly. They laughed too loudly, joked too much, their camaraderie a performance meant to disarm.

Zaid leaned in during a rare moment when the others were distracted by a racing game. "They're not leaving us alone any time soon." he muttered under his breath.

Bassam's jaw tightened. "I know."

The ride back was worse.

Zaid pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the car window, watching the city blur past. Then, just as they neared the school gates, he saw them, the same group of blue-card bullies from before, their uniforms crisp under the fading sunlight. And between them, struggling weakly, was the same scrawny boy they'd seen before, his face pale with fear as they dragged him toward a waiting van.

Zaid's breath caught. "Bassam" he whispered urgently, nodding toward the scene.

Bassam followed his gaze, his expression darkening.

Fares noticed their distraction and turned. "What're you looking at?"

"Nothing," Zaid said quickly, but it was too late.

Fares smirked, glancing out the window as the van's doors slammed shut. "Relax," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Some people just don't belong here."