unknown fate

Chapter Six_Episode One

Scene 1

The house was quiet, save for the faint sounds drifting from the living room. Ghali sat beside Asrar in the lounge, cups of coffee placed before them on the small table, the rising steam wrapping the room with a fragile sense of warmth.

Asrar smiled softly, her voice gentle and welcoming:

Asrar: “Welcome, Ghali. And how is the newborn doing now?”

A faint look of relief crossed Ghali’s face, though his words carried a trace of hesitation:

Ghali: “Thank God… he’s fine. At last, I have a grandson. Though to be honest, I was never in favor of this girl—this Hanan. But what could I do? Rabea insisted on her.”

At that moment, Imam’s hand trembled involuntarily, and the coffee spilled from his cup onto the floor. He stared at the dark stain as if it were widening to swallow him whole, then abruptly rose and hurried toward the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him, leaning his back against it, struggling to steady his breath. Lifting his head toward the mirror, he spoke to himself in a broken whisper:

Imam (whispering): “Hanan… how? Could it really be her? Imam, you’ve heard that name before… Maybe Ghali’s trying to draw my attention… Maybe it’s just coincidence… I don’t understand! Is she my sister Hanan—or not? She can’t be. She just… can’t.”

His hand gripped the sink so tightly his knuckles turned white. He drew in a deep breath, as though trying to force the fire of thoughts from his chest. Finally, he turned toward the door, opened it slowly, and walked back with measured steps to the living room. He sat once more, his voice composed, though beneath it ran a faint tremor:

Imam: “What did you say her name was, Ghali?”

Ghali answered coolly:

Ghali: “Her name is Hanan.”

Imam’s heart seemed to halt for an instant before he pressed on, his words edged with restrained urgency:

Imam: “Who’s her family?”

Ghali smirked dismissively before replying:

Ghali: “Her father’s an old man, living in a rundown house. Pretends to be some kind of sheikh, but he’s really just a tailor. Lives in a forgotten alley.”

A heavy silence followed. Then, suddenly, Imam stood, hiding his turmoil behind a practiced, formal smile. He gestured toward the hallway:

Imam: “Let’s finish our coffee in the office.”

The two men walked slowly until they reached the door of the study. Imam opened it, his hand trembling slightly, and motioned inward:

Imam: “After you…”

Ghali entered first, with Imam close behind. Imam shut the door firmly, then took his seat in the large chair behind his desk, while Ghali sat opposite him—two men now positioned not for casual talk, but for a confrontation that could change everything.

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Scene Two

The conversation shifted quickly from family matters to something far weightier. Imam could sense that Ghali was no longer speaking as a relative but as a man carrying a dangerous secret. His tone hardened, words falling with the precision of a blade.

Ghali: “The operation I told you about—this isn’t some small deal, Imam. This will be the biggest job in Egypt’s history. Not just Egypt… it could be one of the largest arms-smuggling operations in the world. Something on a scale we’ve never touched before.”

A flicker of unease crossed Asrar’s face as she sat silently nearby, but Imam remained still, absorbing each word like a man listening to a storm gather strength.

Ghali leaned forward, lowering his voice though his intensity only grew.

“There are people in Palestine—friends of mine—who need weapons for the resistance. Not just a few crates… they’re asking for an enormous amount. And I’ve been lucky. I have contacts in Sudan—factories that produce weapons and ammunition. They can prepare the order and move it across the border into Egypt without risk. That’s their business. They know how to get the cargo in. That part’s easy. The hard part is how we deliver the weapons into Palestine without Egyptian intelligence catching on.”

He paused, his eyes sharp, then continued.

“Since the tunnels were destroyed, the game has changed. The only way in is through the border crossings, and you know how closely they watch those—intelligence, border guards, everyone’s eyes wide open. But listen, Imam, the brothers over there… they’re willing to pay two hundred times the market price for these weapons. Two hundred times. This isn’t just profit—it’s the kind of money that shifts the balance of power.”

Ghali’s words hung in the air, a mix of temptation and threat. He looked Imam directly in the eye.

“I want you to clear your plate and draw me the plan. You’re the only one I trust with this. Since your son’s death, you’re the only man I believe won’t falter, won’t betray. And when it’s all over, I have a surprise for you—something big. Something that will change everything. Take your time. Think. All the details are on this.”

From his pocket, Ghali pulled out a small flash drive and laid it gently on Imam’s desk. The object was tiny, almost insignificant, yet it seemed to carry a weight heavier than any contract.

Rising from his chair, Ghali straightened his jacket.

“I’ll leave you now. I’ve got a morning gathering with my friends, can’t keep them waiting. Good night, Imam.”

As Imam moved as if to escort him, Ghali raised a hand with a thin smile.

“Stay where you are. I know my way out.”

The door closed behind him, and the room fell silent. Imam lowered himself slowly back into his chair, his eyes fixed on the flash drive resting in the middle of the desk. His face was tense, his thoughts a storm.

The tiny device seemed to glow in the dim light, pulsing with the weight of a decision that could alter countless lives—including his own. In the quiet of the office, Imam felt the night close in, thick with uncertainty. The walls seemed to tighten around him, the silence pressing down as he realized: whatever path he chose next, there would be no turning back.