unknown fate

Chapter 7, Episode 1

Scene 1

Imam sat behind the wheel of his car, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel as the glow of his phone screen lit his face. He had opened the **GPS**, eyes fixed on the red marker pointing straight toward the **Egypt–Palestine border**. The road ahead was no longer just a path—it was a razor’s edge between life and death, between the familiar and the unknown.

Scene Two

Inside the **villa**, the atmosphere was starkly different. **Tizkar**, **Jawhar**, and **Asrar** sat in the living room, their silence heavy, broken only by the nervous cadence of their words. Jawhar leaned forward slightly, her eyes filled with unease: — *“What’s wrong with Imam, Asrar? He’s been going up and down the house like he doesn’t even see us.”*

Asrar shrugged, her voice uncertain: — *“I don’t know… every time I ask him, he just says it’s work.”*

Tizkar cut in sharply, her tone edged with suppressed anger: — *“Work? What kind of work makes him unable to even look us in the eye? This isn’t the Imam we know.”*

Asrar lowered her gaze, her words trembling with sadness: — *“Imam has changed since the day we married him… it’s like he’s become someone else entirely. Not the man I thought I knew all my life.”*

The words lingered in the room like blades, but no one dared answer.

Scene Three

Outside, the road grew busier, every passing mile pulling Imam closer to danger. His car finally rolled to a stop before the first **Egyptian border checkpoint**. The place was alive with strict order: soldiers standing in rows, officers moving with hawk-like eyes, long lines of vehicles waiting their turn. Each car was searched thoroughly before being waved through.

Now it was Imam’s turn. His car crept forward until it halted directly before a soldier. The soldier raised his hand firmly, his boots thudding on the pavement as he approached. His voice was sharp, clipped, leaving no room for negotiation: — *“Your license.”*

Imam’s hand moved slowly. He pulled his driver’s license from his wallet and passed it forward, forcing a calm tone into his words: — *“Here you go, officer.”*

The soldier held the license, scrutinized it, then lifted his gaze to lock eyes with Imam. His next question pierced the silence like an arrow: — *“Where are you headed?”*

Imam swallowed hard, his answer careful, neutral, concealing the storm inside him: — *“I’m going to visit my father and mother in Sinai.”*

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Then the soldier gave a small nod, returning the license. — *“Alright, sir. Safe travels.”*

He moved toward the barrier, slowly lifting the metal arm. The road opened before Imam at last. Just as he was about to press down on the accelerator, he leaned out of the window, his tone laced with a forced smile: — *“Mind if I use the restroom before I pass through?”*

The soldier’s expression didn’t change. He pointed firmly to the right: — *“Park over there. Quickly, please—don’t hold up the line. The restroom’s on the right.”*

Imam’s lips curled into a faint smile, heavy with tension, a fragile mask hiding the pounding of his heart. — *“Thank you.”*

He turned the wheel slowly, each movement deliberate, as if every gesture was a gamble. His chest tightened with the weight of the risk: one wrong step, one slip, and everything would collapse before he could set foot past the border

Scene Four

Imam drove slowly, every move deliberate, as if his heartbeat was louder than the engine itself. When he finally reached the parking area, he stopped the car, scanning his surroundings with sharp, wary eyes. He stepped out cautiously, his face calm but his hand betraying the tension as it slipped into his pocket.

He pulled out his phone, opened the camera discreetly, and with careful, calculated movements began to film the entire checkpoint—the soldiers, the armored vehicles, the officers, every detail that could matter.

His lips moved in a barely audible whisper, counting softly:

"One… two… three…"

Each soldier caught on camera was assigned a number, each number engraved in the silence of the night.

As he neared the small restroom by the checkpoint, Imam stopped the recording, tucked the phone back into his pocket, and pushed the door open. Inside, he splashed cold water on his face, yet even the chill couldn’t wash away the weight pressing on his chest.

Minutes later, he emerged, walking with the same calm façade, though his eyes gleamed with heightened alertness. He strode back to his car, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

The vehicle crept forward, merging with the thick silence of the desert night. When he reached the passage guarded by a soldier at the barrier, Imam slowed and turned to the man with a faint, almost forced smile.

Imam: “Thank you.”

The soldier gave him a quick glance, raised the barrier, and answered with a casual warmth:

Soldier: “Safe travels.”

The road opened before him, and Imam’s car rolled into the darkness. Behind him, the lights of the checkpoint faded into nothingness, swallowed by the night. Ahead, Sinai’s desert stretched out like an endless black sea, merciless and vast. His car pressed forward, a lone shadow venturing deeper into the unknown, carrying with it the silent weight of danger.

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