unknown fate

Chapter Five - Episode Seven

In the quiet morning, Amam awoke like a newlywed, his wife Asrar lying peacefully beside him after a long night. Slowly, he rose from the bed, turned, and leaned against the chair across the room, lighting a cigarette as the smoke curled upward, filling the corners of the room with heavy silence.

After a few seconds, Asrar entered the room, a faint smile on her lips as she looked at him, her voice soft but firm:

Asrar: We have to go to Asmahan today… you have to come with us.

Amam didn’t lift his eyes from the rising smoke, his voice calm and reserved:

Amam: You go with the family… I don’t have time today, and my presence isn’t important.

Asrar smiled faintly, stepping closer, insistence in her tone:

Asrar: How, Amam? You must come with us… traditions demand it, and if you don’t go, I won’t.

Amam sighed slowly, taking another drag from his cigarette before replying with a cold, measured tone:

Amam: Fine, Asrar… I’ll go with you.

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Moments later, they arrived at Ghali’s house, where Amam, Asrar, and Jawhar sat on the sofa. Amam lit a cigarette, his gaze distant and detached, while the family’s chatter filled the air. Suddenly, a sharp scream echoed from the second floor.

Lamar’s voice: Aaaah!

The room stiffened, and Amam lifted his head toward the sound. Shukran burst into the living room, her face etched with worry:

Shukran: Hanan is giving birth!

Without hesitation, everyone rushed upstairs, consumed by the urgency of the birth, while Amam remained standing for a moment, eyes cold and observing, before speaking softly but firmly:

Amam: Excuse me, Ghali… we’ll meet under better circumstances.

Ghali, preoccupied with the birth, waved and smiled:

Ghali: Sorry, Amam… birth waits for no one.

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Amam, Asrar, and Jawhar exited the villa, getting into their car which sped through the darkened streets, the lingering smoke of cigarettes mingling with the morning chill. Suddenly, in a shadowed corner, a motorcyclist cut across their path.

In an instant, Amam collided with the motorcycle, sending the rider sprawling to the ground, the bike skidding beside him. Amam stepped out, his movements heavy, tires screeching faintly in the darkness. He grabbed the rider by his clothes with an iron grip, his face hard as steel, before delivering a punch to the man’s face, then another, until the body shook violently under the blows.

Amam reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol, aiming it at the rider’s head, his voice cold and sharp:

Amam: Who sent you, you bastard…?

The world around him fell silent, save for the pounding of his heart and the echo of the night streets, as if the darkness itself carried the promise of impending danger and the unfinished vengeance yet to unfold.

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Karam stood there, his body trembling slightly from fear and the cold, his voice broken but sincere, barely escaping through his teeth:

Karam: I swear, Pasha, no one sent me… I went out like any other day to make my living. I didn’t know you were a cop. If I had known, I wouldn’t have left the house at all. Let me go… I swear on your feet. I’m married to a poor girl… she has no family, no one but me. Her family left her at the train station, and I picked her up… with two kids. This is how I earn my living—four mouths to feed, Pasha… where else are we supposed to get food from?

Emam stood silently, his voice calm but sharp:

Emam: You attack people and take their money so you and your kids can eat?

He paused, as if Karam’s words had struck something within him. Slowly, he lowered the g*n from Karam’s head, looking at him with cold, unwavering eyes.

Emam: What’s your name?

Karam: Karam.

Emam: And your wife… what’s her name?

Karam: You want to know why, Pasha?

Emam swallowed his anger, though the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. He raised the g*n to Karam’s head again, his voice sharper:

Emam: Speak… now! What’s her name?

Karam: Anbar.

The name hit Emam like an arrow. Silence hung thickly in the air. Anbar… his sister. For a moment, his heart wrenched, but he pushed the shock aside as if he had calculated the situation and decided to ignore it—for now.

Emam: I’ll forgive you… and let you go… but on one condition. I need a favor from you.

Karam: A favor? Anything, Pasha?

Emam: I’ll tell you later.

Emam approached the car, then returned to hand Karam some money. Karam took it with trembling hands, his eyes full of both gratitude and fear.

Emam: When I need you… where can I find you?

Karam: Take my number, Pasha… and wherever you need me… I’ll be at your service.

Emam pulled out his phone from his pocket, quickly and precisely saved Karam’s number, then opened the car door, got behind the wheel, and started the engine. The car cut through the dark night, the faint glow of the headlights barely revealing the winding road toward the villa.

From the back seat, Jawhar couldn’t contain her worry:

Jawhar: He’s out to get us… how can you give him money, Emam? You should’ve handed him to the police!

Emam gave a calm, cold smile:

Emam: The kid’s harmless… he couldn’t even kill a chicken.

He let his thoughts drift, eyes scanning the dark road ahead, driving toward home. Everything around him seemed still, yet inside, he measured possibilities and mapped out his next moves, as if the night itself held secrets not yet ready to be revealed.

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