unknown fate

Chapter Four, Episode Two

Imam in one of the brothels, smoking hash and drinking alcohol. His face shows a strange mix of sadness and joy… A p********e offers him her body, but he refuses and keeps drinking.**

**Imam returns home late and hears the call to Fajr prayer… Ahlam is sitting alone on the couch in the villa’s lower floor… Imam opens the villa’s door and walks in… Ahlam jumps up and rushes toward him.**

**Ahlam:** Don’t you dare suspect me like Mom did, Imam… what’s inside me is my child.

**Imam:** Your child? With who?!

**Ahlam:** I got married before Dad passed away… five months ago… to Amr.

**Imam:** Amr?! Who is this guy? How come we never knew?

**Ahlam:** Amr is a good man, real decent… if you saw him, you’d love him. We married in secret because if Dad knew, he would’ve never approved—his social class is lower than ours. It was my idea… and now I have no one but you.

**Imam:** And where is this Amr now? Tell him to come here.

**Ahlam:** He’s afraid of you, Imam. He keeps saying, *“Imam will kill me.”*

**Imam leaves Ahlam and heads upstairs, saying:** **Imam:** When I wake up, I want to find this Amr of yours here.

**Ahlam smiles.**

**Imam:** The one inside you… is it a boy or a girl?

**Ahlam:** I don’t know.

**Ahlam goes up to her room, smiling. She grabs her phone and calls Amr.**

**Ahlam:** Amr, I have good news—Imam wants to meet you.

**Amr:** Meet me!? He knows!?

**Ahlam:** Yes, he knows everything. He told me, *“Let him come, I want to see him.”* … after I tried to kill myself, after I cut my wrist.

**Amr:** Are you crazy? Why would you do that?

**Ahlam:** So you’re that worried about me? Every time I ask you to come talk to Dad, you say you’re scared. I had to do this.

**Amr:** But—

**Ahlam:** What, are you scared again?

**Amr:** No… I’m not scared.

**Ahlam:** Then come today. Meet my brother Imam. Don’t worry—he’s the one who told me to bring you.**

**Amr** sat stiffly on the couch in the villa’s living room, his fingers nervously clasped together. **Ahlam** was across from him on a chair, her hands resting in her lap, her eyes darting between her husband and the staircase. Tension hung heavy in the air.

Suddenly, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed down the stairs. Amr turned his head and saw **Imam** descending, step by step, with the gravity of a judge about to deliver a verdict. His face was carved in stone, his voice sharp and cutting as it filled the room:

— *So you’re Amr… Tell me, what kind of man leaves his wife and his unborn child just because he’s afraid to face her father?* He shifted his glare to his sister. — *I thought you knew how to choose, Ahlam… but it seems your husband is nothing but a coward.*

Amr shot up instinctively, reaching out a hand in greeting, but Imam brushed past him with disdain, sat down in the head chair, and gestured curtly: — *Sit.*

Reluctantly, Amr obeyed, lowering his head. Ahlam’s anxious eyes pleaded between them, searching for a truce.

Imam broke the silence: — *Where’s your family, Amr?*

Before Amr could stammer a reply, Ahlam spoke quickly: — *His parents are dead.*

Imam gave a small nod, then declared flatly: — *Fine. Then you’ll pack your things and come live here with us.*

He turned toward his sister, his tone now sharp and laced with sarcasm: — *And you… your expenses just went up. You’ve got a husband now, and soon children—you’re responsible for them. Anyway… I’ll leave you with your husband… your *brave* husband.*

He rose from his chair, his presence filling the room like a storm. Amr suddenly called after him: — *Mr. Imam!*

Imam paused mid-step, glancing back with a look of pure condescension. — *What?*

Amr swallowed hard. — *I just… wanted to thank you for meeting me. Honestly, I thought you’d put a bullet in me.*

A faint smirk touched Imam’s lips. — *Don’t thank me. Thank Ahlam. I’ve considered you part of this family now. I only hope you’ll live up to my trust.*

With that, he strode away, entering his study. The heavy door closed behind him.

Inside, Imam sank into the large chair at his desk, pulled out his phone, and dialed. — *Good evening, Tamer Bey.*

The officer’s voice crackled through the line: — *Good evening, Imam Bey.*

— *Any news yet? Did you find out who killed Gad?*

— *Nothing new in the case. Unless you suspect someone—we could bring him in for questioning. If you’ve got a name, tell me.*

But Imam’s mind was already drifting, the officer’s voice fading into the background. A memory came flooding back… a d**g deal, days before Gad’s death. A heated quarrel had erupted between Gad and one of the men in the organization, a thug named **Rabee**.

Gad had raised his voice, fury boiling in his eyes: — *Mind your tongue, boy, or I’ll put a bullet through you!*

Imam blinked, the vision shattering, and returned to the present. He cut the call short: — *Excuse me for now, Tamer Bey. I’ll call you back. Goodbye.*

— *Of course. Goodbye.*

Imam set the phone down on the desk, rose to his feet, and began pacing the room. His thoughts swirled in a storm. The face of Rabee loomed large in his memory, Gad’s threat echoing over and over.

And now, a poisonous doubt settled in his mind like smoke. Could Rabee be the one who killed Gad?