A new, profound sense of pride had taken root in Zaid’s chest, a feeling far more solid and sustaining than the fleeting high of viral views or the hollow satisfaction of a green card. For the first time, the money he’d earned from the streams, from the System, from all the performative challenges had a tangible, noble purpose.
He wasn't just a consumer or a clown; he was a provider. He was helping his mother shoulder a burden she should never have had to carry alone, and he was ensuring his cousin, his new little brother would have a chance he himself had been denied.
The morning of Sami’s first day at the academy, Zaid felt a nervous energy that rivaled his own first day. He fussed over Sami’s uniform, making sure the tie was straight, his shoes were polished.
“You look good, kid,” Z
