A Chance To Rise

Chapter 4, Obvious Lies.

The dorm room door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the tiny space that smelled of laundry detergent and the faint metallic tang of the aging radiator. Bassam immediately flopped onto his narrow bed, the springs creaking in protest, while Zaid stood frozen in the center of the room.

His phone had buzzed again. The screen's blue light illuminated his face as he stared at the message:

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: NEW MISSION AVAILABLE

Objective: Monitor the bully squad and take pictures of their vicious act.

Reward: 200 dinars.

Status: [Accept] [Decline]

The numbers seemed to burn into his retinas - 200 dinars. It was enough to buy medicine when his mother's back pain flared up. Enough that he wouldn't have to ask her for money for a month or two. He could even buy a new pair of shoes. His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly.

Across the room, Bassam had already pulled his uniform shirt off and was rummaging in his drawer for sleep clothes. "You're just going to stand there all night?" he asked without turning around.

Zaid quickly locked his phone. "No, I just..." His voice trailed off as he walked to his own bed, the worn mattress dipping under his weight. The message burned in his pocket like a hot coal.

200 dinars.

But those boys, their expensive watches glinting in the streetlight, their laughter like shards of glass , they weren't just regular bullies. They were blue cards holders. They were powerful, they were protected.

Zaid's fingers dug into his knees. If he got caught spying on them... He imagined his mother's face when the expulsion notice came. The way her shoulders would slump when she had to beg the school board for another chance.

But 200 dinars...

____

Dawn painted the dormitory hallway in pale gray light when Zaid slipped out, his sneakers silent on the linoleum. The sunglasses felt awkward in the dimness, and the medical mask itched against his cheeks, but he didn't dare remove them.

The rich kids' dorm wing smelled like lemon cleaning products and expensive cologne. Zaid pressed himself against the wall, his heart hammering so loudly he feared it might echo. Somewhere down the hall, a shower was running, the pipes groaning in the walls.

Through a half-open door, he caught a glimpse of gold-embossed stationery on a desk. Then movement, it was one of the boys from last night, he was stretched across a leather chair, idly tossing a stress ball at the ceiling. Another lounged on a sofa that looked more expensive than Zaid's house.

He counted them, they were five, just like he'd seen harassing that kid. Their laughter floated through the doorway, rich and careless. Zaid's phone camera clicked silently, capturing their privileged world in stolen snapshots.

A floorboard creaked behind him. Zaid's blood turned to ice. He ducked into an alcove just as someone walked past, humming off-key. The digital clock on the wall ticked over to 6:15 AM. Time to go.

---

Bassam was sitting up in bed when Zaid returned, his hair sticking up in sleep-mussed spikes. "Where were you?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Zaid's tongue felt thick in his mouth. "I Just... went for a run," he said, tugging at the mask still covering his face. "You know, I like running in the morning ."

Bassam's gaze sharpened, he noticed the sunglasses perched on Zaid's nose, the mask hiding half his face. "In a mask and glasses?" His voice was flat with disbelief.

"Allergies!" The word burst out too loud, too fast. Zaid forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "From the jasmine last night by the entrance. I'm allergic to jasmine."

The silence stretched between them. Bassam's eyes narrowed. "I didn't see any Jasmine flowers."

Zaid could feel sweat trickling down his back, both from the stifling mask and the weight of Bassam's stare. "Yeah, well... the florist must have just bought some."

Bassam opened his mouth as if to argue, then shook his head and reached for his uniform shirt. "Whatever. Just try not to pass out in this heat."

Zaid kept the mask on all through morning classes. By third period, his face was slick with sweat, the fabric clinging damply to his skin. A student in his chemistry class kept shooting him concerned looks, but he pretended not to notice.

The 200 dinars glowed in his mind like a beacon. Just a few more days of this. A few more days, and he could buy those new shoes without asking his mother for money. A few more days, and maybe - just maybe - he could make things a little easier for both of them.

---

That night, as Zaid lay staring at the water-stained ceiling, his phone buzzed with another notification:

MISSION PROGRESS: 27% COMPLETE

Additional Instructions: Capture video evidence of weekend activities.

Bonus Reward: +50 dinars.

The numbers danced before his eyes - 250 total now. Enough for the new backpack too. Enough to last months if he was careful.

Across the room, Bassam turned in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible. Zaid turned his phone face-down on his chest, but the light seemed to linger in the darkness like a ghost.

Somewhere in the city, those blue cards boys were probably lounging in some expensive penthouse, completely unaware they were being watched. And somewhere else Zaid tried not to think about where that scrawny kid from last night might be nursing fresh bruises.

He squeezed his e

yes shut, but the numbers still burned behind his eyelids: 250 dinars.