The house loomed in the distance, its shadow stretching across the dimly lit street. Ayman kept his distance, blending into the quiet of the night as he approached the location. He had spent enough nights like this to know how to disappear—how to become just another piece of the background.
Finding a safe vantage point, he settled in, his eyes scanning every detail of the property. From his position, he could see an opportunity. The house next door stood close, almost too close, and Ayman noticed something immediately—a narrow gap on the side, just enough for someone like him to slip through.
His gaze followed the line of the wall. If he could climb it, the rooftops connected. It wouldn't be hard to cross from one to the other and find his way inside the target house. The idea sat in his mind, taking root like a seed.
He leaned back and shifted his attention to the surrounding neighborhood. The street was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Only a few cars rolled by, their headlights cutting briefly through the shadows before disappearing again. Occasionally, a lone figure would pass on the sidewalk, their steps echoing in the silence.
Perfect for a thief, Ayman thought to himself.
Memories of past jobs surfaced—he had done this before with Farid and the gang. Scouting, breaking in, slipping out unnoticed. It wasn't just survival; it was a skill, one he had honed to an art form.
As he watched, the rumble of an engine drew his attention. A sleek, expensive car pulled up in front of the house. Ayman's eyes narrowed as a man stepped out, dressed sharply, his movements precise. The man carried a briefcase, its polished surface gleaming under the streetlights.
Ayman froze, his instincts flaring. He watched as the man approached the house, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside. Five minutes later, the door opened again, and the man emerged—without the briefcase.
Ayman's mind raced. What's in the briefcase? Money? Something else? Why leave it behind?
As the man walked back to his car, Ayman shifted his position, blending into the shadows. He decided to follow, pretending to stroll casually down the street. As he neared the car, he caught the man's voice—a phone call.
"Okay, dear, I'm coming to pick you up right now… Yes, I'll be there in one hour. Just prepare yourself and wait… Okay, sweetie."
The man hung up, got into the car, and drove off. The hum of the engine faded as the car sped down the street.
Ayman stopped, watching the taillights disappear into the night. His thoughts churned. An hour's drive? That means he'll be gone for a while. Plenty of time to slip inside. The plan began to take shape in his mind. This was a good opportunity—better than most.
He needed to stay sharp. Walking down the street, he bought a pack of cigarettes from a nearby vendor, letting the taste of smoke calm his nerves. Hunger gnawed at him, so he stopped to grab some food—a simple meal, enough to keep him awake and focused.
He waited, watching the street for the man's return. But the hours stretched on, and the man never came back.
By dawn, Ayman's patience wore thin. He exhaled a plume of smoke, glancing up at the pale morning sky. He's not coming back tonight. Disappointed but not deterred, he pushed his hands into his pockets and headed home.
As he walked, the plan replayed itself in his mind. He had time to refine it, to prepare. The briefcase, the house, the opportunity—it all pointed to something big. Something he couldn't let slip away.
When Ayman finally reached his bed, exhaustion overtook him. He closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him, already dreaming of what his next move would be.
Ayman's eyes fluttered open as he felt a hand shake his shoulder. His mother's voice cut through his groggy state.
"Wake up! Your big brother wants to talk to you about something important," she said firmly.
He groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. "Why? I want to sleep more…"
But she didn't budge. "Ayman, get up now. This is serious!"
Reluctantly, Ayman dragged himself out of bed, his legs heavy with exhaustion. He shuffled toward the hallway, rubbing his eyes as he noticed Karim sitting in a chair, waiting for him. Karim held a croissant in his hand, extending it toward his younger brother.
"Come, eat this as your breakfast," Karim said. "My wife bought it for me earlier, but I was already full."
Ayman blinked in surprise. "Ah, you brought me a… corrisan… corriass…" He stumbled over the word, then grinned slyly. "Croissant! Should I say it like the French people? Like Marwa when she buys it?"
He mimicked his sister-in-law's accent, exaggerating it comically, but Karim didn't crack a smile. "Okay, eat it and sit down. We need to talk."
Ayman noticed the seriousness in Karim's tone. Swallowing his teasing, he sat down, wolfed down the croissant, and took a long sip of water. "What's going on?" he asked.
Karim leaned forward, his expression unyielding. "I talked to Ammar—someone I know—and asked him to help find you a job. He told me there's a group of construction workers who need help in the neighborhood alley. It's the building behind the school. They're hiring, and they need men to work. Tomorrow, you start sleeping normally because the day after, you'll be working with them."
Ayman froze, his mouth hanging open. "Construction worker? No way!" he blurted, his voice filled with disdain.
His mother, sensing the tension, stepped in. "Please, son. It's a decent job, and you'll earn good money after that!"
Ayman shot to his feet, his frustration boiling over. "Money? After I break every bone in my body? No way!"
Karim's voice rose, matching Ayman's intensity. "You will do it! You've been jobless for months, and all you do is cause problems. Two days ago, you were apprehended by the police, and if it weren't for me, you'd still be locked up! You need to stay away from Farid and his stupid gang!"
Ayman's fists clenched as he shouted, "No way!" He caught himself before cursing, glancing at his mother's disapproving face. "Fu… I mean, look—I can't do this! I can't work like this. I need a better job!"
Karim smirked, his eyes hard. "A better job? With what experience? With what diplomas? You know how hard it is to find work without those! At least with construction, you'll be surrounded by decent, hardworking men—men who sacrifice every day to feed their families. That's what I did years ago before I became a policeman!"
Ayman shook his head, his voice defiant. "I don't care! I'm not doing it!"
His mother stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Ayman, please listen to your brother. This could be a new beginning for you."
But Ayman's anger drowned out her gentle plea. Karim, meanwhile, was losing his patience.
"Stop being stubborn!" Karim shouted. "Do you think life is easy? Do you think you'll just stumble upon some miracle? Wake up, Ayman! You're not a kid anymore. It's time to take responsibility!"
The hallway buzzed with tension as the two brothers locked eyes, neither willing to back down. Ayman could feel the weight of their expectations pressing on him, suffocating him. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but he held himself back, his chest heaving with suppressed frustration.
"I'll think about it," he muttered finally, storming back to his room and slamming the door behind him.
His mother sighed, looking at Karim with concern. "He's just lost, Karim. Be patient with him."
Karim shook his head, his face stern. "He doesn't have time to be lost anymore. He needs to wake up before it's too late."
Karim ran his hands through his hair, his face flushed with frustration as his mother stood quietly beside him. His voice rose, sharp and cutting through the air.
"Does he think he's better than me and the other men who worked construction? Does he?" Karim's voice cracked, the words tinged with both anger and pain. "I worked my ass off in construction! I broke my back helping neighbors with their projects, even for less money—just to help them, to help you, and to help him! Yes, I did it for you, Ayman!"
He shouted his brother's name toward the closed door, his voice reverberating through the small house.
His mother placed a hand on his arm, trying to soothe him. "Karim, please…"
But Karim pulled away, pacing furiously. "No, Mom, I'm done with this nonsense. He thinks he can waste his life and drag us down with him? I swear, if he stays with Farid and his gang, I'll send the police over there myself! I'll have them apprehend everyone—including your son!"
His mother gasped, clutching her chest as though the words struck her physically. "Karim, no! Please, don't do that. He's still your brother. Please…" Her voice broke with desperation.
But Karim wouldn't relent. His eyes burned with conviction as he continued, his tone firm and resolute. "Sooner or later, Farid is going to jail for his actions. You know it, Mom. And if Ayman stays with him, he'll end up in the same place. Is that what you want?"
Ayman, sitting in his room, could hear every word. The heated argument pierced through the thin walls, each word landing like a blow. His fists clenched, and his jaw tightened. Anger brewed inside him—not just at Karim, but at himself. He hated feeling trapped, hated being judged, hated how helpless he felt.
His mother's voice trembled as she called out to him. "Ayman, you heard that! Please, son, stay away from Farid and start this work. Do it for me, if not for yourself."
Ayman took a deep breath, his voice flat and emotionless as he replied through the door. "Yeah, sure."
Karim, still simmering with anger, marched toward Ayman's room. He pushed the door open, glaring down at his younger brother. "And one more thing," he said sharply. "If my wife hears you swear again, I'll kick your ass!"
Ayman blinked, caught off guard. "What? She told you?"
"No," Karim replied, his voice laced with irritation. "It was Mom. She told me you cursed while she was cleaning. That's why she was upset yesterday morning."
Their mother appeared in the doorway, wringing her hands nervously. "Karim, I told you—he didn't mean it! He didn't even see her upstairs. He was talking to his friends when he came through the door!"
Ayman's eyes widened as he realized his mother had covered for him with a lie. He looked at her, stunned, and then back at Karim, whose face softened only slightly.
"I don't care," Karim said firmly. "He should never curse around the house like that. I won't let my future child grow up around a drunk loser uncle who swears all the time."
The words hit Ayman like a punch to the stomach. The weight of them sank deep into his chest, tearing at his pride and resolve. Tears began to well in his eyes, and he quickly looked away, trying to hide them.
Karim turned on his heel, his mother following him anxiously. "Please, Karim, calm down," she begged. "He'll start working. Don't worry, son."
But her reassurances felt hollow to Ayman. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving him alone in the suffocating silence of his room. He buried his face in his hands, the tears coming freely now. The truth hurt more than he could bear—no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to prove himself, he was still just a loser in their eyes.
For the first time, he didn't feel angry at Karim. He felt ashamed. The weight of his brother's words and the disappointment in his mother's eyes crushed him.
As the morning sun streamed weakly through the window, Ayman sat there, his shoulders trembling. His tears were silent, but the anguish they carried was deafening.
Ayman sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. His brother's words echoed in his mind like a hammer striking an anvil, over and over. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. The humiliation, the shame, the burning anger—it all churned inside him like a storm, and he felt like he would explode.
With trembling hands, he reached for his phone, his vision blurry from the tears still streaming down his face. He wiped them away roughly, taking a sharp breath to steady himself. Scrolling through his contacts, he found Nadir's name and pressed the call button.
It only rang once before Nadir picked up. "Yo, Ayman! What's up?"
Ayman's voice cracked as he started to speak, but he quickly masked it with a tone of cold determination. "You still wanna go to Italy illegally, right?" he said, his voice low but firm.
Nadir sounded surprised. "Uh, yeah. Why?"
"I got you the money," Ayman continued, his voice tightening as the words left his mouth. "And I'm coming with you. Tonight."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Wait, are you serious?" Nadir asked, his tone now a mix of excitement and disbelief.
Ayman's throat tightened as he forced himself to continue. "Go make your calls. Prepare yourself. Tell your brother…" His voice faltered at the word brother, the pain slicing through him like a knife. He swallowed hard, pushing the emotion down, and continued. "Tell your brother to expect us tomorrow."
Nadir hesitated, sensing the tension in Ayman's voice. "You sure about this, man?"
Ayman's response was immediate, filled with anger and hatred, not just for his family, but for himself and the situation that had brought him to this point. "Yes, I'm sure!" he barked. "I've got a plan to get the money. We do it tonight. Get ready, and tomorrow we'll be celebrating with champagne in Palermo."
Nadir's tone shifted, now matching Ayman's intensity. "Hell yeah! Okay, man, I'll make the calls. Meet you tonight."
Ayman ended the call abruptly, his hands shaking as he dropped the phone onto the bed beside him. He stared blankly at the wall, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The words he had spoken replayed in his mind, the finality of them sinking in.
"Fuck this," he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with rage and despair. He stood up, pacing the small room, his fists still clenched. "They want me to be a man? I'll show them how to be a fucking man!"
The weight of his decision pressed down on him, but it was too late to turn back now. Ayman had made his choice—a choice born of anger, desperation, and the deep, gnawing need to prove himself.