The searing heat of the Dubai desert had long given way to the cool, air-conditioned confines of the sheikh's mansion, but Ali's heart burned with turmoil. His body was weak from the last punishment—his attempt to escape had failed miserably. His ribs ached, his wrists bore deep cuts from the tight ropes, and yet his resolve remained unbroken. The gardener, his only true ally now, had nursed him back to a semblance of health, but Ali knew he was running out of time. The sheikh's wrath was far from spent.
Ali sat alone in the servant quarters, his thoughts racing. Sonia's last words before she was dragged away echoed in his mind. "Don't trust anyone, Ali. Not even the ones you think you know." He clenched his fists. He didn't need the warning to know that the walls around him were riddled with treachery. Yet, he hadn't expected Malick to be one of those he needed to fear.
The door creaked open, and Ali's heart jumped. He turned sharply, expecting one of the sheikh's guards. Instead, it was Malick.
"Ali," Malick's voice was calm, almost too calm, as he stepped inside.
Ali froze, staring at his old friend. The man who stood before him looked like Malick—his features were the same, his voice unchanged—but there was something in his eyes that Ali didn't recognize. The Malick he had known was gone, replaced by someone cold and distant.
"What are you doing here?" Ali asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Malick closed the door behind him, his movements deliberate. He didn't answer right away, instead letting his gaze sweep over Ali, taking in the bruises, the cuts, the hollow cheeks. A flicker of something—pity? regret?—crossed his face, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.
"I heard you tried to escape," Malick said finally, his tone neutral. "That was foolish."
Ali rose slowly, his body protesting with every movement. "Foolish?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Foolish is staying here, living like this. You can't tell me you've accepted this life, Malick."
Malick's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Accepted it? I've done more than accept it, Ali. I've embraced it."
The words hit Ali like a blow. He took a step back, shaking his head. "No. No, you haven't. This isn't you, Malick. This isn't who you are."
"Who I am?" Malick laughed, a harsh, hollow sound. "Who I am is a survivor. Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I had a choice? You're still clinging to your ideals, Ali, still dreaming of escape, of freedom. But there is no escape. There is no freedom. There is only survival."
Ali's jaw tightened. "Survival at what cost? Look at yourself, Malick. Look at what you've become."
"What I've become?" Malick stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I've become what I needed to be to survive. And you know what, Ali? You're no better. You think you're different, but you're not. You're just as desperate, just as willing to do whatever it takes. The only difference is, I've accepted it. You're still lying to yourself."
Ali's hands balled into fists at his sides. "You don't know me."
"I know you better than anyone," Malick shot back. "We grew up together, remember? I know what you're capable of, Ali. And I know that, deep down, you're just like me. You'll do whatever it takes to survive, just like I did."
The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved pain. Ali wanted to scream, to lash out, to shake his friend and make him see reason. But he didn't. Instead, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.
"You can still walk away from this, Malick," he said quietly. "You don't have to stay here. We can leave. Together."
Malick's expression softened for a brief moment, and for a fleeting second, Ali thought he had gotten through to him. But then Malick's eyes hardened again, and he shook his head.
"It's too late for that, Ali. It's too late for me."
"It's never too late," Ali insisted, taking a step forward.
Malick raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't," he warned. "Don't make this harder than it already is."
"What are you talking about?" Ali asked, his voice trembling.
Malick looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I didn't come here to reminisce, Ali. I came here to do what needs to be done."
Ali's heart sank as the realization dawned on him. "You're working for him," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Malick didn't answer, but he didn't have to. The guilt in his eyes said it all.
"Why?" Ali demanded, his voice breaking. "Why would you do this?"
"Because I don't have a choice," Malick said, his voice cracking. "You think this is easy for me? You think I want to do this? But if I don't… if I don't…"
He trailed off, his voice choked with emotion.
"If you don't, what?" Ali pressed, his anger rising. "If you don't, he'll kill you? He'll punish you? So what? At least you'd still have your dignity, Malick. At least you'd still have your soul."
"My soul?" Malick laughed bitterly. "My soul is already gone, Ali. It was gone the moment I stepped into this place."
Ali stared at him, his chest heaving with a mix of anger and despair. He wanted to hate Malick, to curse him for his betrayal, but he couldn't. Because deep down, he understood. He understood the fear, the desperation, the hopelessness that had driven his friend to this point.
"I can't let you do this," Ali said finally, his voice firm.
Malick's jaw tightened. "You don't have a choice."
The two men stood there, staring at each other, their friendship hanging by a thread. And then, without warning, Malick lunged.
Ali was ready. He dodged the first blow, his instincts kicking in, and countered with a punch of his own. The two men grappled, their movements clumsy and desperate. They weren't fighters; they were survivors, and this was a fight for survival.
"Stop this, Malick!" Ali shouted, struggling to gain the upper hand. "You don't have to do this!"
"Yes, I do!" Malick shouted back, his voice filled with anguish.
Their fight was brutal and chaotic, fueled by years of pain and betrayal. But in the end, it was Ali who came out on top. He pinned Malick to the ground, his hands wrapped tightly around his throat.
"Do it," Malick rasped, his eyes filled with tears. "Do it, Ali. End it."
Ali's grip faltered, his hands trembling. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill his friend.
Instead, he released him, stumbling back and falling to his knees.
Malick sat up, coughing and gasping for air. He looked at Ali, his expression unreadable.
"You're a fool," he said finally.
"Maybe," Ali said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'd rather be a fool than a monster."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, without another word, Malick got to his feet and walked away, leaving Ali alone with his thoughts.
As the door closed behind him, Ali knew that their friendship was over. The boy he had grown up with was gone, replaced by a man he no longer recognized.
And yet, despite everything, Ali couldn't bring himself to hate him. Because deep down, he knew that if their roles were reversed, he might have made the same choices.
The thought chilled him to the bone.