A warm, heavy breath. A sweat-soaked T-shirt. A pair of running shoes that had clearly seen their fair share of effort and dedication. Soft music played in the background.
A fourteen-year-old boy ran along one of the roads of Clear Lake, Iowa, surrounded by lush greenery, heading home at six-thirty in the morning.
"I'm a bit late today. I need to hurry and get ready for school. Being late isn't like me."
Oh, right! Who am I? Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.
Let me tell you my story from the very beginning.
My name is Nour Ethan Kowal.
Weird, isn't it? Something about it feels... off?
I was born to an Egyptian mother and an American father. Though I never saw her outside of pictures, I inherited her features entirely. She passed away while giving birth to me due to severe bleeding. I was a complete replica of her—Middle Eastern features, fair skin with a Mediterranean touch, thick wavy black hair, and deep brown eyes.
After my mother's death, I was left with only two people in my family: my father, whom I don't have many memories with. He's still alive, but he travels a lot for work. That's how he met my mother during one of his trips to Egypt. They met at a conference, fell in love quickly, and she moved with him to America.
And then, there's my sister, Ward. She's five years older than me, and she's the one who raised me.
Ward was always kind, supportive, and smart enough to solve any problem. But when she got angry... running away was the only option! Still, she made me feel safe. Maybe she was the greatest blessing in my life.
When we were younger, we spent most of our time at relatives' or my father's friends' houses while he was away. Every now and then, he left me with different people—new faces constantly. No matter how long I stayed with them, I always knew the time would come for me to leave, so I learned not to get attached. It made me distant, detached from most people.
But one thing never changed: Ward. And because of that, I clung to her even more.
When I got a little older and started school, we moved back to live alone in our house. I was lucky she went to the same school as me; it made the early years pass peacefully without trouble.
As for our names, my mother chose them and made my father promise to keep them. Because he loved her so much, he didn't argue.
"Nour" means the morning light shining from the sun—bringing warmth, safety, and hope.
And "Ward," which means "rose," was a perfect choice. Everyone smiles when they see flowers; their beauty brings joy to people's faces. That describes her perfectly.
My mother was a romantic, and it seems I inherited that from her too.
I arrived home at a quarter to seven. It was a large, luxurious house surrounded by a vast garden, but it never felt warm... at least, not when Ward wasn't there.
I took a quick shower, changed out of my sweat-soaked clothes, and got ready for a new day.
At exactly seven o'clock, with the sound of the alarm ringing, I stood outside the house, waiting for the big yellow school bus. Even though the school wasn't far, I liked taking the bus for two reasons:
First, to meet my friends, Tariq and Jimmy.
The bus arrived. As I stepped inside, I smiled and said,
"Good morning, Mr. Martin!"
The bus driver was a man in his fifties, always smiling, giving off a sense of warmth and friendliness.
"Good morning, Nour."
I walked to the back seat, where Tariq and Jimmy were sitting.
"Morning, genius!" I said to Tariq.
"Morning, Nour."
Tariq had Arab roots—tan skin, coarse black hair. He always wore blue clothes... I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was his favorite color.
His family had moved to America and settled here. They owned a bakery, and he had a younger twin brother and sister. Tariq was kind and incredibly smart when it came to technology. He was thrilled when he found out I had Arab heritage because, for once, he felt like someone truly understood him. Since he arrived five years ago, we had been friends.
I looked at the seat by the window and said,
"Morning, maestro. Why do you look so grumpy?"
Jimmy replied in a voice filled with mild frustration,
"Good morning, Nour. I tried calling you so many times yesterday, but you didn't pick up."
I smiled awkwardly, running a hand through my hair. "Sorry, I was a little busy."
He looked at me skeptically. "Don't tell me you got lost in another book and spent your entire weekend shut in your room again?"
I let out a small laugh.
"Well... yeah, that's exactly what happened."
I loved reading. I read about all sorts of things, no matter how strange they were. I always found myself lost in the world of whatever book I was reading, living alongside the characters. Sometimes, I'd stop reading midway just to imagine myself as the protagonist—or even another character.
It might sound odd, but it gave me a great feeling. Maybe it was because I was always looking for ways to escape reality... even if just for a day. And I don't think I was the only one who felt that way.
I sighed deeply and said, a hint of apology in my voice, "You know me too well. Sorry, I'll make it up to you next time."
Jimmy scoffed. "Sure, sure... like you say every time! Don't worry about it. I just wanted you to come to the game with me."
Jimmy was my childhood friend. We didn't live in the same neighborhood, but that didn't stop us from being friends for years. Honestly, if there was one person I could tell everything to, it was him—along with Ward.
Jimmy was American—fair skin, blond hair, bright blue eyes. He was incredibly popular at school and ridiculously talented at sports.
We played on the school team together, but he took it seriously. He dreamed of going pro. Meanwhile, I played just for fun—to burn off my excess energy.
He was an only child. His family owned a chain of restaurants and grocery stores, meaning he was one of the richest kids in town. But I had never seen an ounce of arrogance in him—unlike some other guys.
He was annoyingly perfect... but I loved him for it.
I pulled out my earbuds, put them in, and leaned my head against the window, getting lost in the passing scenery.