Ayman''s fist crashes against the frayed upholstery of the car seat, the dull thud reverberating through the cramped space. His breathing is erratic, shallow, and uneven, as though the weight of his anger is suffocating him. His jaw is so tightly clenched that the veins on his neck bulge, his teeth grinding audibly. The car smells faintly of sweat and stale air, but Ayman''s rage fills it like an oppressive force.
He stares out the window for a moment, his knuckles whitening as he grips his thighs, and then his voice slices through the tense silence. It’s raw and venomous, filled with the bitterness of years spent fighting a battle he feels is rigged against him.
Ayman’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade, raw and indignant. His hands trembled, whether from the lingering adrenaline or the sheer outrage boiling inside him. He glared at Karim, his eyes blazing with fury.
"The policeman hit me hard, Karim!" he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "And you... you offer him drinks? What the hell is wrong with you? So unfair."
His words hits in the small, old car, the accusation hanging thick in the air. The muscles in Ayman’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. He couldn’t believe it—his brother, his blood, had shown respect to the same men who had left him bruised and battered.
Karim, gripping the steering wheel tightly, let out a sharp exhale. His knuckles whitened, but his expression remained calm—too calm for Ayman’s liking. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward his younger brother, the disappointment etched deep into his face.
"Unfair?" Karim’s voice was low but firm, carrying an edge that made Ayman’s anger falter. "It’s more than fair that you got your ass kicked in that police station."
Ayman recoiled slightly, his defiance wavering under the weight of Karim’s words. Karim leaned forward slightly, his tone sharpening as his frustration began to spill over.
"Do you have any idea what you were doing? Risking your life like some reckless idiot? You think it’s a game, Ayman? You think I should have stood there and scolded the officer after he could’ve thrown you in jail—or worse?"
Karim’s hands tightened around the wheel again, his voice rising just enough to show his anger without losing control.
"You’re lucky, damn lucky, that I got called to pick you up. Do you even understand that? If I hadn’t come, you’d still be sitting in that cell, or worse, lying in some hospital bed—or worse than that, lying in the ground. And what would that have proven, huh? What would Mom have done then?"
Ayman opened his mouth to argue, but Karim’s glare stopped him cold. His brother’s frustration wasn’t just about the police—it was about him. About the choices Ayman kept making and the way those choices rippled out to everyone around him.
The tension between them was thick, the air in the car suffocating. Ayman looked away, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to swallow the anger, the guilt, the shame swirling inside him. But the words Karim had said refused to leave him, echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat.
"... Fair? fair, Karim? You don’t get it, do you?" His voice is sharp, almost spitting the words. "The world’s a fucking joke! A bunch of assholes in charge, screwing over people like us. The cops—they’ve got the power, they abuse it, and they think they can do whatever the hell they want. And no one says shit, because they’re the ones holding all the cards!"
Ayman’s entire body trembles as he speaks, his hands balling into tight fists that rest on his knees. His wide, furious eyes lock onto Karim’s profile, daring him to argue.
"This world is unfair, Karim, and I don’t care what you say!" he continues, his voice cracking slightly from the intensity of his emotion. "I didn’t choose this life! I didn’t ask to be born into this mess, but here I am, stuck with it, stuck with all the goddamn consequences!"
The car suddenly jerks as Karim slams his hand onto the steering wheel, the horn letting out a brief, startled honk. His jaw is tight, his face a mask of simmering anger that threatens to boil over. He grips the wheel so hard his knuckles turn ghostly white, and when he finally speaks, his voice is trembling—but not with fear. It’s the controlled fury of someone who has reached his limit.
"Unfair? Unfair?!" Karim’s voice rises with incredulity, his head snapping toward Ayman. "You’re talking to me about fairness, Ayman? You think you’re the only one who’s had it hard? You think I don’t know what unfair feels like?"
Karim leans forward, his back rigid, as if bracing himself to physically withstand the storm between them. His breath comes in shallow bursts, his face illuminated intermittently by the passing streetlights.
"You get money every damn day, from me and from our mother!" he snarls, his words cutting like knives. "And you sit there whining about fairness, and you don’t even see it. You don’t see what she’s done—what I’ve done—for you!"
The air in the car feels heavier, the tension palpable as Karim’s voice takes on a sharp edge, years of frustration and suppressed pain surfacing all at once.
"While you were off running around, refusing to finish school, refusing to work, she was out there, Ayman—breaking her back, collecting bottles, just to keep us fed. Just to keep a roof over our heads! And you? You sit here, complaining about the cops like they’re the ones ruining your life?"
Ayman flinches, the weight of Karim’s words hitting him like a physical blow. He looks down at his hands, the rage in his chest warring with the sting of guilt creeping into his stomach. But before he can respond, Karim’s voice surges again, louder this time, fueled by a well of anger that seems endless.
"You think you’ve had it tough? You think you’re the only one who’s suffered?" Karim’s voice dips lower, a growl that is as much sorrow as it is fury. "Our father drowned trying to escape this life, Ayman. Drowned, chasing some dream of fairness in Italy. He abandoned us, left us to pick up the pieces, to fend for ourselves! And I had to step up. I had to take care of you while Mom worked herself into the ground, while she aged faster than anyone should have to!"
Karim’s words hang in the air like a cloud of smoke, thick and suffocating. His eyes glisten with unshed tears, his anger bleeding into something deeper, something more vulnerable.
"And now you’re sitting here," he says, his voice quieter but no less biting, "crying about unfairness like you’ve had it worse than anyone else. Like you’ve carried the weight of this family on your back. What the hell is that, Ayman?!"
For a moment, the car is filled only with the sound of their labored breathing. The streetlights outside blur past them, the city an indifferent witness to the brothers’ storm. Ayman doesn’t respond, his throat tight, his mind a whirlwind of anger, guilt, and shame.
Karim’s words strike like daggers, each syllable cutting deeper into Ayman’s defenses. They hang in the air, sharp and unyielding, leaving no room for rebuttal. Ayman’s gaze drops, his defiance faltering under the weight of his brother’s fury. His chest tightens, the burn of unspoken guilt creeping up his spine. For the first time since their argument began, the unshakable anger in his heart wavers.
The dim light of the dashboard casts shadows across Karim’s face, highlighting the lines of tension etched into his features. His hands remain firmly gripped on the steering wheel, the knuckles bone-white against the worn leather. He exhales shakily, trying to wrestle control of his emotions, but the tremor in his voice betrays the storm still raging within.
"So don’t you dare," Karim begins, his voice low and hoarse, trembling with the strain of years of pent-up frustration. "Don’t you dare sit there and tell me about unfairness."
His eyes flick briefly toward Ayman, a mixture of anger and heartbreak swirling in his gaze. It’s not just rage fueling his words—it’s pain, disappointment, and the unbearable weight of sacrifice.
"We’ve been fighting our whole damn lives, Ayman," Karim continues, his tone growing steadier but no less intense. His words carry the burden of a man who has shouldered more than his share of the world’s cruelty. "And for what? For you to turn around and throw it all away, like it means nothing? Like everything we’ve done, everything Mom has done, was just some pointless struggle?"Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
The car feels stifling, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them like a leaden fog. Ayman glances at Karim, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words come. His throat feels constricted, the lump of guilt and shame refusing to dislodge.
Karim leans back slightly, his grip on the wheel loosening but his shoulders still taut. He stares ahead, his jaw clenched, the rhythmic hum of the car engine the only sound cutting through the tense silence.
The air between them is thick with unspoken words, a chasm of resentment and love that neither knows how to bridge. Ayman swallows hard, the ache in his chest growing, but he says nothing, the silence heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.
The words hang in the air between them, a heavy silence falling as the car continues to roll down the empty streets. Ayman doesn’t know how to respond. His anger is still there, but now it’s mixed with a growing sense of shame, the realization of the sacrifices his mother and brother have made for him. He looks out the window, not knowing what to say.
The car rolls quietly through the dimly lit streets of Tunisia. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the cracked pavement and the faded buildings that line the road. Karim’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are pale, his jaw clenched as the weight of his emotions presses down on him. He doesn’t speak. The silence between him and Ayman is thick, suffocating, and for the first time in a long while, Karim doesn’t know how to break it.
Ayman, sitting in the passenger seat, hasn’t said a word since the explosion of anger moments ago. His silence is like a wall, and Karim feels every inch of it. He doesn’t understand how things got so bad between them, how they ended up in this mess. His eyes flicker over to Ayman once more, but the younger man is staring out of the window, his face unreadable, as if the words still hang heavy between them.
Karim’s eyes shift to the road ahead, but his mind is elsewhere. He can’t shake the thought of Ayman’s words—the way he threw out the idea of fairness as if it was some abstract concept, something beyond reach. It cuts deeper than Karim lets on. He breathes in, slow and steady, trying to calm the storm inside him. But as the car moves forward, the streets around him begin to blur, and his mind drifts back to everything that’s brought them here.
The streets of Tunisia stretch out before him—small, narrow roads that he’s driven a thousand times before. But tonight, they look different, as if they’re a reflection of everything that’s wrong in his life. The houses are rundown, the streets littered with trash, and the air, thick with the heat of the night, feels stifling. Karim’s thoughts spiral back to his childhood, to the days when they lived without a father. He remembers how, after their father disappeared, it was just him and his mother, scraping by, trying to make a life in a world that had already turned its back on them.
He watches the familiar sights—the old market square, the faded streetlights casting long shadows on the cracked sidewalks—and something in him twists. It all feels so broken, so lost. But what hurts more than the brokenness of the city, what hurts more than the lack of opportunities, is the way his brother, his own flesh and blood, can’t see the truth.
Karim shakes his head, his lips tight with frustration. He’s tired, so tired of the hopelessness that seeps through everything around him. He looks at the streets, the faces of people trudging through their lives, and he wonders how many of them have given up hope. How many of them just go along, accepting their fate, like his brother?
His eyes narrow as he thinks about Ayman’s words. Unfairness. As if it’s all just some cruel twist of fate, something they have no control over. Karim’s grip on the steering wheel tightens even more as his thoughts race. What does Ayman think? That this world owes him something? That because things have been tough, the world should just hand him an easy way out? Karim’s heart pounds in his chest, and his mind rages.
But then, as the car rounds a corner, Karim’s gaze falls on a dilapidated building—a crumbling, empty structure where once, long ago, there were families, children running through the streets, people who lived with hope. Now, it’s just a shell, forgotten and ignored. Karim’s thoughts slow for a moment as he stares at it, remembering how, when they were young, it was a place full of life.
He exhales sharply, his grip on the wheel loosening just a bit. He knows he can’t save the whole world, but damn it, he’s been trying to save his brother. He’s been trying to drag Ayman out of the darkness, out of the mess he’s gotten himself into. But how can he do that when Ayman refuses to see it?
The car takes a left turn, and the familiar sight of their old house comes into view. Karim’s chest tightens as he slows the car to a stop. The house is modest, small but solid, a roof over their heads, something they fought for, even when everything else felt impossible. It’s not much, but it’s theirs. He glances over at Ayman, still lost in his thoughts, staring out of the window. Karim’s jaw clenches again, a mixture of anger, frustration, and disappointment swirling inside him.
As the engine hums quietly, Karim takes a deep breath, looking out at the house. This place, this city, this life—it’s all he knows. He’s fought for it, and he’ll keep fighting. But right now, he can’t help but wonder: will Ayman ever see it the way he does? Will he ever realize that it’s not about fairness; it’s about surviving, about making something out of the nothing that life gives you?
Karim slams the car into park and kills the engine, his fingers still trembling slightly on the wheel. He exhales slowly, the weight of the night settling on him. He looks at Ayman again, silently hoping that somewhere deep down, his brother still has it in him to see the truth.
The car had barely come to a stop before the front door of the house burst open. Ayman’s mother, her face pale and filled with worry, stood in the doorway, her hands clutching the edges of the frame. As soon as her eyes locked on Ayman, the floodgates opened. Without a word, without hesitation, she sprinted toward him, her feet pounding the ground in a desperate rush to reach her son.
Ayman barely had time to get out of the car before his mother was there, her arms wrapping around him in a protective embrace. Her face was wet with tears, and her breath came in ragged gasps as she clung to him.
"Ayman, Ayman, are you okay? Are you okay, my son? What happened? Tell me!" Her voice cracked, raw with fear and love, as she pulled him close, almost as if she couldn’t believe he was standing there in front of her, alive.
Ayman stood frozen for a moment, the weight of her touch sinking in. For a second, he felt like a little boy again, small and fragile in his mother’s arms. But the harsh reality of the world, of everything that had just happened, washed over him, and he pulled away gently, trying to give her some space.
"I’m fine, mom. I’m fine. Please... I’m okay." His voice was steady, but his eyes told another story. He wasn’t okay. He was far from okay. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to her. She had enough to worry about already. He could see the fear in her eyes, the way her hands trembled as she reached for him again, her expression torn between relief and terror.
As she held onto him once more, people began to gather around the house, their whispers filling the air. Faces appeared at the windows, peering out into the street, their eyes wide with concern. A few of the neighbors came forward, faces etched with worry, their expressions dark with the same anxiety that Ayman’s mother felt.
"Ayman, are you okay? What happened?" one of the older men called out, his voice heavy with sympathy.
Ayman’s childhood friend, Malik, pushed his way through the small crowd, his expression a mix of anger and fear. He was tall, with rough hands that had known hard work, but his eyes now carried something softer—concern for his friend.
"What happened to you, Ayman? Tell me, what happened? I’ll... I’ll make them pay. You tell me who did this. Who hurt you?" Malik’s voice trembled with emotion, the loyalty in his words clear as he clenched his fists, ready to take action.
The crowd shifted, murmurs spreading like wildfire. People who had known Ayman his entire life, who had watched him grow up, were gathering around him now, their faces filled with sorrow and pity. It was clear they all cared for him, but there was a deep sadness in their eyes too.
Ayman felt the weight of their stares, the pity that hung in the air like a cloud. It was all too much. The anger that had simmered inside him from earlier began to rise again, but this time it wasn’t directed at his brother or the police—it was aimed at the world that had always seen him as a failure. He was supposed to be someone, to be more than this, but here he was, in the same place he had always been—broken, lost.
His mother, her hands still clutching him, pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he was truly okay. Her expression softened, but there was an undeniable ache in her gaze.
"Ayman, I know... I know things aren’t easy. But you’re my son. You’re good. You are good. No matter what the world tells you." Her words were whispered, almost to herself, as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, her fingers gently brushing the dirt from his skin.
Ayman swallowed hard, nodding slightly as he stood there, letting her words wash over him. He didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t feel good, that he was far from it. But for her sake, he just nodded, forcing a small smile onto his face.
"I’m fine, Mom. Please. Let’s go inside." His voice was strained, his emotions in turmoil, but he took a deep breath and turned to walk into the house, his mother close behind him.
As they entered, the crowd slowly dispersed, the whispers trailing off into the night. But Ayman could still feel their eyes on him, could still hear the unspoken judgment, the silent pity.
Inside, Karim stood by the door, his arms crossed, watching his mother with a pained expression. He said nothing as she passed, but the tension in the room was palpable. Ayman glanced at him, then looked away, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him again.
His mother, who had sacrificed so much for them, who had worked herself to the bone to give them a better life, was holding onto him as if he were still the little boy she had protected all those years ago. But Ayman knew something had changed. He had crossed a line, a point of no return, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever go back.
But for now, in this moment, he was her son, and she was his mother. And that was enough to make him feel, if only for a fleeting moment, that he wasn’t completely lost.