The internet café in Imbaba smelled of stale smoke and overheated computers. It was a dungeon of screens and shouting kids playing Counter-Strike from twenty years ago.
Karim sat in a corner booth. He was staring at a monitor that flickered every few seconds.
"Come on," Karim muttered. "Load, you piece of shit."
He was trying to upload a highlight reel. Not of him. Of Hassan.
He had filmed it on Mo's phone (which Mo claimed was an iPhone 25, but was actually a Nokia taped to a camera lens). The video showed Hassan sprinting past tuk-tuks, dribbling around stray cats, and scoring goals against garage doors.
Title: THE EGYPTIAN FLASH. SPEED 99. SKILL 99.
"Upload complete," Karim sighed, hitting enter.
He leaned back in the broken plastic chair.
It had been six months since he woke up in Cairo. Six months of dust, heat, and street football.
He was tired. He missed grass. He missed balls that were actually round. He missed referees who didn't smoke during the game.
