Whether the outcome is good or bad, the future will unfold exactly as the chapter dictates.
But who wrote that chapter? God? A human? Or was it God himself, disguised as the author?
It doesn't matter.
What matters is the pen that held, guided, unstoppable.
The chapter is already written. The ink cannot be erased.
We cannot see the full path ahead. We cannot grasp all the consequences. We can only notice fragments, small signs, and hope to understand what is coming.
But hope is meaningless. A chapter does not bend for understanding.
Is that a chapter? Or is it a trap?
Is Fahad's fate like everyone else's?
No. He is different. He cannot grow like a good man, a normal child. He cannot escape the design of his chapter.
Perhaps the author of his life erred, but even error has weight.
Even mistake carries inevitability.
Fahad's chapter unfolds as it must.
And nothing, not tears, not will, not courage, can change it.
Fahad stood face to face with the truth.
And as he looked at it, tears spilled from his eyes.
Then he began to laugh,
hard, broken laughter
as the tears continued without pause.
Something inside him came undone.
Control slipped away.
Frostbite couldn't bear to see him like that.
Yet he understood that anyone who laughs like a madman in unbearable pain is carrying an ocean of it inside.
He didn't stop Fahad.
He stood there in silence.
Because the more pain Fahad released now,
the less would remain trapped within him later. That release would not bring his brother back. Nothing could.
But perhaps, when there was no longer any pain left to spill, Fahad might be able to become human again.
With that thought,
Frostbite let him be.
Then, suddenly, a car pulled up behind them and stopped.
Before either of them could react, Colonel Jafar burst out of the vehicle, crossed the distance in seconds, and pressed an injection into Fahad's neck.
Fahad's body stiffened for a moment.
Then everything went away.
He collapsed where he stood, unconscious, the truth still open in front of him.
Fahad opened his eyes.
He found himself in a completely white room, lying on a narrow bed.
He tried to sit up, only then did he realize his arms and legs were bound tightly to the bed. He struggled, but the restraints didn't give.
He didn't scream.
He didn't call for help.
He only felt.
From the right, the sound of hooves echoed softly.
A figure dressed entirely in white approached on a white horse. The face was hidden behind a white mask. The figure dismounted and stepped closer.
Standing before him, Fahad asked quietly,
"Where am I?"
The man in white replied,
"You are in heaven."
Fahad laughed under his breath.
"Then you brought the wrong man."
Without warning, a chair appeared beside the bed, as if conjured out of nothing. The man in white sat down and asked calmly,
"What is your name?"
"Fahad Al Karim," Fahad replied.
The man tilted his head.
"And what if I told you that your name isn't Fahad Al Karim?"
"That your brother was never Farooq ibn Faisal?"
"That your father was never Sheikh Faisal?"
"That your friend was never Wayne Kawakami?"
"That your uncle was never Jafar Al Faris?"
A pause.
"What if I told you none of them ever existed?"
"What if I told you they are nothing more than errors in your mind?"
As the words settled, the man in white vanished.
Then,
the dead came running.
Jafar.
Farooq.
Faisal.
Frostbite.
Juliana.
Their lifeless bodies rushed toward Fahad, reaching for him.
Suddenly, Fahad's eyes snapped open.
He leapt up from the bed, gasping for air.
It was over.
Everything, had been a nightmare.
Fahad looked around and realized he was home.
From beside him, Frostbite said calmly,
"You're safe. You're at home."
Fahad turned to his left.
Colonel Jafar was sitting there.
Frostbite spoke again, filling the silence.
"We forgot to end the call. Juliana answered it… and strange things started happening. But within two or three minutes, everything returned to normal."
Fahad nodded slowly, accepting it.
"Where's Juliana?"
"Asleep," Frostbite replied.
Elsewhere,
in a police department in New York City.
A woman stood at the front desk, filing a report.
Her voice was shaking as she said she hadn't been able to find her young child since last night.
To be continued...