"Maa…? Maa! Where are you? I'm home."
The voice echoed softly through the house as Hamzah Al Qadir stepped inside. He had only just returned from the intense press conference that had placed the weight of a global mission upon his shoulders.
From the kitchen, the faint sound of utensils stopped. A moment later, his mother walked out, wiping her hands on the edge of her apron.
"So you're finally home," she said gently. "Go freshen up. I'll serve the food."
Hamzah smiled, the kind of tired smile that only appears after a long day of battles that aren't fought with weapons.
"I will eat," he replied softly, "but first tell me… where is my little princess?"
His mother looked at him with quiet affection before answering.
"Your little princess is sleeping."
Her name was Nusaiba Binte Noor—the only daughter of Hamzah Al Qadir.
She was just three years old.
Hamzah walked silently toward the small room and stopped at the doorway. Leaning against the doorframe, he stood there without moving, watching the peaceful face of the child sleeping on the bed.
The world outside spoke of him as a soldier… a commander… a man capable of terrifying violence.
But at that moment, he was only a father.
His mother slowly came and stood beside him. She looked at the sleeping child and then at her son.
"If Nusaiba's mother were alive today," she said quietly, "she would laugh seeing you like this. She would say—look at him… such a great commander of the world, and yet he stands here staring endlessly at the face of a three-year-old girl."
Hamzah let out a soft laugh.
But behind that laugh, there was a shadow of pain he could never hide.
Because the day Nusaiba was born…
was the same day his wife left this world forever.
It was well past midnight.
The world outside had fallen silent, wrapped in the deep stillness that only the late hours could bring.
Inside the dimly lit room, Hamzah Al Qadir lay asleep, his arm resting protectively around his little daughter. Nusaiba Binte Noor slept peacefully beside him, her tiny breaths soft and steady against the quiet darkness.
Then suddenly,
His phone began to ring.
The sharp vibration cut through the silence of the night.
Hamzah slowly opened his eyes. Careful not to wake Nusaiba, he gently moved his arm away and reached for the phone.
The call was coming from the Canadian Air Defence Force Headquarters.
On the other end was Noah Smith, the head of one of Canada's Air Defence sectors.
Hamzah answered.
A respectful voice came through the line.
"I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, Sir Hamzah. But I have something… rather urgent to discuss with you."
Hamzah quietly slipped out of the bed and walked toward the balcony. The cool night air brushed against his face as he stepped outside.
Leaning lightly against the railing, he replied in a calm voice.
"Go ahead. What is it you want to say?"
Noah spoke again.
"My name is Noah Smith, head of the Canadian Air Defence Force sector. I'm calling to inform you that our President, William Brown, has invited you to travel to our country tomorrow afternoon."
For a brief moment, the night remained silent.
Then Hamzah asked, his voice steady and unreadable:
"Are you asking me… or giving me an order?"
There was a pause on the other side of the line.
Noah remained quiet for a few seconds before answering carefully.
"President William would be very pleased to meet you in person."
A slight breath followed.
"But the decision… is entirely yours."
Hamzah said nothing more.
He simply ended the call.
Hamzah remained standing on the balcony for a long time after the call ended.
The night air was cold and quiet, the city beneath him wrapped in a deep, uneasy silence. His mind wandered through thoughts he could not easily silence.
Then, slowly, the darkness of the sky began to soften.
From a distant mosque, the Fajr Adhan rose into the air, its solemn melody breaking the stillness of the dawn.
Hamzah closed his eyes for a moment.
Soon after, he performed his prayer.
When he finished, he picked up his phone and made a call to the one person he trusted without hesitation—his childhood friend, Rayyan Al-Harith.
After the brief conversation, Hamzah walked quietly back into the room. Nusaiba Binte Noor was still asleep, her tiny body curled gently on the bed. He carefully pulled the blanket over her, making sure she stayed warm.
For a moment, he looked at her face again.
Then he turned away and left the house.
Outside, the early morning air carried the faint glow of sunrise across the city. Hamzah hailed a hover taxi, its silent engines lifting it smoothly above the streets as it carried him across the waking skyline.
A short time later, the vehicle stopped near the towering structure known as the Skybridge.
When Hamzah arrived, he saw that Rayyan Al-Harith was already there—sitting quietly, as if he had been waiting for quite some time.
Hamzah walked over and sat down across from Rayyan Al-Harith. The early morning light slowly spread across the Skybridge, painting the metal structures in pale gold.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Rayyan simply looked at Hamzah—studying his face, as if trying to read the thoughts hidden behind his calm expression.
Finally, Hamzah broke the silence.
"The Canadian President, William Brown, wants to meet me," he said quietly. "Do you think I should go?"
Rayyan leaned back slightly in his chair and let out a soft laugh.
"I'm just a simple paper merchant," he replied with a faint smile. "How could someone like me decide what a global commander should do?"
Hamzah's lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
"That's exactly why I asked you," he said.
He looked directly at Rayyan.
"Because you're smarter than I am."