Guardians of the hidden city

Chapter 2

That night, Amal found herself at the base of Hassan Tower, gazing up at the massive red stone bathed in moonlight. The place was deserted, eerily quiet, with the kind of silence that made everything feel sharper, bigger, like she'd stumbled into a different world. She'd never seen it like this before. The columns, unfinished and stretching toward the sky, looked like the ruins of a forgotten city. She could almost imagine the place as it had once been—the grand dream of a sultan who had wanted to build the largest mosque in the world, only to leave it unfinished.

"You know the story?" Omar asked, leaning against one of the columns, his eyes on the dark skyline.

Amal shook her head, glancing over at him. "I know it's... old and mysterious?"

He chuckled. "Close. Sultan Yacoub al-Mansour wanted to build a mosque here, bigger than anything in Córdoba, but he died before it was completed. All that's left is the tower and these columns."

Amal looked up, taking in the melancholy beauty of the place. "It's amazing. It feels like it's... waiting for something."

"That's the thing with dreams," Omar said thoughtfully. "Sometimes they don't get finished, but that doesn't make them any less powerful."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the distant city filling the air. Amal's mind wandered, a thousand thoughts flitting around as always. She found herself drawn to Omar's quiet intensity, the way he seemed to look at everything with a focused reverence. It was so different from her own scattered, restless thoughts that darted from one thing to the next like a hummingbird.

As they wandered down the steps from the tower, Amal's phone buzzed. She pulled it out and saw a text from her mother: Where are you? It's late!

"Uh-oh. I think I might be in trouble," she muttered, biting her lip.

Omar glanced over. "How much trouble?"

"Not a ton, but maybe we should head back," she replied, flashing a grin to cover her nervousness. Her mom was patient, but even she had her limits.

They started down the hill, talking softly about everything and nothing—school, architecture, the way cities seemed to hold memories within their walls. Omar told her about a project he was working on in Marrakech, a model based on the layout of traditional riads. The way he described it was so vivid, she could practically see it, and she found herself hanging on every word.

Just as they reached the street, something unusual caught her eye. A figure stood at the edge of a narrow side alley, half-hidden in shadow. She couldn't make out much, but something about the way the person held themselves felt... off.

"Omar," she whispered, touching his arm. "Do you see that?"

He followed her gaze, his brow furrowing. The figure shifted, almost as if they knew they'd been seen, and turned, slipping into the shadows of the alley.

"Stay here," he said, his voice low but firm. Before she could protest, he moved toward the alley, leaving her standing alone under the streetlamp's cold light.

"Wait—Omar!" Amal hissed, glancing around, her pulse quickening. She listened as his footsteps faded around the corner, swallowed up by the narrow alley. Unable to stand still, she darted after him, her heart pounding. The alley was dim, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of a dying bulb, casting eerie shadows along the walls.

"Omar?" she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

She was met with silence.

Amal took a few tentative steps forward, the sound of her shoes echoing against the stone walls. Out of nowhere, something brushed against her shoulder. She spun around with a gasp, only to find Omar standing there, his face lit by a mischievous grin.