OTHERS: Five elements

CHAPTER 4.3: EARTH

20 September 2032, 07:00 PM

I nearly slept through dinner. The moment I got home around three, my body gave out. I didn't even take off my shoes. I lay down on the thin mattress in my room and let the exhaustion pull me under. By the time I woke up, the apartment was filled with the scent of mom's dinner. I rubbed my eyes and stumbled to the kitchen, just as Amal called out: 

- "If you don't hurry, we'll eat everything!"

- "Sleepyhead," Samir added, flashing a grin. "You missed the fire. Amal almost burned the bread."

- "Liar," she shot back, already scooping food onto plates. "It was perfect. Golden brown. Like always." 

 I chuckled, still groggy. I sat cross-legged at our low wooden table. The meal was humble—lentil stew, bread, and a small dish of olives. But to me, it was a feast. The smells, the warmth, the people—it all felt like home. 

My mother sat beside me. Her face was thinner these days, her breathing shallow. But when she looked at me, her eyes still sparkled with life. 

-  "You worked hard today," she said gently, placing her hand on mine. 

-  "I always do," I said.

After we gave thanks to God for the meal, we dug in. At one moment, my sister looked over at me.

- "You're smiling." 

 - "Am I?" 

-  "Yes," Samir said, raising a brow. "You never smile after a hard work day. Did something happen?" 

-  "You meet someone?" Amal  leaned in with mock curiosity. "A girl?" 

-  "No girl," I said, laughing. "Just... a soldier. Foreign. Got lost and asked me for directions." 

-  "You smiled because of a soldier?" Samir asked. "Was he funny?" 

- "He tried to speak Arabic. Badly." 

 That made them all laugh. 

-  "Did you help him?" my mother asked. 

-  "I did. He was kind. Curious. Said he was here on a mission. Something about... strange people showing up in Egypt lately. But he had a free day and wanted to visit the museum." 

-  "Which one?" Amal asked. 

-  "He said the Egyptian Museum. The old one in Tahrir Square."

Hamza leaned forward. 

- "Did he know about the pyramids?" 

-  "He loves them. Said he visited the Valley of the Kings too. Talked about pharaohs and mythology like he grew up on it."

- "Sounds like a kind man", my mother said. 

After dinner, I helped Amal clear the plates while Samir wiped the table. Mama leaned back in her chair, her hands folded over her stomach, a soft smile on her lips. 

-  "Thank you, Hiba," she said. 

-  "I didn't do anything." 

-  "You do everything," she whispered. 

 I kissed the top of her head, and then I slipped away to the rooftoop. I took my box of pencils and a few blank sheets of paper. And I started to draw him. Mark. His features came back to me easily—his pale skin, his blonde hair, the intensity of his blue eyes. But it was his smile I kept drawing. It wasn't perfect. But it was real. It had stayed with me. It pulled something deep inside me I didn't fully understand.As I sketched, I felt something strange. A warmth I didn't recognize.I was used to being ignored. People saw the worn shoes, the rough hands, the patched shirts. To them, I was just another poor boy, another shadow on the street. Sometimes not even worth a second glance. I have no friends. No one wants to be friends with someone poor. I tried to find someone to share my life with, but that didn't work either. So I narrowed my life down to work and providing for my family.

Most days, I feel invisible—seen only when needed to carry something, lift something, fix something. Useful, never valuable.But today... today a stranger had looked at me without pity or impatience. Mark hadn't brushed me off. He could've. Many like him do. But he tried to speak to me. In my language. That simple kindness—it broke something open inside me.I stared at the drawing. His smile on the page wasn't just a detail. It was a reminder. That maybe not everyone saw me as lesser. I didn't know why that mattered so much. But it did.Maybe it was because deep down, I feared I would never be more than this. A worker. A shadow. Someone who gave everything and still went unnoticed.But tonight, something shifted.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the dry air. My thoughts drifted to Samir and Amal. I pray they would never feel the loneliness I had. I pray their dreams would not be swallowed.Let them rise. Let them fly. Even if I have to stay on the ground. 

I stood, gathered my things, and climbed back down. The apartment was quiet. My family slept peacefully, unaware of the storm I felt—and the strange peace that followed. I lay down on my mattress, still thinking of stars, of kindness, and of things left unspoken. Tomorrow, I had to mow the rich man's lawn. As I thought about the work ahead, my eyes drifted back to the sketch. After a few minutes, they grew heavy. The paper slipped gently from my hand, and I drifted into sleep—with a pencil sketch and a quiet hope resting on my chest.