LÍO

E I D

Inside the apartment complex, tensions are rising as the Saids finish checking themselves over in the mirror:

Zara's wearing a pair of jeans, a white, long sleeved shirt and the hijab that her ex boyfriend, Jaleel bought her.

Adam's slipped on a green short-sleeved shirt, sunglasses, shorts and a necklace that says 'Allah' on it.

Mahmoud's wearing a white Kurta Pajama set with plain, white trainers.

"Why can't you be a good kid and go to the Mosque like your Sister?" Mahmoud asks Adam, fixing his cap onto his head.

Adam turns around to look at him. "Because I'm not her. I'm Adam Said. Not Zara."

"You shouldn't be wearing silk, either." Mahmoud sighs. "In fact, you shouldn't be dressed like one of those hipsters at all."

"Why?"

"You know why. You should be respecting the code of the Mos—"

"—I'm not even praying. I'm just going for the party afterwards."

"Of course you are. I don't know why my brother even invited you in the first place. You didn't even observe Ramadan this year."

"Maybe I'm his favourite nephew?" Adam winks jokingly as he waits for Mahmoud to finish up. Irene walks in, sighing. "What?"

"Please, listen to your Baba—"

"—I am, and it's hurting my ears—"

"—And I'd like you to apologise for being disrespectful."

"Why are you sticking up for him? You can barely even tolerate each other anymore."

Mahmoud pulls him over to the side. "I'm not bringing you with us now."

"Why?"

"So you can reflect on how disrespectful you've been." Mahmoud adds, grabbing the car keys. "Find your own way over."

Adam sighs, watching his family begin to walk away.

After several missed calls and attempts at calling a bus, he decides to call it a day. Uncle Amir's place is too far away.

And he doesn't have enough money to get a taxi there and back again, nor does he want to face his Baba.

Sighing, he tries once more to make a call to Adnan, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. No response, once again.

Finishing the rest of his cigarette, he slowly trudges back inside, deflated. Ready for a nap.

Across the city, things are kicking off.

The celebrations are underway and are being done Amir Said style. Larger than life, and in a palace fit for a king, everyone's enjoying themselves.

He hopes that no-one will leave disappointed:

"Who wants shots?" Amir asks with a smile etched across his face.

Mahmoud raises his eyebrows. "Shots of what?"

"Mint tea. Or coffee, if you're feeling daring."

"And what else?"

Amir shrugs. "Whatever else you want." He looks around the room. "Where's my favourite nephew?"

"He's not here."

"Why?"

Mahmoud sighs. "He was rude and disrespectful to his parents."

"He's not a little kid anymore."

"He still lives at my house. He's at home, stewing over things."