Chapter 22, A Bond Too Strong To Break.

Omar arrived at Hasan's house for dinner, looking forward to a relaxing evening with his friend. As he stepped out of his car, he noticed Maher pulling up on his motorbike at the same time. Maher removed his helmet and greeted Omar with a warm smile. "Assalamualaikum, Maher! Did you just get off work? You're still in your police uniform."

Maher chuckled, nodding. "Waalaikumussalam. Yeah, just finished my shift. Didn't have time to go home and change. Hasan basically threatened to slander me if I didn't show up on time."

Omar laughed, shaking his head. "Same here! He told me if I was late or didn't come, he'd make sure everyone knew I was the worst friend in the world. I didn't have a choice!"

The two men shared a laugh, bonding over Hasan's relentless tactics. Just as they were about to continue their conversation, the front door swung open, revealing Hasan standing there with his arms crossed with an irritated expression on his face. "Are you two planning to stand on the doorstep and blabber all night? You've been out here for 15 minutes already!"

Maher smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Were you standing at the door waiting for us like a puppy? Don't tell me you were that excited to see us."

Hasan rolled his eyes, though a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "No, but you two were speaking so loudly that the entire neighborhood probably heard you. Now, get inside before the food gets cold!"

The three friends finally stepped into the house, where the aroma of delicious food filled the air. Hasan's wife, Mariam, had prepared a feast, and the table was laden with dishes that made their mouths water. As they sat down to eat, the conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and camaraderie.

Hasan, as usual, was the life of the table, cracking jokes that had Omar and Maher in stitches. "You know," Hasan said between bites, "if you two had been any later, I would've started eating without you. But then again, I couldn't let this masterpiece of a meal go to waste."

Omar chuckled, pointing his fork at Hasan. "You're lucky Mariam's cooking is this good, you better treat her well."

Maher nodded in agreement, savoring a bite of the flavorful dish. "Seriously, Hasan, you've got yourself a gem. This food is incredible."

Hasan grinned, leaning back in his chair. "I know, right? That's why I married her. Well, that and her stunning personality, of course."

Mariam, who had been quietly listening from the kitchen chuckled, she was really flattered.

The dinner at Hasan's house was winding down, and the three friends sat around the table, their plates empty but their spirits full. Maher leaned back in his chair, a rare smile on his face. "You know," he said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I'm actually glad I came tonight. It's a nice change from my usual gloomy life."

Omar raised an eyebrow, curious. "Still working as a traffic officer, Maher? Or have they moved you to something else?"

Maher sighed, his expression turning thoughtful. "Still a traffic officer. And honestly, I don't mind it. As long as I get to keep my hands clean, I'm fine with it. I'd rather be a traffic officer my whole life than become someone who's easily capable of hurting people. The few missions I did as a patrol officer and jail guard were enough to traumatize me for life."

Hasan, ever the joker, tried to lighten the mood. "Traffic suits you best anyway, Maher. You're so tall—during a blackout, they can just hand you the lights, and you can stand there guiding the cars. You'd be like a human traffic light!"

Maher shot Hasan a look that could have melted steel. For a brief moment, he imagined strangling his friend, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. Instead, he smirked and fired back, "And you've become so slim, Hasan, they could use you as a broom. Just attach a handle to your head, and you're good to go."

Omar burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink. "You two never change! I can't decide who's worse."

The night continued with more teasing and laughter, the kind that only close friends could share. But as the evening drew to a close and they prepared to leave, Omar said goodbye to Hasan and stepped out, when he turned to say goodbye to maher he felt a sudden pang of anxiety. He glanced at Maher, still in his police uniform, and a thought crept into his mind—what if Maher found out about what Omar was doing? What if he discovered Omar's involvement in the revolution?

The idea terrified him. Maher was his best friend, but he was also a police officer, sworn to protect the system. Would he support the revolution and side with Omar, or would he remain loyal to the system he was supposed to uphold? The possibility that Maher might one day become his enemy sent a chill down Omar's spine.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Omar tried to shake off the thought. He forced a smile and clapped Maher on the shoulder. "Take care, brother. Don't work too hard out there."

Maher nodded, oblivious to Omar's inner turmoil. "You too, Omar. Let's do this again soon."

Hasan waved them off, grinning. "Next time, I'll make sure Mariam cooks even more food."

Omar smiled, but the unease lingered as he walked to his car. He couldn't shake the fear that one day, the bond they shared might be tested in ways none of them could imagine. For now, though, he pushed the thought aside, clinging to the hope that their friendship would withstand whatever lay ahead.

________

Maher arrived home late that night, the streets quiet and the house dimly lit. As he quietly stepped inside, he noticed his mother had already gone to bed, but his father was still awake, sitting in the living room with a book in his hands. His father looked up as Maher entered, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"You're home late," his father remarked, setting the book aside. "Where have you been?"

Maher sighed, as he sat down across from his father. "I had dinner with my friends at Hasan's house. We lost track of time talking and laughing. It was a good night."

His father nodded, but his gaze remained thoughtful. After a moment, he leaned forward, his tone softening. "Your mother and I have been talking, Maher. We think it's time for you to start considering marriage. You're not getting any younger, and it would be good for you to settle down."

Maher's mind immediately drifted to his longtime crush, the girl he had admired from afar for years.

His childhood crush. But just as quickly, he pushed the thought aside. She was out of his league, he told himself, and he had long since given up on the idea of ever being with her. Shaking his head, he replied, "I'm not interested in marriage right now, Baba. I don't have the time, and honestly, I'm not ready."

His father's expression grew more serious. "Maher, you can't keep going on like this. You're stuck in a loop, refusing to move forward. You avoid promotions at work, you avoid progress in your personal life—it's like you're afraid of taking the next step. Your mother and I are worried about you."

Maher looked down, his hands clasped tightly. "I'm fine, Baba. Really. I just need some space to figure things out on my own. I don't need anyone to worry about me."

His father sighed, his voice gentle but firm. "We're your parents, Maher. Worrying about you is what we do. But you can't keep running from life. At some point, you have to face it."

Maher stood up, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the conversation. "I know, Baba. But for now, I just need some time. I'll figure it out."

Without waiting for a response, he headed to his room, closing the door behind him. As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his father's words echoed in his mind. He knew there was truth in them, but the thought of change—whether in his career or his personal life—felt overwhelming. For now, all he wanted was to escape into the quiet of the night, hoping that sleep would bring some respite from the thoughts that haunted him.

_______

A few days later :

Hasan returned home from work, utterly exhausted. As he slumped onto the couch, his sister, Halima, barged into the room, her face filled with urgency. "Hasan, we need to talk. It's important," she said, her tone serious.

Hasan raised an eyebrow, too tired to fully process her urgency. "What is it, Halima? Can it wait? I just got home."

Halima shook her head. "No, it can't. It's about Mariam. She's been doing all the cooking since you two got married, and it's not fair!"

Hasan blinked, confused. "Why isn't it fair? She likes cooking, doesn't she?"

Halima crossed her arms. "That's not the point! I want her to taste *my* delicious food too. I don't want her to think we're using her. But she won't listen to me! She works day and night like a machine, cooking and cleaning, and I feel terrible about it."

Just as Halima finished her sentence, Mariam walked into the room, her hands resting on her hips. "Is it my fault now that I'm helping out? I know Halima needs to study and doesn't have time for cleaning. I'm just trying to make things easier for everyone."

Hasan couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation hitting him. "This has to be the most bizarre argument I've ever seen. Most people complain about having to do chores, not the other way around!"

Mariam sighed, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I've always spoiled my little sisters at home. I see Halima as my little sister too, so I can't help it. I just want to take care of her."

Hasan's laughter subsided, and he looked at both of them with warmth in his eyes. He stood up and pulled them both into a hug. "You two are incredible, you know that? I love you both so much, and I just want you to get along. Can you do that for me?"

Halima and Mariam exchanged glances, their earlier tension melting away. "Fine," Halima said, grinning. "But only because you're so dramatic about it."

Mariam chuckled. "Agreed. But don't think this means I'm going to stop cooking."

Hasan shook his head, still smiling. "Good. Now, both of you, get out of here. I need some sleep."

With that, he gently ushered them out of the room, closing the door behind them. As he collapsed onto his bed, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the strong, caring women in his life—even if their arguments were a little unconventional.