Morning Routine and Family Encounters
He had been sitting on the prayer mat for a while, finishing the last verse of Surah At-Tawbah. Seeing that it was already half past six, he slowly stood up, closed the Qur’an, and placed it in his bedside drawer. He took off his jallabiya and went into the bathroom.
He spent some time bathing, as the pleasant fragrance of soaps and shower gel filled the bathroom. Coming out in his bathrobe, he used a small towel to dry his soft black hair, then stood before the mirror to apply his body lotion.
Afterward, he applied his hair oil, combed his hair neatly, and opened his closet to pick out a freshly ironed outfit hanging on a hanger. He started by wearing a white singlet and, in just about five minutes, was fully dressed.
He picked up his silver Emporio Armani wristwatch and strapped it on. Then he walked to his shoe rack, picked up a black pair of Haggioti cover shoes, sat by his large bed, wore his black socks, and slipped into his shoes.
All this time, his mood seemed dull and distant. He tucked in his white uniform shirt, wore his belt, grabbed his phone and cap, sprayed himself with cologne, and headed out the door.
That was Captain Ahmad Junaid, a certified seafarer in the Merchant Navy.
He walked across the large compound as though he disliked stepping on the ground itself. It felt like years since he had been home, though he had only spent five weeks in Egypt. He went straight to his mother’s quarters; the sitting room was empty, except for the soothing scent mixed with the aroma of frying food from the kitchen.
He greeted softly, “Assalamu alaikum, Mumy,” and she replied while stepping out of her bedroom.
He sat down and said, “Good morning, Mumy.”
She smiled lightly, glancing at the clock. “You’re late already—look, it’s almost eight. Is it all because of tiredness?”
Rubbing his soft hair, he replied, “I had a headache all night, Mumy. I’m still exhausted.”
“I gave you medicine, didn’t I? You didn’t take it?”
“I did,” he answered quietly.
“Good, now come eat breakfast and take another dose. Don’t be late.”
He followed her to the dining room. “Where are Fatima and the others?” he asked.
“They’ve gone to school,” she said while setting his breakfast — thick tea and some snacks — before going back to fetch his medicine.
Before she returned, he had already finished his tea; she knew he disliked hot drinks. He swallowed his medicine as she stood watching, then said, “Mumy, I’ll get going; I’m almost late.”
“Alright,” she said, “but make sure you greet the rest of the family—you haven’t since you came back.”
He widened his eyes slightly but said nothing. From his expression, it was clear he wasn’t happy about it, but she followed him to the door to ensure he did.
He first went to Hajiya Fati’s section. She was having breakfast in the main sitting room.
“Good morning, Hajiya,” he greeted.
She looked at him and said, “So, the Egyptian man finally remembers us today.”
He said nothing, stood up, and quietly walked out. She watched him go, her expression unreadable, then smiled faintly and continued eating.
Next, he went to Hajiya Bilki’s quarters, where she was angrily shouting at her maids while her daughter, Sadiya, lay scrolling on her phone.
From the doorway, he bent slightly and greeted, “Good morning, Hajiya.”
She glared at him. “Oh, so you now greet your mother from the doorway? Ahmad, since when did you start ignoring us?”
He frowned, which somehow made his handsome features even more striking. She hissed and continued scolding the maids as he turned and left.
He headed to the parking lot, entered his car, and drove off after the gatekeepers opened the gate.
That day at work was exhausting for Captain Junaid — he was still drained from yesterday’s journey.
The Mysterious Woman on the Street
It was five o’clock in the evening when he returned home. He sat in his car for a while, scrolling through his phone. As soon as he noticed another car entering the compound, he switched off the engine, stepped out, locked it, and headed for his quarters.
From that car came Suhaima and her stepsister Sadiya.
“Ya Junaid! So you’re back!” Suhaima called softly.
He turned briefly without stopping, gave her a short glance, and continued walking. “Yes,” he replied simply and went up to his balcony.
From above, Muhibba, seated on her balcony with a MacBook and chewing gum, looked down and muttered, “No charm at all.”
Suhaima frowned deeply and stormed toward her own quarters as if in anger, while Sadiya giggled behind her and shut the car door.
Junaid entered his room, removed his uniform, bathed, and changed into casual wear — black jeans and a blue polo. He then picked up his phone and went to his mother’s sitting room.
She was there with his younger sisters, Fatima and Aisha. Sitting beside her, he hugged her gently and rested his head on her shoulder.
In a playful tone, he said, “Mommy, I’m back.”
Fatima and Aisha exchanged looks, rolling their eyes. Their mother smiled faintly and said, “Welcome! Your food is on the dining table. Your sisters have been staring at you.”
He chuckled, “I don’t care.”
They greeted him together, and Fatima added, “Ya A.Jay, where’s our souvenir?”
He stood up, walking to the dining table. “I went for work, not a holiday,” he replied.
He found three different dishes waiting and started with the mutton sauce. After eating, he sat for a while, scrolling on his phone.
As six o’clock approached, he stood up and told his mother he was going to see his friend El-Ameen.
“Instead of resting, Ahmad, with that headache?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I won’t stay long, Mum.”
“Alright then,” she said, “May God protect you.”
He went to his room, changed into a white shirt and blue jeans, sprayed some perfume, picked up his car keys, and drove off.
On the way, he slowed down — a crowd had gathered by the roadside. Many cars were parked, and people were craning their necks to see something. He assumed it was an accident. Parking his car, he stepped out and walked into the crowd.
There, at the center, he saw a woman seated on the ground, clutching a young boy of about ten years, beating him with all her strength. Blood trickled from her forehead, and her tattered long gown was covered in dirt. Two young men struggled to free the boy from her grip but failed — her strength was wild, almost unnatural. Clearly, she was mentally unstable.
Captain Junaid rushed forward, fearing she might kill the child. He grabbed her dirty, tangled hair and pulled hard. She screamed in pain but refused to release the boy. He pulled harder until she finally let go, screaming hysterically. The two young men quickly carried the boy away — he was nearly unconscious.
When she tried to attack Junaid, he swiftly twisted her hands behind her back, restraining her. She kicked and screamed as he shouted to the boys, “Get me a rope!”
They hurried off to find one.
An old woman in the crowd said, “This poor mad woman has lived in this area for years. She never hurt anyone before—those boys must have provoked her.”
Another woman added, “Exactly! Look at her forehead — they must have stoned her first. Children these days have no manners. I don’t blame her at all. I actually pity her.”
People kept murmuring. When the young men returned with a rope, Junaid and the others tied her hands and feet tightly. Despite her condition, her strength amazed him. He stepped back, watching as tears streamed down her dirty face. Pity suddenly filled his heart.
He looked at her wounded forehead, where dried blood had clotted, and said quietly to the boys, “Help me get her into my car so I can take her to the hospital.”
The old woman gasped. “Hospital? And who are you, young man? Where are you even from?” she asked suspiciously.
People began murmuring again, their eyes full of distrust. Junaid didn’t respond. He simply sighed, turned away, and walked to his car.
The crowd whispered among themselves as he drove off, some saying, “See how guilty he looks—he must be hiding something. May God protect us from such people.”
After the crowd dispersed, an old man approached the woman, untied her ropes cautiously so she wouldn’t attack him, and quietly walked away. She remained seated, head bowed, without even looking up.
