The opulent restaurant glittered under the soft glow of chandeliers, the hum of polite conversation and clinking silverware filling the air. Omar sat stiffly in his chair, his fingers tapping restlessly against the tablecloth. Across from him, his uncle, Tariq, smiled warmly, clearly pleased with himself.
"Omar, this is my dear friend, Mr. Adel Fawzy," Tarek said, gesturing to the well-dressed man beside him. "And his lovely daughter, Yasmin."
Omar forced a polite smile. "A pleasure to meet you both."
Adel nodded, his sharp eyes assessing Omar. "Your uncle speaks highly of you. A successful manager at such a young age—impressive."
Yasmin, seated beside her father, twirled a strand of her perfectly styled hair and giggled. "Daddy, is this the guy you told me about?"
Omar's eyes landed on the girl, she was dressed in a long jeans skirt, a white shirt and a yellow blazer, she was rolling her eyes at him, he could tell how spoiled she was from her attitude but he kept his mouth shut "Nice to meet you Yasmin ."
Yasmin pouted, leaning forward. "Nice to meet you, I'm Yasmin, I love parties, shopping, and traveling—you should see my Instagram! I have, like, fifty thousand followers!"
Adel chuckled indulgently. "My Yasmin is quite the socialite. Always the life of the party."
Omar sipped his water, his patience thinning. "How... fascinating."
Tariq sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "Omar has been searching for a partner, and I thought I should introduce him to a good girl myself because apparently he can't find a good one by himself."
Adel smirked, "Indeed. Yasmin finds it difficult to find a good guy that could match her energy. She's such is a treasure, don't you think?"
Yasmin batted her eyelashes. "I'd make the perfect wife. Daddy says I deserve only the best!"
Omar clenched his fist under the table. Every word from her mouth felt like nails on a chalkboard. He had agreed to this meeting for one reason only. But now, trapped between his uncle's expectations and this insufferable girl, he felt the walls closing in.
"I'm sure Yasmin is... remarkable," Omar said carefully.
Yasmin huffed, crossing her arms. "Ugh, remarkable? What are you 50?
You could say fabulous, gorgeous, I think you're the shy type, but don't worry, I don't mind shy guys."
Tariq shot Omar a warning look, he sensed Omar's irritation before he even speaks. "Youth these days, right, Adel? They need time to warm up to each other."
Adel nodded, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. But Omar, opportunities like this don't come often. You need to do your best to win Yasmin's heart."
Omar met his gaze, he did his best not to show his irritation. "I'll try".
As the conversation dragged on, Yasmin's childish chatter and entitled remarks grated on his nerves. He had played along for his uncle's sake, but this price was just too much.
The deal was simple: Maher is safe, his uncle kept his promise so now he needs to marry Yasmin. But as he watched her complain about the "raw" steak Omar wondered if any deal was worth this kind of prison.
______
Omar stepped into his apartment, the weight of the evening still heavy on his shoulders. The meeting with Yasmin and her father had left him exhausted, and all he wanted was to check on Maher before collapsing into bed. He tossed his jacket onto the couch, changed into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, and made his way to his bedroom, where Maher had been resting.
Pushing the door open quietly, he expected to find his friend asleep. Instead, Maher was sitting up against the headboard, staring blankly at the wall. His bruises had darkened since the night before, but his eyes were alert.
"You're awake," Omar said, leaning against the doorframe. "How are you feeling?"
Maher turned his head slowly and offered a weak smile. "Better. Thanks again for letting me stay here."
Omar walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. "You don't have to thank me. But you can't keep hiding this forever. What are you going to tell your parents?"
Maher sighed, rubbing his temple. "Once I'm well enough to move without looking like I got hit by a truck, I'll go home. I'll tell them I was suddenly assigned to a remote military base—some classified operation where we weren't allowed to use phones."
Omar raised an eyebrow. "And you think they'll buy that?"
"It's not the first time I've been sent on short notice. They'll worry, but they'll believe it."
A tense silence settled between them. Omar studied his friend—the way his fingers trembled slightly, the shadows under his eyes. This wasn't just some random beating. Something happened.
"Maher," Omar said, his voice low. "What really happened? Who did this to you?"
Maher's jaw tightened. He looked away. "I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not just about me anymore," Maher said, his voice strained. "If I drag you into this, they'll come for you too. And I can't let that happen."
Omar leaned forward, frustration creeping into his tone. "You're my brother. You don't get to shut me out when you're in trouble."
Maher met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "This isn't some street fight, Omar. These people don't play by rules. The less you know, the safer you are."
Omar clenched his fists. "So what? I'm just supposed to pretend nothing happened? Let you walk back into whatever hell you're in alone?"
Maher's voice softened. "Yes. Because if you get involved, I don't know what they might do to you. They'll destroy you."
The words hung in the air like a threat. Omar exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to push, to demand answers—but the fear in Maher's eyes stopped him.
"Fine," Omar muttered. "But when you're ready to talk, I'm here. And if they come for you again, they'll have to go through me first."
Maher gave a tired chuckle. "Stubborn as always."
Omar stood, turning off the bedside lamp. "Get some rest. We'll figure this out."
As he closed the door behind him, his mind raced. Maher was hiding something dangerous—and if he wouldn't talk, Omar would have to find out the truth himself.