Chapter 2: A Lingering Shadow

  As agreed with his parents, Oweis decided to leave the city for a few days. He wasn't seeking an escape, but rather a distance; a place that demanded nothing of him and didn't repeat the same haunting questions. The rural road was nearly empty, and the sky was slowly yielding to the dusk. He rode his motorcycle steadily, the cold air hitting his face directly, stripped of barriers or glass. He didn't think of anything specific. He didn't replay scenes, nor did he anticipate what was to come. For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel burdened by what he had left behind.

  But that didn't last long.

  On the side of the road, his eyes caught a glimpse of an injured dog staring at him with terror. He stopped the bike and approached cautiously, raising his hand in a reassuring gesture. The animal whimpered softly, its body trembling. In that moment, Oweis felt a strange disturbance in his chest, as if the pain he was witnessing was seeping into his perception in a way he couldn't comprehend.

  Before he could reach out, a pack of dogs emerged from the shadows, suddenly surrounding him. He froze, overcome by fear—and in that exact instant, the dogs stopped abruptly, as if the danger Oweis felt had suddenly become present in their perception. He didn't know why, nor did he understand how it happened, but he felt the power of that internal friction, as if reality itself had hesitated for a moment.

  Heavy seconds ticked by, long enough for the sound of his heartbeat to deafen him. He swallowed hard and took a slow step back. The dogs didn't move. A second step. Still, they remained frozen. When he reached his bike, he didn't turn his back to them. He mounted, started the engine, and sped away at full throttle. He didn't look back.

  He saw no one. He heard nothing. But the feeling that the scene hadn't truly closed remained lodged in his mind, as if the dogs' perception of the event hadn't yet settled.

  That night, Oweis didn't sleep well. It wasn't because of a nightmare or a clear fear… but a strange sense of unease, as if the room itself was no longer measured by the same distances. He would open his eyes in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling sometimes that the silence was heavier than it should be. In the days that followed, small things began to irritate him: a sudden headache that would vanish as quickly as it came, sounds that seemed louder than necessary, and the gazes of others lingering longer than usual…

  It was as if his perception of the world had become unstable, though he couldn't pin down the cause.

  Once, while walking down the street, a bizarre sensation washed over him: it was as if the path itself had slanted slightly—not in a way visible to others, but his perception of it shifted. The angle felt unsteady, as if his brain was capturing reality in an unexpected way. He stopped in his tracks and looked around. Everything looked normal, but the feeling persisted. It wasn't pain, nor was it outright fear. It was closer to a nagging realization… that what Oweis saw or felt around him might differ from what others perceived.

  He told no one. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't find the right words. How do you explain to someone that reality sometimes feels like it's lagging behind itself? Like it’s slowly, silently rearranging its own structure.

  Eventually, the disturbance that had accompanied him began to fade. The traces didn't vanish entirely, but they became less sharp, less intrusive in his daily life.

  Oweis finally returned home. A noticeable hush hung over the house, as if it were waiting for something that hadn't happened yet.

  Evening slipped by slowly, and the clinking of spoons against plates was clearer than the conversation. Oweis sat at the table, shoulders hunched slightly forward, eating in silence. His father sat opposite him, quietly breaking bread, his eyes following details without any outward curiosity. His mother kept getting up and sitting back down, adding something here, adjusting something there—her habit whenever the silence grew too long.

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  The father looked up from his bread, meeting Oweis’s gaze with calm eyes:

  "So, how was your trip to the countryside?"

  Oweis gave a brief smile, as if summarizing all his emotions in a single gesture:

  "It was good… the road was quiet, the air was fresh."

  The father sat back, paused, then added gently:

  "Did you find some peace?"

  Oweis sighed, gathering his thoughts, then said quietly:

  "Yes… I felt some freedom, even if temporary. Nothing more than that."

  The father smiled faintly, satisfied with that answer. After a brief silence, he asked:

  "How are things going at the university?"

  Oweis didn't lift his head immediately. "Fine… there’s pressure, but it’s nothing new."

  His father nodded slowly. "Pressure is part of the path. Those who endure are those who continue." There was no harshness in his voice, just the tone of a man used to calling things as they are. Oweis understood that, as he always had.

  His mother, placing an extra dish on the table, remarked:

  "You haven't been eating well lately. Even when we're together, you remain silent."

  A small, fleeting smile touched his face. "It's nothing, Mom… just exhaustion."

  She didn't argue, but she wasn't convinced. She looked at him for a long time—a look searching for reassurance rather than an answer.

  The father stopped eating for a moment. "Are you still thinking about what happened?"

  Oweis raised his head and looked directly at his father. "Sometimes… not like before, but it hasn't completely disappeared."

  A short silence followed—not a heavy one, but a realistic one. The kind of silence known by those who have lived through things rather than explained them.

  "A person doesn't run from themselves," the father said calmly, "but sometimes they need a change of place."

  Oweis didn't comment, but he tucked that sentence away inside him like a small stone to carry on his next journey.

  After dinner, they moved to the living room. The TV was on at a low volume, some program no one was truly watching. Oweis sat on the edge of the sofa, his mother near him and his father in the opposite chair.

  "Did you hear back from the university?" his mother asked suddenly. "You were checking the mail so often."

  A slight shift occurred in his expression. Not tension, but alertness.

  "Yes, it arrived."

  She looked at him directly. "And what did they say?"

  He hesitated for a heartbeat, searching for the right words. "There is a possibility to continue my studies abroad."

  The room fell silent.

  "Where?" his father asked calmly.

  "Spain."

  The name came out plain, without emotion. But it left its mark on the room.

  "So far..." his mother whispered.

  After a while, his father asked, "And are you ready?"

  "Not entirely. But it's a good opportunity."

  His father studied him for a long time, then spoke quietly. "Opportunities alone aren't enough. Moving away is a heavy decision. It can't just be an attempt to get away."

  Oweis nodded slowly. "I know."

  "If you truly knew," the father said without raising his voice, "you wouldn't look this hesitant."

  Oweis took a breath, then said after a moment: "Perhaps… but this is as far as I've gotten for now."

  He didn't explain further, and his father didn't demand an explanation.

  His mother leaned in slightly. "I don't want you to leave while you're still burdened by all of this."

  He looked at her. This time, he didn't smile. "Don't worry… I'm not worse off than I was."

  She didn't cry, but her eyes glistened with something that needed no words.

  "As long as you've thought it through," the father said finally, "and you're going to build your future, then we are with you."

  Oweis exhaled deeply without realizing it. It was as if he had been waiting for that sentence longer than he had admitted to himself. That night, when he entered his room, he sat on the bed without turning on the light. He felt neither sadness nor relief. Just a silent realization: that something had ended, and something else was starting to move—slowly, and as yet, without a face.

  The morning had arrived quietly, the cold air filling the nearly empty street. Oweis sat with his three friends on some concrete steps near an old building, coffee cups in hand. The silence was louder than the talk.

  "We don't get together like we used to," Hossam said first.

  Mourad smiled faintly. "Everyone is busy with their own path."

  "It's only natural," Oweis replied calmly, not looking at anyone.

  After a moment, Sami asked, "You’re finishing your Master’s this year, right?"

  "Yes."

  "And then what?"

  Oweis rotated the cup in his hands and said quietly:

  "I'm thinking of doing my PhD… abroad."

  The friends exchanged glances.

  "Really?" Hossam said after a moment. "I thought a Master’s was enough, but it seems you're determined."

  "Yes," Oweis nodded. "And there are other reasons I want to do this."

  "So… where to?" Sami asked directly.

  Oweis smiled slightly. "Spain."

  "So… where to?" Sami asked directly.

  Oweis smiled slightly. "Spain."

  A short silence followed—not one of shock, but of realization.

  "I expected as much," Mourad said finally. "For a while now, you've looked as if you weren't entirely here."

  Hossam looked at him. "Are you going because you truly want to, or because you want to get away?"

  "Both," Oweis replied after a moment.

  They fell silent out of respect. Then Sami asked, "When do you leave?"

  "End of the year."

  Mourad laughed softly. "You'll be gone, and you'll change."

  "Everyone changes," Oweis replied calmly, "whether they stay or they go."

  They stood up shortly after, shook his hand quickly—no exaggerations.

  As he walked away, he didn't look back. It wasn't out of indifference, but the knowledge that some moments don't need a final look to be remembered.

  To be continued...