Not everything we see is real, and not everything we hear is an illusion. There are moments in life when the boundaries blur between wakefulness and nightmare, between the heartbeat and the siren, between the voice of someone you love... and something else wearing that voice. As harsh as this truth may be, it is the way of life: either you accept it and earn peace of mind, or you resist and drown in a vortex of inner turmoil, ending up either losing yourself, spending the rest of your days in prison, or taking your own life.
In the minutes following the blackout, no one on the ground floor knew that what was coming wasn't merely a medical update or some ordinary news to be told and forgotten. No. What was coming was something different... something like a trial.
A trial for Houssam or for those around him.
A trial for the brothers: Would they hold together, or crumble like a sandcastle?
A trial for the mother: Would she remain steadfast, or collapse at the first new blow?
A trial for the hearts that had clung to Houssam: Did they truly love him as they claimed, or was their love merely a habit?
Houssam had always been the mysterious one among them. That Arab no one truly understood.
The one they laughed at, then needed, then accused of madness only to discover that his madness was the only path to their salvation. So would they accept him as he was? Or would they only realize his worth and his place in their hearts once he lay beneath the earth?
And now, here he was, returning from death's door... but he was no longer himself. He was someone new—and no one knew what he would bring with him.
The laughter heard from the emergency room was not the laugh of someone awake, nor of someone asleep, nor even of a suffering patient. It was the laugh of one who knows something no one else knows. The laugh of a guard watching over a door that should never be opened.
The doctors would say: "Sudden cardiac deterioration."
The brothers would say: "He smoked too much."
The mother would say: "I wasn't there for him."
But the truth... the truth was written in an unknown hand on a dusty wall in a forgotten corner where cameras don't see, ears don't hear, and souls dare not approach.
"He will wake up... but not as Houssam."
And the question would remain suspended in the air, like a black cloud above them all:
When does the countdown begin?
After seconds of utter darkness, the electricity suddenly returned, and the ground floor lights flickered back to life. But something felt different. The air grew heavier, as if it had turned into an invisible wall pressing against everyone's chests—a foreboding of something coming that neither his family nor his friends could accept.
From the emergency room, nurses and doctors emerged, their faces pale, exchanging silent glances before dispersing. Then the main door of the ICU opened, and Dr. Stewart appeared, slowly removing his gloves, his eyes searching for a face among the crowd—to deliver a report everyone had been anxiously awaiting. Time itself seemed to freeze, crawling at a painfully slow pace.
Dr. Stewart (in a tired but firm voice):
"He has regained consciousness... but not fully. He still needs observation and intensive care."
The Mother (stepping forward, her voice trembling):
"Can he speak? Does he recognize us? Is... is he alright?"
The Doctor (hesitating for a moment):
"He is... conscious. But he is not himself. I advise you to prepare for anything."
The mother did not fully grasp his meaning, but she nodded and hurried into the room.
Inside the ICU
Houssam lay on the bed, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling without blinking. His face was eerily calm... so calm it was frightening, as if he saw something no one else could see.
The mother entered and sat beside him, clutching his cold hand.
The Mother (whispering):
"Houssam... my darling... I'm here."
He did not move. He did not look at her. He just kept staring at the ceiling, as if witnessing something beyond their sight.
The brothers, sisters, and friends filed in one by one, standing around the bed in silence.
Lena (forcing a smile):
"Houssam... you're awake, thank God. How do you feel?"
A long silence. Then... his lips slowly parted, as if drawing words from a deep well.
Houssam (in a strange, cold, muffled voice):
"Where... am I? Who are you?"
George (stepping forward nervously):
"You're in the hospital, brother. You collapsed in the park. Remember?"
Houssam (turning his head very slowly toward George, his eyes empty):
"I am not... your brother."
Everyone froze.
Rania (approaching cautiously, trying to touch his shoulder):
"Houssam... it's Rania. Do you remember me?"
He looked at her for a moment, then returned his gaze to the ceiling with a faint smile.
Houssam (with terrifying coldness):
"Rania... yes... the name sounds familiar. But... not you."
Rania (confused):
"What do you mean?"
He did not answer. He just... smiled.
A small, strange smile not his usual one. The smile of someone who knows a secret he does not wish to share.
Lena (whispering to Dmitri):
"This is not Houssam... something is wrong."
Tyrone (gritting his teeth):
"Maybe it's the medication... or the shock."
Houssam (suddenly, a little louder, as if hearing them):
"No medication... no shock. I am here... because the time has come."
The Mother (weeping silently):
"Why do you say that, my son? We are frightened for you."
Houssam turned slowly toward her, and for the first time, a flicker of warmth appeared in his eyes... but it vanished quickly.
Houssam (whispering):
"Don't be afraid, Mother... I will protect you... but in my own way."
Jacob (from the back, bewildered):
"I don't understand any of this... is he joking?"
Celine (covering her mouth):
"I don't think he's joking. This isn't the Houssam we know."
Before anyone could utter another word, Houssam turned his head toward the dark window and spoke in a voice that sounded like a prophecy:
Houssam:
"They will come soon... I must be ready."
A heavy silence fell so heavy that everyone wished the electricity would go out again, so they could return to the darkness that was less terrifying than these words they had never expected to hear from him.