Where is Manar?
2: "Sorry, Ma'am — This Body Is Not for Rent"
Chapter Fifteen (The Finale): Whoever Sits Gets Caught
Ali's place was on the second floor. The narrow staircase hadn't changed in twenty years—the same cracked walls, the same heavy smell of old brick baked under the sun.
I walked in.
"Sami."
Ali's voice came from the living room. Deep. Calm. The kind of voice that belongs to someone who doesn't waste words. When he saw me, he stood up and punched my shoulder like he was testing if I'd break.
"Oof."
"Sore?" he said, half-smiling.
"No. Broken."
He laughed. Quiet, like always. Not loud, not shy—just someone who actually found it funny and didn't care who noticed.
Hadi was stretched across the couch like he owned the building. Sameh sat on a chair, glued to his phone.
"The missing man returns," Hadi said without looking up.
"I wasn't missing. I was busy."
"With what?"
"Stuff."
"Stuff," Hadi repeated. That tone meant: that's not an answer.
I sat down. Ali brought out the domino box. The sound of tiles filled the room.
We played for about an hour.
Halfway through the third round, Sameh said, out of nowhere:
"Maytham got engaged."
I nodded slowly. Tried to act like it was normal.
It wasn't.
I placed my tile.
"You knew?" I asked.
"The whole neighborhood knows. His mom's been calling anyone with a pulse."
Hadi finally sat up. "Wait—what? Maytham? That stray mutt?"
"Yeah. Him."
"Poor girl. Who is she?"
"Emma. She works somewhere."
"'Works somewhere,'" Hadi repeated, like he was inspecting fake money. "Where did he even find her?"
"No idea," I said. And for once, I meant it.
Ali stayed quiet. Playing. Listening. That's his thing.
"So," Hadi said, leaning forward now. "Maytham got engaged before you, Sami."
I looked at the table.
"And Sameh's kid is already in school…" he continued.
Silence.
"And I'm married."
Still nothing from me.
"And Ali—"
"I'm not part of this," Ali said calmly, eyes still on the game.
"Right. Ali quit the game on purpose," Hadi said. "Which leaves you."
"I'm still in the fight."
Sameh finally put his phone down. "What fight? There's no one left, man."
"An empty battlefield just means the enemy hasn't shown up yet. I'm still standing."
Hadi looked at me. Sameh looked at me.
Ali placed a tile.
"Sami," Hadi said slowly, "you 'stand your ground' when there's an attack. You're just… standing in nothing."
"Standing in nothing is harder," I said. "Takes strength."
"Takes a weird personality," Sameh muttered.
Hadi laughed.
Ali smiled, but didn't say anything.
"Listen," I said, switching to my 'lecturing' voice. "Maytham lost. Sameh lost. Hadi lost. Me? I'm the undefeated warrior."
This time… it didn't sound as good.
"Because you never fought," Sameh said.
"A smart warrior picks his moment."
"Since 1927?" Hadi said.
"Wisdom takes time."
Ali placed his last tile.
"Domino."
We looked.
We all lost.
Ali started collecting the pieces. "This," he said, "is what happens when you talk more than you think."
---
I got home around midnight.
My dog—Donkey—was curled up in his spot. When he noticed me, he lifted his head and wagged his tail.
"Later, Donkey."
He gave a lazy bark and went back to sleep.
The house was quiet. Everyone asleep. Professor Charles somewhere doing whatever he does.
I went up to my room and dropped to the floor.
Pulled out my new phone. Scrolled. YouTube. Closed it. Twitter. Closed it. Back to YouTube.
Then I put the phone on my chest and stared at the ceiling.
"The undefeated warrior."
I said it out loud.
The room didn't respond.
Lonely stayed still in his corner.
"Tsk."
I closed my eyes.
Sleep came easy this time. No waiting. No counting.
And I didn't notice the air behind me shifting.
Slowly. Quietly. Patient.
The meteor-book drifted closer.
It lingered for a moment that didn't feel like time… then shimmered, like heat in the air—
—and slipped into my chest.
---
When I opened my eyes, the sky wasn't the same.
Lights floated in a place without gravity, pulsing like something alive.
Something was watching me.
Not with eyes.
With awareness.
It wasn't in the space…
It was the space.
The ground beneath me pulsed.
Not like a heart.
Like breathing.
Then I saw it.
The book.
Its surface was a dull, dead black—like it swallowed light instead of reflecting it. Like it existed before the world did.
It was massive. Endless upward.
It didn't move.
It didn't need to.
Its existence alone felt… violent.
Then it started opening.
Not like a book.
Like reality cracking open.
The mountains didn't fall—
they disappeared.
The forests weren't burned—
they were erased.
Something moved toward me.
Not wind.
Not fire.
Something else.
Something absolute.
Like an explosion with no sound.
No light.
No heat.
Just—
erasure.
---
I woke up, gasping.
"What a weird book… Tsk."
"It is."
I froze.
Opened my eyes.
Not my room.
The salon.
Same chairs. Same smell. Same old poster.
But the mirrors…
were dead.
Flat. Gray. Empty.
They reflected nothing.
Not me. Not light.
Just… nothing.
And in the main chair—
she sat.
Not a cow. Not a joke.
Just a normal woman.
Dark clothes. No details.
Reading an old magazine like she had all the time in the world.
"Tsk… welcome?" I said. "So we switched from haunting to appointments now?"
She didn't look up.
"You talk too much, Sami. Talking is just how humans cover fear."
I let out a dry laugh and grabbed a comb.
"And silence is how you cosmic things pretend to be deep," I said. "Listen… As'as, right? This contract thing—I didn't sign anything. I'm a barber. I don't do cosmic deals."
She closed the magazine slowly.
Her eyes weren't angry.
Just… tired.
"You're not afraid of the contract," she said. "Not afraid of losing your body. Not even afraid of dying."
She leaned closer.
The air turned cold.
"You're afraid because you're starting to believe."
My hand stopped.
No joke came.
Nothing.
Silence.
Heavy.
For once… I had nothing to say.
Like I finally got the joke—
and it wasn't funny.
---
I didn't answer.
Couldn't.
I looked at her.
And for the first time…
I saw the truth I'd been running from.
So my body did what it always does.
It worked.
My hands moved on their own.
Years of habit.
Muscle memory.
I started combing her hair.
Slow. Careful.
Like this was normal.
Like she was just another customer.
She didn't resist.
Just sat there.
Waiting.
I wasn't just cutting hair.
I was… holding on to something.
Anything.
"In the end," I said quietly, "doesn't matter what you are. If you're in the chair… you get a proper cut."
She looked at me.
Not angry.
Not threatening.
Just… pity.
Cold, quiet pity.
Like someone watching a drowning man refuse help.
Then everything faded.
The salon.
The mirrors.
The chair.
All gone.
---
I woke up.
No panic.
No shouting.
Just my ceiling.
4 AM.
Basra silence—that ringing kind.
I stayed there.
Didn't move.
Didn't smoke.
Didn't curse.
Just breathing.
For a long time.
I wasn't thinking about jokes.
I was thinking about Maytham.
I raised my hand slowly.
A strand of hair between my fingers.
Long.
Soft.
Not mine.
"Tsk."
End of Book Two