The sun hung like a searing blade over the rooftops of Damascus. It beat down so relentlessly on the asphalt that the air shimmered, and every breath tasted of dusty concrete and burnt rubber.
"Mom? Where's my backpack?" Mayex shouted from his room, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.
"In the closet, son!" his mother's voice echoed back from the kitchen, accompanied by the dull clatter of dishes.
"Found it, thanks!"
He grabbed the frayed bag, swung it over his shoulder, and left the apartment. The walk to school was routine—a labyrinthine navigation through narrow alleys choked by the heavy, stagnant heat. When he finally stepped into the classroom, the air inside felt even more suffocating than on the street.
"Good morning, everyone," the teacher began, tapping a piece of chalk idly against the blackboard. "Please turn your books to page—"
The door burst open with a violent slam. Another teacher stood in the frame, his face ash-pale, sweat pooling at his temples.
"Everyone outside! Into the courtyard, right now! Move!" he barked, his voice cracking with breathlessness.
The teacher frowned, visibly slighted by the intrusion. "What is the meaning of this? Knock next time, please! We are in the middle of a les—"
"Don't you understand?" he interrupted rawly, lowering his voice, though the tremor in it was unmistakable. "It's an alarm drill. No arguments. Out. Now."
The word alarm was enough. An invisible jolt went through the classroom. Children scrambled to their feet, chairs scraping violently against the floorboards. As the mass of students pushed into the hallway with hurried glances and hushed whispers, Mayex noticed a boy walking apart from the crowd. He was staring straight ahead, biting down on his entire thumb so fiercely it looked as though he intended to tear the flesh from the bone.
Mayex closed the distance and tapped his shoulder. "Hey. What are you doing? You're going to hurt yourself."
The boy paused and slowly raised his head. His eyes looked hollow. "First, my name is Mohammed. Second, I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Do you... have some kind of condition?" Mayex asked, with the blunt, unvarnished curiosity of a child.
Mohammed's features darkened. He dropped his hand, the skin around his knuckle red and raw. "Why does everyone assume that? Everyone does weird things when they're thinking. This just happens to be mine."
"Oh, I see..." Mayex muttered, turning away. But to himself, he thought: The guy is definitely not right in the head.
Ten minutes later, the ordeal was over. The sirens fell silent, and the relief on the teachers' faces was palpable as they ushered the children back to the classroom.
"Well done, everyone," the teacher said, forcing a smile to mask the lingering tension. To calm the class, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of colorful superhero stickers—a desperate attempt to project a sense of normalcy. "As a reward for your good behavior, everyone gets one for their homework notebook."
She walked down the rows. "One for you, Mohanned. One for you, Mohammed. One for Yamir, one for Hamza... and for you, Mayex. Look at that, you got Batman."
Mayex gently ran his finger over the glossy paper before closing his notebook. The teacher hastily packed her bag. "That's it for today. Go home. And guess what? No homework."
A quiet cheer rippled through the room. But as Mayex was stuffing his things into his bag, a hand shot across his desk. Hamza, sitting at the next table, snatched Mayex's notebook away. Mayex didn't react; he just stared at him blankly. What could anyone possibly want with a worthless school notebook anyway?
After a few endless seconds, Hamza tossed the notebook carelessly back onto his desk. Mayex sighed, packed it away, and shook his head. Just an idiot, he thought. Who knows what goes on in his skull.
By the time he stepped outside the school gates, the weather had turned violently. Heavy, bruised clouds pressed down on the city, and the first thick drops of rain slapped against the dusty ground. Mayex ducked his head and broke into a run.
When he burst through the front door of his apartment, his mother met him in the hallway.
"There you are! How was school?" She stopped dead, horror dawning on her face. "My God, you're soaking wet!"
His father stepped out from behind her, closing the door and carefully sliding the heavy deadbolts into place. "Change your clothes immediately, Mayex. We can't afford for you to catch a cold right now."
Mayex retreated to his room, stripped out of his damp clothes, and proudly grabbed his homework notebook. He ran back into the living room. "Dad, Mom, look! The teacher gave me a Batman sticker!"
"Oh, really?" his father said with a faint, tired smile. "Show us then."
Mayex flipped the notebook open. Page one. Page two. Nothing. He flicked through faster, the pages rustling under his thumb.
"I'm certain I put it here... page eight. I'm positive."
"It's okay if you lost it on the way home," his mother said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"She's right, son," his father added.
But Mayex barely heard them. His fingers trembled as he scanned the notebook one more time. No sticker. Nothing but empty lines. And then, it clicked. The sudden reaching of Hamza's hand. The smug look on his face.
"...It was him," Mayex whispered, a cold wave of anger rising in his chest.
"That's enough for now," his mother interrupted softly. "Go take care of your things and get some sleep. If you're hungry, just ask."
---
The next morning, the anger still burned hot in Mayex's chest. The moment the bell rang for recess, he didn't hesitate. He marched straight to Hamza's desk, grabbed the boy roughly by the wrist, and dragged him wordless out into the deserted corridor behind the bathrooms.
"Give me my sticker back!" Mayex demanded, his voice low and tight.
Hamza looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "What sticker? ...Oh, that. Nope." With a sudden shove, he pushed Mayex away. Mayex lost his footing on the slick stone floor and went down hard.
Hamza looked down at him, pure contempt etched into his face. "You're weak, Mayex."
Mayex clenched his teeth so tightly his jaw ached. He stared back at Hamza with hollow eyes. "I swear to God... if I could make everything you love explode, I would do it right now."
Hamza scoffed. "As if you could—"
An ear-splitting roar cut him off.
The ground beneath their feet convulsed so violently that dust rained down from the ceiling. A few kilometers away, clearly visible through the large corridor window, a massive plume of black smoke billowed into the leaden sky. A multi-story apartment building collapsed into itself like a house of cards made of dust and rubble.
Mayex and Hamza froze. Their hands hung limp, their mouths wide open. Terror paralyzed every nerve. Slowly, as if in slow motion, Hamza turned his head and stared at Mayex with dilated pupils. Mayex met his gaze, utterly unable to comprehend what had just happened.
"...Wallahi, it wasn't me," Mayex rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
Even as the words left his mouth, a second fireball flashed on the horizon. Another detonation tore through a nearby building. Seconds later, the dull rumble of the shockwave washed over the schoolyard.
"Wallahi, it wasn't me!" Mayex repeated, panic bleeding into his tone.
Hamza stepped back, his face completely bloodless. "...I... I'm going home. And I'm going to scream the entire way." He spun on his heel and fled down the hallway, a piercing cry of raw terror echoing behind him.
Mayex looked around. Total chaos had erupted. Students were screaming, teachers were running aimlessly, and sirens wailed in the distance—the tortured howling of a city plunging into war.
Instinct took the wheel. Mayex didn't wait. He switched into full sprint, his lungs burning as he charged out of the building and tore down the street. He ran for his life, straight home, covering his ears and shouting the same sentence over and over into the deafening roar of the dying city, tears blurring his vision:
"WALLAHI, IT WASN'T ME!"