Ayman sat on the edge of his bed, sipping the now lukewarm coffee, his mind spiraling through the chaotic events of the night before. The image of the men in the black, the mysterious agents at the police station and the stranger at the cemetery, and Karim's death all blurred together like scenes from a nightmare. It was all too much, too bizarre to be real. He felt like he was trapped in some kind of twisted thriller, where every answer led to more questions.
He grabbed his phone, hoping for clarity. "Okay, let's start with the obvious," he muttered, typing into the search bar: man in black.
The first results were about the Hollywood movie franchise. He clicked through a few links, scrolling past images of Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones in their iconic black suits. "No, no, not this," Ayman said in frustration, exiting the page.
He added more specificity to his search: man in black sightings in Tunisia.
The search returned no relevant results—just a few articles about local folklore and ghost stories. Ayman leaned back against the wall, exhaling sharply. "Damn it. Nothing."
Determined, he switched his focus. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he typed: Hitman.
This time, he was met with pages about the famous video game franchise. Ayman frowned as he scrolled past the images of Agent 47. "I know this," he murmured. Memories of playing the game with Sami years ago surfaced, but it only deepened his confusion. "Why would they be looking for a game? This doesn't make any sense."
Shaking his head, he tried another search: Black Caesar and Dark Caesar.
Google returned historical information about Julius Caesar, the legendary Roman leader. Ayman raised an eyebrow, skimming through the articles. "Julius Caesar? He is not even a black person! He lives in Roma and they search for him here? Wait ah he died many years ago! What the hell does this have to do with anything?"
The absurdity of it all started to wear on him. He rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath, "Why would they be interested in a game, a dead Roman emperor, and a guy like me? What's the connection? What the hell is going on?"
The questions buzzed in his head like static. He tossed his phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to piece everything together. Farid's strange request to scout the house now seemed even more suspicious. Was it all part of some larger scheme? And what happened to Nadir? And who is this man that gave him money and what kind of job he offers?
Ayman closed his eyes for a moment, gripping the coffee cup tightly. He felt like he was drowning in questions with no lifeline to pull him out. All he could do now was try to hold on and hope that, somehow, the pieces would start to fit together.
Ayman sat quietly, the coffee cup growing cold in his hands as his thoughts churned. The phrase "Dark Caesar" is still in his mind.
He leaned back, staring at the cracked ceiling, his brow furrowed. "Why are they asking me? What do I have to do with any of this? Could this have something to do with Karim? Did they… did they kill him?"
The possibility hit him like a punch to the gut, and he set the cup down on the small bedside table, shaking his head. The questions came faster now like a flood he couldn't control. Every event, every conversation from the previous night felt like a puzzle piece, but the picture they formed eluded him.
Finally, with a sigh of frustration, Ayman tossed his phone aside and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. His mind was a tangled mess, and no amount of thinking seemed to untangle it.
Suddenly, the phone buzzed. He snatched it up quickly, half expecting some cryptic message, but it was a familiar name flashing on the screen: Sami.
Ayman answered, "Hey, Sami."
"Yo, bro!" Sami's voice was bright and carefree, a stark contrast to Ayman's current mood. "What's up? Listen, Hamza and I were talking, and we figured we could all meet up later. Hamza's bringing some beers, and we can hang out like old times. I don't have work tomorrow, so we can stay up late. What do you say?"
Ayman hesitated, his mind still cluttered with the night's events. But Sammy's voice felt like a lifeline, a brief escape from his chaotic thoughts. "Yeah, sure," he said finally. "Sounds good. What time?"
"Say around eight? I'll text you the spot."
"Alright, I'll see you guys then."
After the call ended, Ayman pocketed his phone and stood up, feeling a faint sense of relief at the thought of some normalcy. Before leaving, he checked in with his mother and Marwa, who were still sitting quietly in the living room.
"Do you need anything from the market or the pharmacy?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
His mother shook her head. "No, my son, we have everything. Thank you." Marwa simply nodded, her eyes distant, still heavy with grief.
Ayman lingered for a moment, looking at them, before heading outside. The cool air hit him as he stepped into the small backyard where the kittens he had rescued with Salma were playing. He crouched down, calling softly to them. The tiny creatures bounded toward him, mewing and tumbling over each other.
He smiled for the first time in what felt like days, stroking their soft fur and letting their playful antics distract him. Salma joined him after a while, laughing as the kittens climbed onto her lap. Together, they fed and played with the kittens until it was time to bring them back inside.
After ensuring the kittens were settled with Salma and thanked her for taking care of them, Ayman decided to clear his head with a walk. He wandered aimlessly through the familiar streets of the town, hands in his pockets, watching the world go by. The late afternoon sun bathed the buildings in warm light, and the chatter of shopkeepers and customers filled the air.
As he walked, the heaviness in his chest began to ease. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply be, letting the rhythmic sound of his footsteps drown out his thoughts. He didn't stop walking until nightfall when the streets started to empty, and the lights from the shops flickered on one by one.
Here's the revised scene with your additions:
As the night deepened, Ayman felt a pull he couldn't ignore. Instead of wandering aimlessly, he made his way to the cemetery where his brother, Karim, rested. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or a distant barking dog. When he arrived, the old iron gates of the cemetery creaked as he pushed them open.
He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the darkened rows of gravestones. He wasn't just here to visit Karim's grave—he was looking for Mourad, the mysterious man who had given him the money. Questions burned in his mind: Why had Mourad given him such a large sum? What exactly was this "job" he had in mind? Ayman's footsteps quickened as he searched the shadows, hoping to find Mourad lingering somewhere within the cemetery's eerie silence.
But there was no sign of him. The only sounds were the faint whispers of the wind and the crunch of gravel underfoot. Feeling a mix of frustration and unease, Ayman eventually made his way to his brother's grave and knelt down, placing a hand gently on the cool stone.
He whispered a prayer, his voice low and filled with longing. When he finished, he looked at the grave with determination. "From now on, I will change for the better, my dear brother," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
Suddenly, a voice from behind startled him. "He was a good man."
Ayman froze, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he turned to see an old man standing a few steps away. The man wore pristine white clothes that seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight. He had a kind face, framed by a neatly trimmed white beard. A pair of black gloves covered his hands, and he leaned on a cane with a polished wooden shaft. Carved into the cane's handle was an Arabic inscription.
Ayman squinted, trying to make out the letters. "Kai..." he murmured, but before he could finish reading, the man took a step backward, placing his hands on the cane's handle obscuring the inscription.
"Do you know my brother?" Ayman asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The old man nodded, a soft smile on his lips. "Yes, I do. May God send him to heaven for all the good deeds he's done."
Before Ayman could ask more, the man began walking away. "Wait," Ayman called out, "Thank you."
The man paused mid-step, then turned his head slightly. His voice, now carrying an almost ethereal tone, spoke softly. His eyes were colder than the graves that surrounded them
"Don't run from who you are. Sooner or later, you'll become what you're destined to be."
Ayman stared at him, confused. "What?"
The man turned his head forward again but added, "You'll be great like him. Trust me, son."
With that, he continued walking, his figure fading into the shadows of the gravestones.
"Who is this?" Ayman muttered, turning back to his brother's grave. "Do you believe this, brother? Is it me, or are people just getting stranger at night in cemeteries?" He chuckled nervously.
He turned back to look for the old man but found nothing. The man was gone, vanished among the gravestones. A chill ran down his spine. "Is he a ghost? Are you serious? What the hell is going on?"
Feeling the unease settle deeper in his chest, Ayman hurried out of the cemetery, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. His phone buzzed, making him jump. He fumbled to grab it, his heart racing, and saw Sami's name on the screen.
"Yeah, I'm coming," he said quickly, his voice shaky.
As he hung up, Ayman took one last look at the cemetery gate before rushing toward the town, desperate to leave the eerie encounter behind.