Chapter Two: The First Shock
Two weeks had passed since Majid's inexplicable journey back in time. Two weeks of
navigating the strange reality of being a forty-three-year-old mind trapped in a twelve-
year-old body. Two weeks of observing, planning, and adapting to a world he had left
behind decades ago.
The initial shock had faded, replaced by a cold determination. Majid had settled into his
childhood routine with surprising ease, attending school, doing homework, and
maintaining the appearance of normalcy. But beneath this facade, his adult mind was
constantly calculating, analyzing every interaction, every opportunity.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Majid sat in his bedroom, ostensibly working on a
mathematics assignment that his adult mind found laughably simple. Instead, he was
making notes in a small journal he had purchased with his allowance—a journal that
contained the beginnings of his long-term plans.
He had already mapped out the major events of his previous life, noting the pivotal
moments where different choices could alter his trajectory. He had listed the people who
had betrayed him, with Zuhair at the top, followed by Samira, his former business
partners, and others who had abandoned him when his fortunes turned.
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. "Majid? Can I come in?" It was his father's
voice.
Majid quickly closed the journal and slipped it under his textbook. "Yes, come in."
Abdul Rahman entered, still wearing his work clothes—a sign he had just returned from
the petroleum company where he served as a mid-level engineer. He sat on the edge of
Majid's bed, studying his son with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Your mother tells me you've been acting differently these past couple of weeks," he said
without preamble. "More serious. Less interested in playing with your friends."
Majid had anticipated this conversation. His parents were observant, and his sudden
personality change would not go unnoticed. He had prepared a plausible explanation.
"I've been thinking about my future," he said, choosing his words carefully. "About what
I want to do with my life."
His father raised an eyebrow. "That's quite mature for a twelve-year-old."
"I had a dream," Majid continued, weaving truth with fiction. "A dream where I grew up
and made a lot of mistakes. It felt so real, and when I woke up, I decided I wanted to be
more serious about my studies, about planning ahead."
Abdul Rahman nodded slowly. "Dreams can be powerful things. But remember, you're
still a child, Majid. There's time for seriousness later."
"I know, Baba. But I still want to do better in school. I want to learn about business,
about investing."
His father looked surprised, then pleased. "Well, if you're interested in such things, I can
certainly help. I've always believed in planning for the future." He paused, studying
Majid's face. "But what about Zuhair? Your mother says you've been avoiding him."
This was the delicate part. Majid couldn't reveal his true feelings about Zuhair—the
hatred, the desire for revenge. But he also couldn't continue the close friendship that
had led to their fateful business partnership.
"We're still friends," he said carefully. "But I think I need to make other friends too. Not
just spend all my time with Zuhair."
Abdul Rahman nodded, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. "That's wise. It's good
to have many friends, many perspectives." He stood, patting Majid's shoulder. "If you
want to talk more about business or investing, let me know. I'm not an expert, but I can
teach you what I know."
"Thank you, Baba."
After his father left, Majid returned to his journal. This conversation had confirmed
something he had been considering: his father could be a valuable ally in his plans.
Abdul Rahman Al-Harthi was intelligent, respected, and had connections in the business
community. In Majid's previous life, he had not fully appreciated his father's potential
influence until it was too late.
This time would be different. This time, he would leverage every advantage, every
relationship.
The next day at school, Majid sat in the cafeteria, observing his classmates with the
detached interest of an anthropologist studying a foreign culture. These children, with
their simple concerns and innocent friendships, seemed alien to him now. Yet he had to
blend in, to maintain the appearance of being one of them.
Zuhair approached his table, tray in hand. "Can I sit?" he asked, his expression uncertain.
Majid had been keeping him at arm's length, and the boy had noticed.
"Sure," said Majid, gesturing to the seat across from him.
Zuhair sat down, picking at his food nervously. "Are you mad at me or something? You've
been weird ever since school started."
Majid studied him, this boy who would grow up to betray him. In his adult life, he had
never understood what had driven Zuhair to such treachery. Now, he had the
opportunity to observe the seeds of that betrayal, to understand its origins.
"I'm not mad," he said. "I've just been thinking about things differently lately."
"What things?"
"The future. What I want to do when I grow up."
Zuhair rolled his eyes. "That's boring. We're only twelve. We don't need to worry about
that stuff yet."
"Maybe not," said Majid. "But I've been thinking about it anyway. I want to start a
business someday."
This was a calculated revelation. In his previous life, it had been Zuhair who first
suggested they become business partners, during their university years. By introducing
the idea now, Majid was subtly altering the dynamic between them.
"A business? Like what?" Zuhair asked, his interest piqued despite his initial dismissal.
"I'm not sure yet. But something in technology, maybe. Computers are going to change
everything in the next few decades."
Zuhair looked skeptical. "How do you know that?"
"I read about it," Majid lied smoothly. "There's this American company called Microsoft
that's going to be huge. And another one called Apple."
"Never heard of them," said Zuhair with a shrug.
"You will," said Majid, allowing himself a small, knowing smile.
The conversation shifted to more typical twelve-year-old topics—video games, football,
the strict new science teacher. But Majid had planted a seed, one that would grow in the
direction he chose, not as it had in his previous life.
After school, instead of going home immediately, Majid took a detour to the local library.
In his adult life, he had been an avid reader of business and technology publications,
keeping abreast of trends and innovations. Now, he needed to refresh his knowledge, to
confirm the timeline of technological developments and market shifts that he
remembered.
The library was quiet, with only a few elderly patrons and a couple of high school
students studying at the tables. Majid headed for the business section, scanning the
shelves for books on investment, entrepreneurship, and technology forecasting.
As he reached for a book on emerging markets, he felt a strange sensation—a tingling in
his fingertips, similar to what he had experienced during his apparent time travel. The
world around him seemed to shimmer slightly, the edges of reality blurring.
For a moment, Majid feared he might be sent back to his original timeline, or perhaps to
some other point in time. He gripped the bookshelf, steadying himself as the sensation
intensified.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the feeling passed. The library solidified around him
once more, unchanged. But Majid was left with a disturbing thought: What if his
presence in the past was not stable? What if he could be yanked back to his original
timeline at any moment, losing this chance at redemption and revenge?
He needed to understand what had happened to him, how he had traveled back in time.
If this was not merely a hallucination or dream, then there must be some mechanism,
some explanation for his journey.
Changing his focus, Majid moved to the section on physics and metaphysics. He selected
several books on time theory, quantum physics, and even some on more esoteric
subjects like mysticism and paranormal phenomena. He knew he would likely find no
direct answers—if time travel were well-understood, it would be common knowledge—
but perhaps he could find clues, theories that might explain his experience.
As he checked out the books, the librarian, an older woman with kind eyes, looked at his
selections with surprise. "These are quite advanced for someone your age," she
remarked.
"I'm doing a special project," Majid explained, offering the practiced smile of his twelve-
year-old self.
"Well, good for you," she said, stamping the due date on each book. "It's refreshing to
see a young person with such intellectual curiosity."
Majid thanked her and left, his mind already racing with the possibilities ahead. He
would need to be careful with his research, to avoid drawing too much attention to his
unusual interests. But he was determined to understand what had happened to him, and
to ensure that he could make the most of this second chance.
As he walked home, the weight of the books in his backpack a comforting presence,
Majid considered his next steps. He would continue to maintain the appearance of a
normal, if somewhat precocious, twelve-year-old. He would gradually distance himself
from Zuhair without raising suspicions. He would cultivate his father's interest in his
business aspirations, laying the groundwork for future support.
And he would begin to investigate the strange phenomenon that had brought him back
to this point in time. Because if he understood it, perhaps he could control it. Perhaps he
could ensure that his revenge would not be interrupted by another unexpected temporal
shift.
The sun was setting as Majid reached his street, casting long shadows across the familiar
houses. In one of those houses, his parents were waiting—parents who were still alive,
still healthy, still unaware of the tragedies that had marked their futures in his original
timeline.
For a moment, Majid felt a pang of something other than the cold determination that
had driven him since his return—a flicker of warmth, of gratitude for this chance to see
them again, to be with them again.
But he quickly suppressed the feeling. Sentimentality was a luxury he could not afford.
Not if he wanted to reshape his destiny. Not if he wanted his revenge.
As he entered his house, greeted by the familiar scents of his mother's cooking and the
sound of his father's voice, Majid reinforced his resolve. This time, things would be
different. This time, he would be the one in control.
And those who had betrayed him would pay the price, even if they did not yet know their
crimes.