The next morning, a pale shaft of sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, cutting across the small room and landing right on Hatim's face. The warmth made him stir. He frowned, rolled to the side, and blinked at the clock on the wall.
"Seven already… I'm getting late," he muttered, his voice still rough from sleep.
He threw off his blanket and got to his feet. The floor was cold under his bare toes, making him hurry toward the small bathroom. A quick brush, a splash of water on his face, and he was already running the tap for a short bath. The water was chilly, but he didn't mind—it woke him up fast.
By the time he came out, his hair was still damp, sticking to his forehead. He walked into the tiny kitchen, which was just a narrow space with a stove in one corner, a wooden shelf above it, and a table pushed against the wall.
Hatim didn't have time for anything fancy. He cracked an egg into a pan, threw two slices of bread into the toaster, and poured water into a dented kettle for tea. The smell of frying egg soon filled the kitchen.
As he waited, he reached for the small television in the corner and pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life with the morning news.
"…the meteorite predicted to hit Earth last night has been successfully destroyed in space by the International Space Agency," the anchor was saying. The woman's voice was calm, but the pictures behind her showed something far from ordinary—huge explosions in space, then shaky videos from phones capturing streaks of fire in the night sky.
"However," the anchor continued, "scientists confirm that several fragments of the meteorite have fallen to different parts of the globe. Most landed in uninhabited areas, but some reports mention damage in rural towns…"
Hatim paused with the cup in his hand, his eyes narrowing slightly. For a brief moment, he imagined a glowing rock falling from the sky right into Gokul Town. But the thought faded almost as quickly as it came.
"It's got nothing to do with me," he muttered, and went back to his breakfast.
After finishing the meal, he reached for the small wooden box in the living room cupboard. Inside was a gold ring, wrapped in a piece of old cloth. He held it for a moment, feeling its weight in his palm. It had belonged to his father.
He slipped it into his pocket.
The gold shop was far, but it was on the way to City General Hospital. Selling the ring wasn't something he wanted to do—but it was necessary.
When he stepped outside, the February air was cool and fresh. The narrow lane outside his house was waking up. A milkman on a bicycle clinked his bottles as he passed. Two little boys were chasing each other with wooden sticks, pretending to be sword fighters. An old woman sat on her doorstep peeling peas into a metal bowl.
As Hatim walked, the streets grew busier. Vendors were setting up their carts—bright piles of oranges, shiny red apples, stacks of fresh bread. The smell of hot samosas came from a tea stall, mixing with the sharp scent of fresh coriander from a nearby vegetable cart.
The gold shop stood at the corner of a busy street in the Al Noor district, near the bus terminal. It had a glass front with "Kareem Jewellers" painted in bold red letters. The bell above the door jingled when Hatim stepped in.
The shopkeeper, an older man with silver hair and thick glasses, looked up from his ledger. His eyes scanned Hatim quickly. "Yes, young man? What do you need?"
Hatim placed the ring on the counter. "I want to sell this."
The man picked it up, turning it under the light. "Hmm… nice work. But you're just a kid. Are you sure this belongs to you?"
"It's mine," Hatim said firmly.
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "I'll give you $180 for it."
"That's too low," Hatim replied, keeping his voice steady.
"Gold prices aren't what they used to be," the man said with a shrug.
Hatim stayed silent, his dark eyes fixed on the man's face. The shopkeeper shifted uncomfortably, then sighed. "Fine. Two hundred dollars. But that's my final offer."
"Deal," Hatim said.
The money felt heavy in his pocket as he stepped back onto the street. He raised his hand to hail a taxi.
"City General Hospital," he told the driver.
The taxi wove its way through the main road. They passed rows of electronics shops, a cinema with faded posters, and a long line of people waiting at a bus stop. On Khalid Avenue, a man was selling roasted corn by the roadside, the smoky smell drifting through the open window.
The hospital soon came into view—a large white building with the blue cross emblem on its front wall. Ambulances stood parked near the entrance, their sirens silent but ready.
Inside, the cool air carried the strong scent of antiseptic. The floor tiles shone under the fluorescent lights. At the reception desk, a nurse in a pale blue uniform glanced up.
"Visiting hours started twenty minutes ago," she said.
"I need to pay a bill first," Hatim replied, pulling out the money.
She counted it carefully before giving him a receipt. "Room 214," she said.
Hatim took the stairs instead of the elevator—it felt faster. On the second floor, he saw Dr. Saeed standing outside his mother's ward. The doctor was tall, with a calm but serious look in his eyes.
"She's stable for now," Dr. Saeed said, "but she needs rest and proper nutrition. No stress, no overthinking. And she should avoid walking too much."
Hatim nodded. "I understand."
Inside, his mother lay propped up against two thin pillows. Her face lit up when she saw him.
"Hatim, you're here," she said softly.
"Of course," he smiled, pulling up a chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Better today. The nurses are kind. One of them even gave me extra tea." She smiled faintly, but her eyes searched his face. "Have you eaten?"
"Yes," Hatim lied. He didn't want her to know he had skipped most of his breakfast. And he certainly didn't tell her about the ring. If she knew, she might insist on giving it back to him or worry about how they'd manage in the future.
They talked for a while—about her medicine, the noisy patient in the next bed who kept calling for water, the news she had overheard about the strange meteorite.
"Do you think it's dangerous?" she asked.
"No," Hatim said quickly. "It's far from here. Just a story for the TV."
But as he spoke, he remembered the anchor's words: fragments have fallen across several parts of the globe. He pushed the thought aside.
When the nurse came in to check her blood pressure, Hatim stood up. "I'll be back tomorrow, Mama."
She nodded, her eyes soft but tired. "Take care of yourself, my son."
As he stepped out of the ward, Hatim felt the weight of the day pressing down on him.