The second school day began quietly.
In Mazen's classroom, a dull silence hung in the air, broken only by the slow, hesitant rotation of the ceiling fan — as if even it was reluctant to perform its duty.
Mazen sat in the last row — not out of laziness, but to avoid attention.
He was not one for the spotlight; he preferred to observe from afar, where details revealed themselves more clearly than to those absorbed in the front rows.
Mr. Sameh Al-Badri, the social studies teacher, entered the class carrying a colorful paper and wearing a look that balanced seriousness with enthusiasm.
Standing by the desk, he announced,
"Good morning, everyone.
Today, I received an official announcement from the administration regarding the upcoming Academic Excellence Competition at the district level."
A few students raised their heads with interest; curiosity and competitiveness flickered across their faces.
Mazen, however, remained as he was — listening quietly, showing no reaction.
The teacher continued,
"As usual, five main students will represent the school this year — those who achieved the highest grades last year — along with five substitutes who will step in if any of the main participants withdraw."
Ziad, who sat in front of Mazen, leaned back and whispered,
"Looks like the spots are already taken... no place for the sleepers."
Mazen replied calmly, his voice low but firm,
"Sometimes, those who sleep well see more than those who stay up pointlessly."
Ziad chuckled softly.
"So, planning to see yourself on the stage soon?"
Mazen shrugged.
"I won't ask for it... but I wouldn't mind if I end up there by coincidence."
Mr. Sameh glanced at his paper again.
"The competition will begin in four weeks. It will follow a knockout format — like football tournaments — covering Arabic, English, Mathematics, Science, Social Studies, and General Knowledge that tests comprehension and analytical speed."
His gaze swept across the class and paused briefly on Mazen before moving on.
He then began explaining a map of Ancient Egypt, while Mazen studied the textbook intently.
He might have been silent, but his mind was sharp — analyzing, memorizing, processing.
Yet something began to cloud his focus.
His gray eye felt... heavier, as if something inside resisted from within.
The same sensation as the night before — not pain, but a pressure, a presence.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"Not now... not here."
"Mazen?"
He opened his eyes instantly.
"Yes, sir?"
"Why was the Nile Delta an important agricultural area?"
Without hesitation, Mazen answered,
"Because of the fertile soil created by the Nile's annual silt deposits."
"Excellent," said the teacher, smiling slightly. "Seems you're quite alert despite your silence."
Ziad smirked, saying nothing, while Mazen turned his eyes back to the book — but didn't read.
At recess, chatter filled the schoolyard.
Students debated the competition eagerly, but Mazen walked alone, his bag slung over his shoulder, eyes fixed on the ground.
At home, the smell of lentil soup filled the air.
Miral watched TV with Muaz and their mother; laughter echoed through the room.
Mazen entered quietly, hung his bag, and sat down.
Muaz asked,
"Will you join the competition?"
"No," Mazen replied. "I wasn't among the top students last year."
His mother looked at him warmly.
"At least try if you get the chance. You know what you're capable of."
He smiled faintly.
"I know... that's why I don't rush to prove it."
At that moment, the door opened softly.
Waseem entered — pale, expressionless, eyes dull.
He gave them a brief look, then disappeared into his room without a word.
Miral whispered,
"He hasn't smiled in months..."
Mazen said quietly,
"Some things can't be healed with words."
Later that night, Mazen sat before his mirror, studying his eyes — as if there was something in them he couldn't quite grasp.
He murmured to himself,
"I don't want to be special... I just want to be normal."
But the reflection staring back didn't seem to agree.
...And then sleep overtook him.
It wasn't ordinary sleep.
It felt as if his consciousness had fallen into a soft, endless pit — weightless, silent, and dark.
Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the void:
"Aah! Maaazen?!"
He jolted awake in panic — finding himself on a wide, white bed.
Next to him sat a trembling girl clutching the blanket, staring at him in horror.
"Mazen Jad?! What are you doing here?!" she cried, sliding away from him.
Mazen's mind raced. He looked around — at the bed, at her — bewildered.
"Me?! I... I don't know! I was asleep in my room! What's happening?!"
He leapt off the bed as if struck by lightning, backed into a corner, pressed his hand against the wall, and whispered,
"This is a nightmare... a weird commercial from my brain... this isn't real."
A tense silence followed.
Then the girl raised her hand cautiously.
"Wait... I'm Salma Mordan. Isn't this a room? Are we in a boarding school?! Were we kidnapped?!"
Mazen groaned, covering his face.
"I don't know! All I know is I went to bed in my house — and now I wake up next to a classmate I barely know!"
"And I wake up next to you on the same bed! Isn't that embarrassing enough?!" she snapped.
He sighed, muttering from the corner,
"Even in my dreams, I can't escape social scandals..."
Salma edged closer and sat at the edge of the bed.
"Do you feel... awake? Like, really awake?"
Mazen looked at her.
"More than I should. My senses are all working — and I can even feel the cold."
She scanned the room.
"No doors... no windows... no clock on the wall."
Mazen rose slowly.
"Not even a button to unsubscribe from this nightmare."
She laughed nervously.
"You talk a lot for someone asleep."
"I usually don't," he smiled. "But this situation is... exceptional."
A short silence fell between them.
Then he said,
"If this is a dream, how do we remember each other so clearly?"
"Isn't it strange?" she replied. "Same bed, same moment, same school!"
He suddenly raised a finger.
"Wait... you sit near the window, right? At the far side of the class?"
Her eyes widened.
"You noticed me?"
He smirked.
"I notice everything... I just choose when to act."
"And I thought you ignored everyone — yet here you are, invading my dreams!"
He laughed.
"I swear I entered this one without permission."
They both fell silent again, their eyes wandering around the vanishing room.
Then Salma said softly,
"What if we test something? To see if this connects to reality."
"Like wearing the same color tomorrow?"
"Exactly! We pick a color and stick to it. If we both end up wearing it without planning, it means we remembered something from here — which means this isn't a normal dream."
Mazen nodded.
"Alright... how about dark blue?"
"Deal."
"Great. But if I wake up and wear green instead, that means I've lost connection to the conspiracy."
She giggled.
"And if I forget, it means I overslept and never opened my closet."
Then the room began to dissolve — the bed fading, walls evaporating, stars blinking out one by one.
Mazen's voice echoed faintly as he disappeared,
"Salma... if we don't remember this dream, should we pretend it never happened?"
She whispered back,
"And if we do remember... does that mean we're not alone?"
Then... darkness reclaimed it all.