3 W I S H E S & 17 D A Y S

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"Uh, why are they coming our way, Zahir?" Khaled took a step back, his apple falling to the ground. It rolled across the dusty road, becoming dirty itself. Everyone suddenly had their attention on the possible encounter with the two boys.

"Do me a favour and... run." Zahir hissed as the soldiers darted their way. Both brothers sprinted the other direction, separating.

Zahir ran into a narrow alleyway. A goat looked at him in curiosity as homeless people and orphans cowered in the corners. The ground was littered with garbage and a musty smell of rotten food infiltrated his nose. He dashed past them, his worn out slippers kicked dust behind him as he raced out onto the main street.

"Watch it!" One man yelled out as Zahir bumped into him. The basket of little trinkets and toys collapsed onto the ground from the man's grip. Zahir disregarded the other person's curses, turning around frantically to see if he was being followed. Soon enough, the soldiers appeared from the entrance of the alleyway he had just come out of.

"Shit." Zahir cursed when the Sultan's men called out to him. He whipped, stumbling across the rocky path of the marketplace. People shouted in distress and jumped out of his way when he ran through. They must have caught me stealing the apple. But why are they wasting their time to catch me? Zahir thought. It didn't make sense, it wasn't that bad of a thing.

His sprint had now turned into a jog. His chest heaved up and down as his eyes darted for a hiding place. He nudged through the bustling streets of Arbiyyah, the all too familiar smell of flesh and fish travelling up his nose. He had entered the butcher's marketplace.

"Wait right there, street rat!" A soldier shouted but Zahir didn't stop. He slipped into an apartment building, getting odd looks from clean, well-kept people who judged his dirty attire. The building was much nicer than the huts from the slums. It was made out of sturdy cement and had proper rugs on the floor. Dim light bulbs hung from the ceiling, indicating the apartment could afford electricity.

"Is he from the slums?" A woman said to another. She covered her face with her patterned shawl when Zahir gave a curt glare. He hated the disrespect he received from the people of Ayna.

Not wasting too much time, he made his way up the tiled steps to the second floor.

"Hey, you can't go up there!" The receptionist yelled and the thumping of his boots followed him. More shouts and screams rung in Zahir's ears as he came across a dead end. The hallway finished and Zahir panted, trying to catch his breath. I'm so dead now. 

"He is a rat." One fat soldier propped against the chipped wall, trying to catch his breath. Another marched towards Zahir, grabbing the strap of his tank top. "He runs exactly like one."

Zahir glared at the tall, muscular man, not daring to say a word. Why did they want to punish him so bad? It wasn't illegal for people of the slums to come up to the Ayna.

"Bring the little twat." The fat soldier motioned towards the others. They soon brought in a thrashing, kicking Khaled.

"Khaled!" Zahir took a step towards him but was pushed back and pinned against the wall. He grunted as the muscular solder pressed his hand harder against Zahir's chest.

"We finally caught you, Zahir Mohammad."

Zahir narrowed his honey eyes. His thick brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to process what the soldier said. A member from the royal palace knew a pauper's name?

"How do you know my name?" He demanded. Perspiration trickled down his temples in a steady -like stream. It was extremely hot and the humidity wanted him to throw up. When was the last time he had water?