Asim
Short Story part 2 of 4
Chapter 4
People kept passing by, walking up and down the street with quick steps, their heads lowered to avoid the burning sunshine. Some hurried with bags over their shoulders, some with folders stuck in their arms, some strolled carelessly, and some stood on the sidewalk, scrolling through their phones.
Still, no one had as much worry in their hearts as Asim.
Asim sat on a bench, his eyes fixed on the small grocery store across the street. There was nothing special about this store, it was just another old building in the city. But one thing distinguished it from every store: Dalila's kidnapper shopped there.
Asim's eyes moved up as someone flopped next to him, and a slight smile ran across his lips.
"Sara, thanks for coming," he let out with an exhausted voice and added. "Again."
Still wearing her peach-tinted hijab, Sara nodded, her gaze following Asim's eyes, landing on the store entrance. A few customers went in and out, but none of them was the one Asim searched for. Hopelessness began to seep into him.
"Sorry for making you come here every day," Asim apologized. "You must be tired after the classes."
"It's okay, I'm happy to help," Sara's eyes sparkled with honesty and compassion. "But aren't you tired? You've been sitting here for hours every day. And it's been five days, maybe we should–"
"We aren't giving up," Asim's voice overshadowed the girl's. He rubbed his unshaven chin, feeling the sleeplessness casting down his eyelids.
"Of course," Sara agreed obediently, her voice edged with respect.
Asim sighed, his body starting to shut down after spending nights without a wink, getting no food or a minute without worry. Suddenly, Sara gasped, pointing at the store with a trembling finger.
"It's him," she murmured. "It's him."
"What?!" Asim jumped up, staring at the man getting out of a run-down, white van. He coughed and brushed back his oily, curly hair before walking into the store. Asim examined his inflated belly hanging from his belt, hairy arms, and worn-out shoes with disgust. He winced.
"You can go now, Sara; I can talk to him myself," Asim muttered under his breath.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes, thank you for everything."
Asim didn't even glance at Sara, slowly walking away as he stared at the man's reflection through the window.
In a single fluid motion, and as if a sudden unstoppable force propelled him from the back, Asim rushed forward, crossing the street and stopping at the door. He felt adrenaline lashing violently in his veins. One customer left the store. Then the second, then a third... and fourth was the man. Walking out of the store, the man peeked into his grocery bag, stepping toward his van before Asim grabbed his arm, making him turn.
"Who are you?" he asked, startled. Under the sunshine, up close, his low beard and dark face – as if smudged with mud – looked even more sickening to Asim. Rage mounted in him, about to pour out.
"Let's talk in the shade," the whispers snaked out of Asim's mouth.
"Why would I–" the man began, but Asim gripped his arm tightly, digging his nails into his skin.
"Would you rather I shout that you're a kidnapper?" Asim smirked and jolted his chin. "Or maybe you prefer going straight to the police station? It's right down the street."
The color drained from the man's face, and he swallowed before slightly nodding.
Asim stepped to the back of the store, facing nothing but a metal fence. The rounded building partly covered them from the street.
The shadow spread over the men like Asim's darkened, unhinged soul.
"Where did you take my niece?" Asim felt the intimidation crawling out of him – so strong, it even frightened him. "Dalila! Where the hell did you take her!?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the man stepped back, sticking against the wall. He lowered his head to avoid Asim's killing gaze that drilled right through him, like bullets stabbing through prey.
"Dalila! An 18-year-old girl got into your van six days ago, before 9 am, in front of the college!" Asim raised his voice, last bits of patience seeping out of him. "You still don't remember?"
"I don't," the man mumbled, staring at his shoes.
"Look at me!" Asim yelled before looking around and lowering his voice.
He grabbed the man's chin, forcing him to lift his head, gripping his face with his full strength. The man's features twisted, his pupils shrinking from terror.
"You kidnapped her, or at least you have a hand in her disappearance," Asim's lips trembled, his face wrinkling from fury. "Are you sure you don't remember?"
The man shook his head, sweat rolling down his temples.
Looking at the man lying, Asim felt something snapping in his stomach as if knots of anger had opened. The strength rushed to his fists, and before the man could blink, he felt Asim's heavy punch in the chest.
His body crumpled like paper, slowly sliding down the wall and rolling up in an embryo pose. The man moaned from pain and covered his head with his hands, shrinking more and more into a ball like a hedgehog.
Looking down at the man turning weak and powerless like a human downsizing into a child, Asim felt anger fading and guilt raising its head in him. Words of apology rushed to his lips, but he held back the moment he remembered Dalila.
"Won't you speak now?" he asked quietly.
The man glanced up, his eyes narrowed from alarm as if preparing for another punch. But Asim had released his fists, loosening his body.
"All I know is that she's in Morocco," the man uttered.
Asim grabbed his arm, making him stand up.
"Morocco? Why?" he asked.
"I have no idea, really," the man pleaded. "Please. That's all I know."
Asim inhaled, staring steadily into the man’s frightened eyes. The man was being honest, there was no need to intimidate him further.
Letting go of him, Asim shook his head, clouded with questions. Why was Dalila in Morocco? Was she kidnapped? Or did she run away?
The answers didn't matter. All he knew was that he had to find her.
Chapter 5
The sound of Asim's footsteps dashing up the stairs broke the dark silence lodged into the old, dusty corridors.
Panting, he bumped his fist on the door and then pressed his forehead against it. He was breathing so sharply and heavily it sounded as if he needed to suck up all the air there was in that dank space.
The door opened, and Asim looked up, seeing his sister standing, her trembling hand hardly holding the door. Her eyes had become even darker than the bags beneath them. Her skin had shriveled like a withering flower, and her lips quivered as if unable to stop after crying so continuously.
Asim rushed in, winding his arms around Lapis, feeling her bony body hunching between his arms. She weakly hugged back, and when Asim let go of her, Lapis stumbled, almost falling.
"Careful!" Asim caught her arm, helping her sit on a chair. She had lost all her vibrant energy, and teetered like an old woman on the verge of death.
Asim glanced at Omari standing at the kitchen window, watching. His face didn't even twitch, nor did his hands move with the reflex of helping his wife. As if he had already gotten used to their new lifestyle that only consisted of thinking and talking about Dalila, crying, and calling police over and over again just to receive no answers.
Sitting next to his sister, Asim took her hand, trying to see her eyes through the dark hijab falling to her face.
"Where are the kids?" he asked.
"We took them to Omari's mother," she forced the words out of her parched lips. "We don't have the energy to take care of them right now."
Asim's eyes darted around the house. Once so noisy, lively, and full of children's chatter, now the place was sinking in misery and silence. No kids ran from room to room anymore, and the vacant bedrooms looked like empty boxes of matches. Sadness struck Asim.
"Was the police here?" he asked.
"Yes," now Omari replied, still standing a few feet away. "But they said they can't do much. They already questioned Dalila's friends and the neighbors, but they have no lead."
"My little girl," Lapis murmured before tears traced her cheeks again, red and irritated. "Where is my daughter?"
Omari sighed and turned, looking out of the window.
"Maybe we should give up," he said quietly. "It's obvious she left because she didn't want to live here anymore."
Asim tried to see Omari's face, but he had turned his back at them. Hearing him talk as if he had already given in to hopelessness, Asim felt his throat tightening from anger again.
"What do you mean, give up?!" he asked loudly, standing up. "We don't ‘give up.’ We are her family."
"You are not," Omari turned, locking his eyes on Asim. Asim stared at his unwavering lashes and frozen pupils. And for the first time in a while, he felt isolated again.
"I found the man," Asim stepped toward Omari. "The man with a white van."
"You did?!" Lapis jumped up and dashed to him, suddenly revived. "You talked to him?!" "Yes, I did," Asim replied and took Lapis's shaking hands. Then, slowly and carefully:
"He said Dalila is in Morocco."
Lapis gasped and covered her mouth before a suppressed smile flickered on her face. "Oh my god, Asim!" she cried out, tears of elation misting her eyes. "In Morocco!" she
fell quiet and stepped back, her smile slowly melting away. "We need to go, but how? So many children..."
"I will go," Asim asserted. "I have already decided."
"You?" Lapis whispered, gawking at him.
"Yes, I will go and find her," Asim smiled. "I promise I will."
"How did you make the man talk?" Omari's stern, dry tone of voice made them turn.
He had walked closer to Asim, standing with arms akimbo, his curly hair standing on its end.
"How?" he repeated. "You probably beat him up. You did, didn't you?"
Asim gritted his teeth, his body tensing up, veins bulging under his heated skin. A gentle touch of Lapis soothed him before she stood between them.
"Stop it, Omari," she scolded her husband. "He's offering help. You know, none of us can leave because of work and kids. Moreover, Asim will be much more flexible and practical than us..."
"Yes, he will," Omari interrupted, scoffing ironically. "Because he has so much experience in this kind of thing."
"Omari," Lapis tried to stop him but without luck.
Omari stood before Asim, gazing into his flaring eyes, seeing how much his words angered and hurt Asim. But nothing stopped him, and Asim wondered if that was his aim from the start - to hurt him and make him change his mind.
"The outcast one," Omari continued, a subtle, fixed smile cracking his lips. "The one with a dangerous background. Did some time in jail, involved with the drug trade in Egypt. That's all you, Asim, isn't it?"
Asim felt rage hammering in his chest, but he held back. Then, inhaling, he looked away, trying to calm his strained nerves.
"Yes, that's all me," Asim replied flatly. "But I've changed. I'm different now. I thought you knew that."
As Omari fell quiet, Asim's eyes moved onto Lapis, who stared up at him, her cheeks still wet. Did she consider him an outcast too? Hasn't she forgiven him after all these years? Lapis was the only one he had, and the thought that she didn't trust him made his heart shatter into pieces.
Lapis turned to her husband.
"Please, Omari," she begged.
"I don't want him to go!" Omari shouted and turned. "How can I trust someone like him?
Someone's who's capable of doing what he's done."
Lapis took his hands, sobbing.
"He is a good man, Omari," she pleaded. "Please. He has to go. He will help. He will bring our girl back."
Omari shook his head, huffing.
"We won't ever find her if Asim doesn't go," Lapis cried. "You're ready to give up on her?
Please, don't do this to me. Don't do this to our family."
Omari stared at her eyes for a minute before his steady expression broke, and he sighed. "Okay," he muttered. "If you think he can help, he can go."
Lapis turned at Asim with a brightened face. But Asim's face didn't change; it was shaded, grave. Why didn’t Omari want him to go? While his refusal would still not change his mind, Asim wondered if Omari even wanted to find Dalila. Maybe he's shaken from worry, he mused.
Quickly kissing Lapis on the cheeks, Asim rushed to the door and opened it.
"I'll keep you posted," he said and looked back, the anger and doubts bubbling inside him.
He glanced at Lapis and nodded, then regarded Omari one last time, taking a look at his reluctant, stony expression. He felt miles and miles away from these people. Outcast, just like Omari had said. But this time he wasn’t the one keeping secrets.
Chapter 6
The sun blazed down the city, floating in the clear sky like a golden fish hovering in a calm ocean. The thin cloud of dust fluttered in the air, seeping through the crevices and gaps, traveling through the narrow alleys, filling the holes in the old walls.
Asim rolled his suitcase out of the airport, and standing at the curb, gazed out at a familiar sight. He was here in Rabat, the capital of Morocco, once again.
Feeling the shirt clinging to his damp skin, sweat crawling down his forehead, and palms getting clammy, Asim licked his parched lips and caught a taxi.
Heading to the hotel, he looked out the murky car window. His eyes lingered on the identical white buildings scattered like sugar cubes on the hill, windows reflecting the shining blue of the Atlantic Ocean. Ships and boats slid across the smooth surface of the water, leaving lines of white bubbles. The old, brown, brick walls of buildings still stood unmoving after so many years like untouchable idols. People had opened the windows, putting their colorful blankets over them, letting the sunshine soak the soft fabrics. The chatter had turned into a barely audible hum that hung over the city.
The taxi soon passed by the center of Rabat and drove into the Kasbah of the Udayas. Asim felt like the sky and ocean had emerged into one, as if the horizon had disappeared and the whole world turned into a blue canvas, pure like a gemstone found in deep waters.
Even though he knew this place well, Asim felt amazement flooding through him once again as his eyes landed on the lined-up blue buildings, creating narrow aisles, bringing an atmosphere of a fairy tale. Their azure walls, resembling the heavens, had slightly creased and cracked but still held the undying beauty. Green ivy adorned the untainted vivid color, turning the sight into an impressionist painting.
Getting out of the car, Asim took his small suitcase and began walking up the stairs in the alley between the white and blue houses. This beauty momentarily overshadowed his worries, but they soon spiked again as Asim remembered why he was here. Soon, the thoughts about Dalila fogged his mind, and everything else – the blue sky, ocean, and buildings – became blurry.
Knocking on the wooden door, Asim saw an old lady appearing with a sweet smile from behind it.
"Good morning, " he greeted politely. "I am renting the room upstairs."
"Oh, yes, yes," the lady opened the door. "Please, come inside."
After receiving the key, Asim walked upstairs, holding his suitcase. As he stepped into the room and closed the door behind, he exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath for the entire trip.
Flopping on the bed, he glanced around the room. It was small but neat, with crisp white walls, a clean bed, and broad windows. As he glanced out onto the street, listening to the soft anonymous hum of the city, Asim realized how lonely he was.
Exhaustion hit him like a punch to the gut, and began pulling down his eyelids. Fatigue soaked up his energy as Asim stared blearily out of the window, absently staring at the rooftops glistening in the sunshine.
But he had no time to feel tired or lonely. He hadn't come here to get swallowed by his own emotions. He had come here to find Dalila, and nothing could break his determination to search for her day and night. He would inspect every dusky corner of Morocco if he had to, until he'd see her face again. And then – no matter what had happened to her or what she had done – he'd hold her tight in his arms and never let go.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Asim quickly dialed a number and put it to his ear. After three beeps, he heard the long-forgotten yet very known voice he hadn't heard for years.
"I need to see you today," said Asim into the phone, receiving dead silence in return. But in a few seconds, the deep voice broke it.
"Meet me at Altos in an hour."
The conversation ended, and the quiet stretched from the other end of the line. Turning his phone off, Asin pocketed it, grabbed his wallet, and hurried out.
–––
Altos looked the same as it did years ago, only the barman seemed new. The black walls, dim lights, quiet music, and acrid scent of old booze – none of it had changed. As Asim stepped inside, he felt like he had stepped into his old home.
His eyes glided over the few customers, sitting in corners, sipping from glasses. As Asim surveyed the scene, one particularly rugged bear of a man caught his glance and locked eyes.
The man rose immediately, welcoming Asim with a broad grin. His muscled body, tanned skin, and shaved head gave him an intimidating look, despite his being several inches shorter than Asim. But his eyes sparkled like black diamonds.
"I hoped I'd never see your face again," Asim muttered in a low tone before a smile broke his solemn expression. "Lucien, you old man," Asim chuckled.
"You don't look too young either, Asim!"
Laughing, the men hugged each other, tapping their hands on one another's backs. Sitting at the table, Lucien raised his hand to call the barman, but Asim shook his head.
"I don't drink anymore," he said, making the man smile.
"You've changed," Lucien sized Asim up like a kid observing a gift. "How long has it been? Ten years?"
"12 years," Asim scoffed and shook his head. "Too long to go without seeing a friend."
"Too long," Lucien agreed, sweat beads sparkling on his bald head. "What brings you back to Rabat?”
Sighing, Asim locked his eyes on Lucien as though trying to share his thoughts through telepathy.
"My niece has gone missing," he said, heavily. A long sigh. "All I know is that she's in Morocco. This is her. Dalila."
Asim showed Lucien Dalila's picture on his phone. A happy girl smiling brightly at the camera. Lucien looked at it, then back at Asim with a severe expression.
"We were one big group of loner, outcast men," Asim continued, remembering the past. "You all helped me survive in the Egyptian underground. We all helped each other. And I know you were angry at me when I left to start fresh," Asim breathed. "But I need your help once again. I really need it."
Lucien gazed at him silently; his eyes fixed on Asim's face as though trying to drill through it. Asim felt a million different thoughts rush through his friend's mind.
Finally, Lucien dropped his head and looked up at Asim from below his bushy brows.
"Okay," he let out carefully, before a subtle smile curled his lips. "How can I say no to you, you stubborn old goat!"
"Thank you, Lucien!" Asim exclaimed, tears of gratitude filling his eyes.
"I'll do everything I can," Lucien said and pointed at Asim's phone. "Meanwhile, you should print out that photo and start asking around. Anywhere. Everywhere."
Asim nodded, and looking at Dalila's picture on his phone, prayed fervently for the time he'd see her smile again.
Check back next week for part 3! Thank you for reading.