Chapter 7
Asim swallowed, his throat getting drier as he stood in the street, his hair fluttering as the hot breeze hit him from behind. The sand and dust, creating small whirlwinds, stung his eyes. The temperature kept rising, the heat getting more and more unbearable.
He looked at the pile of papers in his hands with Dalila's photo printed on them, text written in bold, black letters above it:
Missing. Please contact this number if you have seen this girl.
Asim's phone number shone in red below the text.
Looking up, Asim's eyes ran over the trunk of a streetlight, already covered in different posters and papers. Dalila's photos were now glued over all of them. Sighing, Asim stuck on another flier and stepped forward, now approaching a wall of an old building and fixing the papers there.
He had been walking the entire city, pasting Daila's photo everywhere, filling the pillars, fences, walls, and announcement boards.
Turning, he rushed into the store on the street, edging away from the customers, hurrying to the cashier.
"Have you seen her?" he asked, shoving the photo into the man's hand. The man glanced at it confusedly before shaking his head. "Can I leave this on your door?"
The cashier, or perhaps the owner of the small store, couldn't reject Asim's pleading voice and nodded. Thanking him, Asim glued two papers on the inside and outside of the door before rushing outside.
Walking down the street, he handed out the photos, continuously asking passersby about Dalila. But everyone just shook their heads. Some became annoyed, as if he was a common street peddler. Some watched him with pity, and some stopped, observing the photo with a genuine will to help. But no one knew anything. No one could recognize her.
Exhausted, Asim leaned against a wall, taking deep breaths, bottling up the anger, frustration, sadness, and hopelessness. Pursing his lips, he held in the cry that tried to burst out of him, then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
His phone vibrated. Lucien's message flashed on the screen.
Can't find anything yet. I'll keep searching.
Looking up, Asim saw a small cafe across the street. Realizing he had to eat something to keep going, he plodded toward it.
As he walked inside, the customers filling the small space glimpsed at him before returning to their food and conversation.
"The table at the window is available," a young waitress smiled at Asim, leading him to the spot.
Flopping on the chair, Asim put the papers aside.
"Bring me cold water," he ordered with an unamused voice. "And the food... just bring whatever your special is today."
The girl nodded and, about to turn, got interrupted by Asim.
"Have you seen her?" he asked, showing her Dalila's picture. The waitress examined it for a few seconds before bending her lips.
"No, sorry." "Can I hang one here?" She glanced back as if searching for her boss's approval. "Yes, you can hang one up near the counter." Mumbling a thank you, Asim dragged himself up and approached the board next to the counter where the employees kept gathering to divide the orders. Sticking the photo on the wall, Asim turned, going back to his seat. The girl brought his glass of water, and food was placed in front of him. Asim doggedly dug his fork in, but putting one bite in his mouth, realized he couldn't force it into his stomach.
Drinking the water, he leaned back, looking out of the window, noticing the papers he had stuck on the walls across the street.
Something within him suddenly felt uneasy. And it wasn't the heat, fatigue, frustration, or sleepiness, but something else. Asim felt someone's gaze burning through the side of his face. Someone was watching him.
Turning his head, his eyes ran into a young boy, not older than Dalila, staring at him. Wearing the white server uniform, he looked just like any other Moroccan teenager.
But the more Asim watched him, the more he felt that the boy wanted to tell him something.
Putting the glass down, Asim stood up and approached the boy. His young eyes began wavering as Asim looked down at him.
"You know something about my niece?" Asim asked, pointing at the photo.
The boy peeked toward the others and stepped back, hiding in the dark corner. Asim followed, watching his wide eyes.
"I wasn't sure if it's her," the boy finally uttered. "But I think it is. I think..." "Where have you seen her?" Asim demanded, impatient. "Do you know her or what?" "I know where she is, or at least, the girl I'm thinking of," the waiter whispered, his
cheeks slightly flushing. "There is a house on the shore. Three-floored, with brown doors and white walls."
"That's literally every house here," Exasperated, Asim couldn't tame his frustration anymore. "Write down the address."
The boy ripped a paper out of his tiny notebook and hastily wrote it down, handing the address to Asim.
"How do you know she's there?" Asim asked. The boy avoided his gaze, looking down, his curls falling to his face. "I go there sometimes," he muttered. "When I can't stay at home." "What do you mean?" Asim swallowed, but the boy slipped through the gap between Asim and the wall. "You'll see her there," the boy said, with a knowing sadness. These were the last words he uttered before hurrying out and mingling with the others. Inhaling sharply, Asim looked down at the scrap of paper, his lifeline. He carefully folded it and placed it in his pocket. If the boy was right, and Asim would find Dalila there, he would be grateful to him for the rest of his life.
Chapter 8
The sun slowly sank into the ocean, its burnt orange light spreading over the calm surface, creating a flashing path from the horizon to the coast. The ocean glistened as the bright orange disco ball slid down, already halfway disappeared into the horizon. The sky began turning dark blue, but the red beams like flames twinkled on it as if the sky mirrored the ocean. Soon the sun would hide, and the horizon would dissolve as the sky and sea emerge into one. But until then, the last radiant light flowed onto Rabat, floating as in a dream.
Asim, however, standing at the edge of the stairs, couldn't see or feel the surroundings. His mind was immersed in his internal war.
Glancing at the piece of paper in his hand, he looked up at the three-floored house, its white walls glinting in the deep light. Standing before it, Asim could hear muffled chatter and laughter reaching through the door. But looking up, he couldn't see anyone behind the drawn curtains. As if it was a hideaway, a sort of speakeasy. Taking a few light steps forward, Asim knocked on the door and, impatient, began fidgeting on his feet. Why were people hiding behind the curtains? Why didn't the boy in the cafe tell him what this place was? What was so secretive about it?
Worries began simmering in Asim's heart. Maybe it was a place for criminals. What if they hurt Dalila? Or what if this was a trap? He clenched his fists, stepping back.
But the cheerful, high-pitched voices of giggling and blabbering proved him otherwise. The sounds of young people made him think that maybe this was a house for homeless kids.
Suddenly the door opened, and Asim's eyes moved from the windows to the woman standing at the doorway, her scrutinizing gaze gliding up and down on the man. Her long, colorful dress fluttered in the slight breeze, and the curly hair hardly covered her ears, shining gems dangling from them. Only a glance was enough to feel the woman's free spirit, expressing itself through her carefree, hippy-style appearance. And even though she radiated energy and youth, deep wrinkles had bunched up around her eyes, lining her cheeks. She gazed at Asim with her blue eyes, deeper than the ocean.
"I..." Asim hardly began as if saying his first words. "I'm Asim Ali. I've come from Cairo."
She listened quietly, waiting for him to continue. Suddenly, Asim caught sight of young boys flashing by behind her and, as they noticed Asim, hurried away as though afraid of him, running into dark corners. The laughter and chit-chat kept emanating from the house.
"I'm looking for my niece," Asim said, and showed the woman Dalila's picture. "Someone gave me this address and said that they'd seen her here."
The woman glimpsed at the photo and looked up, her eyes wavering from doubt.
"Please," Asim pleaded, his voice turning brittle. "I've been searching for her for a week. All I know for certain is that she's in Morocco. Please, tell me if you know where she is."
The woman gazed at him as though trying to read his thoughts or figure out if his emotions were genuine.
A sense of hopelessness washed over Asim. He dropped his hands, the tears he'd been holding in escaping and rolling down his cheeks.
"Please," he sobbed out. "I don't know how much strength I have left. And I can't leave without seeing that she is safe. I won't leave until I see her."
Looking down and rubbing his eyes dry, Asim felt the lady's hand on his shoulder. Glancing up, his eyes ran into her grave expression.
"Come in," she murmured and turned.
Mumbling words of gratitude, Asim stepped over the doorway and walked inside. As the door closed behind him, he gawked around, finding himself suddenly in the ambiance of dozens of different voices, all blending into one another, coming from every direction. He felt like microphones were attached to the ceiling, different songs flowing from them. But in a few seconds, when he grasped the reality, Asim realized that he just stepped foot into a house absolutely teeming with people.
Between the white walls and wooden furniture, young people mingled, mostly teenagers or in their early 20’s. Some stood at the kitchen counter, some ate cereal, some watched TV, and some dozed on the couch. Their chatter turned into a bundle of inaudible conversations. Boys and girls with dyed hair, piercings, colorful or monochrome clothes, dark or light skin, different features, and body types - all had gathered. It looked like a group of entirely unlikely companions, but at the same time, they had a lot in common: youth, life, and signs of scare and secrecy in their eyes.
Gooseflesh rippled up Asim's skin. He could see immense sadness in every kid's eyes, something only the people who have experienced the real world have. How could these teenagers have such depth in their eyes?
"You're looking for Dalila, right?" The woman's voice snapped Asim out of his trance, and before he could collect himself to answer, he saw Dalila coming out of the next room with her hand over a girl's shoulder, laughing. Asim froze, staring at her. He had never seen her so happy, so careless, so joyous. Light poured out of her sparkling eyes, a broad smile spread on her face.
Unable to see her uncle, Dalila beamed at the girl standing next to her, a little shorter than Dalila, blonde and tanned.
Asim felt his heart skipping a beat as Dalila leaned in, kissing the girl. Their lips momentarily touched before they smiled at each other. Asim couldn't remember seeing anyone with so much love in their eyes.
Asim swallowed, loosening his fists as Dalila noticed him, color draining from her face.
Check back next week for part 4! Thank you for reading.