That night was no better for me. Sleep didn't come—not even close. If anything, thinking about that kid made it worse. His words echoed in my head, mixing with my own fears. I lay there in bed, doing nothing, feeling helpless… like an eight-year-old afraid of the dark.
It was almost pathetic—almost. But the truth is, fear doesn't care how old you are.
Then it hit me: I had to go to Ali's.
It was a nine-hour drive. The thought alone made me groan—I was already exhausted, and I hadn't even left the house. Still, something inside me pushed forward.
I slipped on my shirt, threw on a suit—don't ask why, I just felt like dressing up. Maybe I wanted to feel stronger, more in control. Maybe I wanted to pretend I had it all together.
Either way, I was strangely excited.
This would be my first time staying in an Islamic home. New culture. New rhythm. A new kind of peace, maybe. I couldn't wait for those nine hours to be over.
Because deep down, I was hoping I'd find something there that I hadn't found anywhere else:
Rest
"These fucking dreams won't let me sleep," I muttered under my breath, swearing for the first time in years. It felt wrong—like something I shouldn't have said—but the fury inside me was louder than guilt. I was tired, furious, and afraid. And I had no choice but to do what I was doing.
"Muslims know how to read dreams… Ali might be able to help," I told myself, gripping the steering wheel tighter, using every thought to keep my hope alive.
"Maybe his dad—Ibrahim—he might know more," I added, as if saying it out loud would make the drive easier.
The road stretched ahead like a question with no answer. But at least I was moving forward
If I kept thinking about all this rubbish, I was going to crash the car. My mind was spinning, but then—suddenly—my phone rang. I picked it up without even looking. Of course, it was Ali, probably calling to check in.
"Hey Jordan, are you still coming?" he asked, a spark of excitement in his voice.
I couldn't ruin that—couldn't let him hear the fear behind my eyes.
"Yeah, I'm on my way. About a hundred and forty-five kilometers out," I replied, trying to sound calm, steady.
"That's cool. How was your night?" he asked.
"It was… perfect," I lied, without hesitation.
"I'm glad," he said softly. No jokes, no teasing this time. Just quiet warmth.
"Okay, see you soon," I said.
"May Allah grant you a safe drive," he said before hanging up.
I paused.
Allah.
That one word did something strange to me. It sank deep, like mint in my chest—cool, refreshing, and oddly comforting. I didn't even know what it really meant, but somehow… I loved how it felt. That single word calmed the storm inside me. For the first time in days, the fear faded.
I smiled—genuinely—and drove the rest of the way to Ali's house, happily, like the cobweb of nightmares had finally been swept away