In the year 2030, when technological advancement in the fields of weaponry, medicine, and engineering had reached the furthest point humanity had ever known,
in one of the modern hospitals,
an old man, seventy years of age, sat alone on a bed inside a room, looking extremely sad.
His eyes were vacant, staring at nothing, and his silence filled the room.
No one visited him.
No sound kept him company, except for the whispers of the machines monitoring his heartbeat and breathing, as if whispering to him:
"You are still alive."
The door to the room opened, and a young nurse entered. She checked the monitors and medical readings, then turned to him with a smile and said gently:
– "What's wrong, Mr. Mohamed? Why do you look so sad? The operation was successful. We performed the heart surgery successfully, and you'll be leaving the hospital soon."
But Mohamed didn't turn to her, nor did he say a word.
He kept staring ahead in deep silence, as if her words meant nothing to him.
The nurse sighed lightly, then left the room.
In the hallway, she ran into her colleague passing by.
She asked curiously:
– "What? Still refusing to talk?"
The first nurse, whose name was Yasmin, replied:
– "Yes, Doaa, since he came here, he hasn't uttered a single word. No one has visited him so far."
Doaa replied with sadness:
– "He seems like he's 'cut from a tree'… Doesn't he have any relatives?"
Inside, Mohamed was still lying on the bed.
A complete stillness filled the place, his chest rising and falling slowly.
He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling and sank into a whirlpool of memories... He began to recall his past.
Ever since I was a child, I suffered from persistent social anxiety. I was never able to make friends—not in elementary school, nor in middle school, nor even in high school… And even when I enrolled in university, I remained that quiet, isolated young man who preferred to sit in the back rows, avoiding stares and dodging conversations.
I was born at the very moment my mother died. I don't remember her, never saw her, but they told me that life took her so I could have a chance to breathe. And four years later, my father died too… So I moved in with my aunt, who raised me until I turned thirty.
Despite all of this… I wasn't a failure. In fact, I was exceptionally successful. Top of the nation year after year. I excelled in school, I excelled at work… But I always failed in relationships.
No friends, no girlfriend, not even a single person I could talk to or confide in.
Now I'm a seventy-year-old man. A university professor at the Faculty of Mechanical Engineering. I have everything: degrees, honors, respect… But no wife, no companion, and no one to share my joys or sorrows.
All my life, no woman ever came close to me. No one admired me. I was too quiet, a bit strange. I didn't like parties, or nightlife, or all the small talk people constantly exchange.
Then he closed his eyes and surrendered to the sleep that suddenly overcame him.
His body began to grow cold.
His breaths grew heavier.
Darkness crept into the edges of the room.
Then… silence.
Suddenly… a voice!
A faint voice, then it gradually grew louder, as if coming from deep within his heart:
"A man with your potential… has no right to give up this easily."
The darkness began to retreat.
The voice grew louder.
Screams filled his ears.
A sudden pain struck through his body like thunder.
He opened his eyes suddenly!
But he wasn't in the hospital.
He wasn't in the white room.
He was lying on a dirt floor, in a dark place, with a foul smell, and crumbling walls… like an animal barn.
Before he could process anything, an old, massive man stormed toward him, beating him with a thick stick, shouting:
"How many times have I told you to prepare the firewood?! You lazy good-for-nothing!"
Mohamed didn't understand. He couldn't comprehend.
He tried to protect his head with his trembling hands.
The blows kept raining down on him. The pain stole his breath.
After long minutes of beating and shouting,
the old man stormed out and slammed the door behind him violently, shaking the mud walls.
Mohamed lay on the ground, drowning in unspeakable pain.
His breaths were ragged, his ribs screaming, and his head pounding as if a hammer were mercilessly striking it.
He couldn't even cry.
After a time that couldn't be measured, Mohamed opened his eyes again.
He felt the ground beneath him—cold, rough dirt.
He tried to stand, but his limbs barely responded.
He began to crawl slowly across the floor, until he found himself beside a rusty, worn-out water bucket.
And when he caught a glimpse of his reflection on the water's surface,
he froze in place.
The reflection he saw in the bucket wasn't that of a seventy-year-old man, with gray hair and the wrinkles of time…
But the face of a young man, slimmer, with messy hair, and features unfamiliar to him…