WRITING Writing rapidly, trying to recall everything from memory—already feeling guilty for not starting sooner—I noted down the glass made of sugar, the details I had observed on the body at the morgue, the suspects' behavior, and everything I could remember from the interrogation.
His cocky tone, paired with that infuriating grin, cut through my thoughts.
"Someone is pretty serious… just saying."
I retorted without looking up.
"For a detective, you're pretty insufferable… just saying."
"The cat's got claws," he muttered, that same smile lingering.
"And she's not afraid to scratch."
"I'll keep that in mind," he hummed to himself.
There was no such thing as silence in Egypt.
Even inside the car, the outside world refused to quiet down—honks blaring, teenagers blasting music, street vendors calling out, chatter spilling from every corner.
"So," he said after a moment, "what did you decide about my offer?"
I frowned slightly.
If I recalled correctly, he hadn't offered me anything… aside from a nerve-wracking day.
"Pardon?"
The confusion must have been obvious, because he let out a soft chuckle.
"Try again, rascal… your mind is too sharp for confusion."
Heat crept up my face.
"I just didn't want to get my hopes up," I admitted. "But… I think I agree."
"You agree to what?" he pressed. "You must understand every bit of your words, rascal."
So that's what he wanted.
To hear it.
To hear me admit it.
That he was better.
That I was willing to follow his lead.
That I would become his student.
I didn't want to swallow my pride.
But I would—for the sake of a dying dream.
I let out a quiet sigh.
"I agree to be your student," I said flatly. "Satisfied?"
His eyes gleamed.
That gleam was… irritating.
"Don't get any ideas," I added quickly. "That doesn't mean you're the best or anything. You're just… the only door left open."
"Good," he said softly. "Then don't waste it."
We held eye contact—my golden-brown eyes locked against his deep green ones. His sharp features leaned closer to mine, that infuriating grin still plastered across his face, perfectly shaped as if his ego had been fed to its limit.
And, admittedly… I had only fueled it further.
"So," I said, voice light with challenge, "what is your brilliance planning to do after lunch?"
I tried to provoke him.
But his composure didn't crack.
His eyes merely narrowed in amusement.
"Where are your manners, rascal?"
He paused—then leaned just a little closer.
"One must show respect to her mentor."
My grip tightened around my pen, but I maintained my calm façade. If anything, I wanted to provoke him further.
He sighed, shaking his head slightly.
"Hot-headed. Of course… that's what your mixture is missing."
I rolled my eyes and leaned back into my seat.
Turning toward the window, I watched the sky—a beautiful blend of blue and purple melting into each other.
"So," I muttered, "where are we heading, anyway?"
"To a hidden gem in Zamalek."
I hummed softly. "Didn't take you for the hidden type. More like an attention seeker."
"Then we clearly need to work on how you read people," he replied smoothly. "Because you're utterly oblivious."
I sighed in defeat, already feeling a headache creeping in.
Thankfully, Charles spoke from the passenger seat, his thick accent cutting through the tension. He didn't look at us—his attention fixed on his iPad as he organized something.
"I was informed that we will be able to retrieve the CCTV footage within a few hours."
My gaze returned to Adel.
He sat with his legs crossed—apparently his favorite position—his eyes gleaming as his smile softened slightly.
"Fabulous," he replied in perfect English, before casting me a brief side glance.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure which language to respond in. It would be impolite to speak Arabic when Charles was part of the conversation… right?
So I answered in English.
It wasn't perfect, but it was mine. The language I had grown into over my teen years.
"May I see it when you retrieve it?"
I looked at Adel, as if searching for something—my tone softer than usual, a trace of unfamiliar innocence slipping through.
He burst into laughter—literally.
Why does he always have to be so infuriating?
Red crept up my cheeks, and my shoulders slumped slightly in defeat, my eyes narrowing at him.
But then he spoke.
"Bold, rascal… but I see improvement. I'll give you credit for that."
I turned my face away and muttered a quiet thank you.
Still… I felt proud of myself.
A small spark of happiness flickered in my chest.
I fidgeted with my fingers, hoping he didn't notice.
Maybe I am a compliment seeker…?
Just to be clear—I don't think that highly of him, right?
I mean, I won't be like Steve, glorifying him and all.
That's definitely not happening.
…Right?
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice we had arrived—until Adel knocked lightly against the glass.
"Shall I call you dreamer or what? Let's get out."
I stepped outside.
Cold air welcomed me, my light brown waves lifting slightly away from my face.
The so-called "Golden Gem" truly lived up to its name.
I hadn't expected much—but Zamalek had a way of surprising you.
Dim lights bathed the place in a soft glow. Trees and greenery wrapped around it, with scattered roses decorating the garden on both sides.
It was exactly what you would imagine a cozy restaurant to be.
It felt cozy.
It smelled cozy—fresh bakeries, warm bread, something sweet lingering in the air.
White and red striped awnings stretched above us as we descended a few rocky steps. A small bell rang as we entered, announcing our arrival.
Inside, everything was warm.
Comfortable chairs, soft lighting, simple decorations.
The rich aroma of food and coffee filled the air so perfectly it almost felt intentional.
To the side, bookshelves lined the wall—stacked with novels and old editions.
The restaurant wasn't crowded, and the staff seemed to recognize Adel and Charles.
Of course they did.
We sat on a cozy sofa, and a waiter approached, handing us menus that looked like they came straight from the 80s.
The dishes were from everywhere—tacos, noodles, oriental meals, quesadillas, döner…
You name it.
The options were too many.
I found myself completely indecisive, my eyes scanning the menu over and over again.
Of course… his voice had to interrupt my thoughts.
"If you're in the mood for something casual, I'd suggest the tacos," Adel said smoothly. "Or, if you're feeling a bit more refined, their Italian steak never disappoints."
I glanced at the two options.
And immediately ruled them out.
There was no way I was choosing something he picked.
Instead, I went for a burrito… and Italian chicken—the exact opposite of his suggestions.
A small, silent victory.
We also ordered fattoush salad and Florida soda, leaving dessert for later.
Adel gave the waiter our order with effortless ease, and just like that, we were left waiting.
A brief silence settled between us.
Then—
"So," he said, leaning back slightly, his gaze settling on me, "what is your view on law?"