Note: this short piece is just me trying out and practising writing a fictional character based on my homeland instead of usually writing about Western characters (it's also based on a writing exercise from uni). 

It might be my first time doing this and saying this, but I would love to leave this story up to you to figure out any hidden meanings behind it. I mean, as writers we're supposed to be subtle with what we're showing, right?

But if you insist on finding out more, I'll give you a clue to use if you want to look it up. Write "2nd of August 1990 Kuwait" on your browser and see what comes up. 

Anyways, I hope you like this piece! 

By the way, these characters are fictional but the topic is based on a true event.

~~~

 Amid his bustling schedule, he finally managed to get one day off to escape the cacophony of work. He chose a building iconic of his nation; the three white spikes, two of them skewered one to two blue orbs, the third impaled nothing. He went for the ones that had the orbs, of course, because these were where they had the compulsory things such as food and souvenirs. He stood there with an Arabian coffee in hand as he beheld the land below him stretch far and wide. There he could see the palm trees and the glittering beaches; to the far west, he spotted the Old Port where rows upon rows of old Al-Boom ships sat and huddled here, untouched. Far ahead, somewhat in the centre of the land, the Liberation Tower stood tall and free. Just like that, he stood there and admired the view.

"Asalam Alaikum, Ahmed." ("Peace be upon you, Ahmed)

The bitter liquid trembled in the cup. The voice was clear as day.

"Wa Alaikum Asalam," Ahmed returned the greeting as he slowly turned to the speaker. ("Peace be upon you too,")

He was expecting to see the same crimson wounds and visible bruises, but instead, he was greeted with something else. The man stood there with a skin so pure and a trimmed goatee; his hair was groomed and kept underneath the whitest Ghutra with an ebony Egal on top holding it in place. His Dishdasha was so white that he couldn't find a single drop of red stain. There was a glint of joy in his oak-brown eyes, and his smile emphasised that further. He seemed to be... Glowing.

"How are you?" the man asked calmly.

Ahmed took in shuddering breaths. "A-Alhumduallah." ("T-Thank God.")

"What... What about you?"

"Alhumduallah," the man replied and asked. "So, how is she?"

Ahmed looked at the horizon, slowly his breathing calmed, then he looked back at the man.

"She survived."

"Rabi lak alhamd wa alshukr." ("My Lord, praise and thanks be to you.") The man raised both hands as he looked up. "May she remain free forever, insha' allah." ("If God Wills.").

"Insha' allah."

"I know it's short, but I was glad to see you again. And Ahmed," the man gave that gentle sympathetic look at Ahmed. "Please be happy... And give our parents my greetings."

"I-I will." Ahmed nodded as he felt his throat thicken.

"Asalam Alaikum, Ahmed." The man's voice echoed.

"Wa Alaikum Asalam... Ali..."

The cup met the floor as Ahmed's knees dropped. His hands were in his eyes.