Boredom was squeezing the life out of him.It filled his soul, drained his thoughts, and wrapped itself around every part of him like a damp, oversized blanket.Why, you ask?Well, my friend, it's simple — he was bored! Bored! BORED!
You want to know how that happened?All the circumstances around him, the dullness of it all — but how exactly those led to this, only God knows.You're wondering who I'm talking about?Oh, come on, isn't it obvious?You're probably muttering, "Stop being so dramatic…"Yes, I can hear you. Don't deny it. :)
Alright, alright. Let's quit the nonsense and get to the real story:
Haytham — a child, a teenager, a boy (call him what you like) — twelve years old.He had pitch-black hair, thick and a bit unruly. When the light hit it just right, a few strands reflected like glossy threads, making him seem handsome (the hair, not him).His eyes? Deep blue.No, he wasn't European or American — he was Moroccan. A touch of Andalusian heritage, maybe, but still very much Moroccan.Skin? Pale, but sun-kissed to a slight tan.His chin? A triangle right under his mouth — not as sharp as you're imagining.His nose? Just… a nose. Like everyone else's.His lips? A straight line, like the ones you used to draw in elementary school geometry.They had two tiny dots at the corners, so they wouldn't go on forever, of course.
There was a small palm-like tuft of hair sticking out on the side of his head.His eyebrows? Thin and delicate — made you think of an actress from an old movie (though trends may have changed by the time you're reading this).
His build was average. Not skinny, not muscular, not fat either.He was the same height as most boys his age, and I guess his brain was about average, too.So, as you can tell, he wasn't special at all.Dear readers, please remember these details — they'll stay with you for the next 1,000 pages, if all goes well.
Let's move on to his surroundings, shall we?
A completely normal life.He went to a private school.His father was a government employee, his mother a teacher.He swam at a nearby club.Their apartment? Not exactly luxurious…
The first thing you'd notice upon entering was a large living room with a TV.Turn your head right — there's the dining area.Stand in the middle of that and look left — you'd find a plain kitchen: dark wood cabinets, black/pink/grey marble counters (you know the kind).Walk forward, and you'd reach a hallway.On the right: the main bathroom.On the left: two bedrooms — one for our "very average" boy, and one at the end (the hallway's end, not the boy's) for his parents.That room had an en-suite bathroom and a closet on the right side.Windows lined the apartment's left wall ..
This apartment sat on the third floor of a building in a residential complex overlooking Moulay Rachid Street in Tangier, Morocco.Our boy, as mentioned, went to a private school — "Institut Jil Biladi", widely considered the best school in Tangier (as of this writing, at least).
He was in the first year of middle school.Class number? Two.(Somehow, that numbering system reminds me of something...)