For as long as she could remember, Alia had convinced herself and others that at her core, she was a good person, simply born into a life of misfortune and difficult circumstances. In her mind, the wrong choices she made were never really her fault, but rather the product of a troubled upbringing. She was certain that if she had grown up with a mother, she never would have betrayed her brother by getting involved with his girlfriend. It wasn’t her true nature to deceive or hurt people—those actions were, in her view, the unfortunate consequences of a chaotic and abnormal life. If things had been different, she reasoned, she never would have been pushed to the point of killing those people. Maybe, if she hadn’t been trapped in such a toxic school environment where manipulation and betrayal were the norm, she wouldn’t have developed the need to backstab or claw her way through life just to survive.
On some subconscious level, though, Alia understood that there were very few excuses that could justify what she has done. The drinks and drugs helped keep the thought deep down when she was younger, but unfortunately, it’s all treatment, no cure.
It’s only when Lottie and Nora begin to board the plane that the guilt of what she’s just done crashes into her.
Now, she’s coming to terms with the fact that she is a selfishly horrible person. She feels frail on the inside, full of regret.
Just the night before, before she visited Haider and █████ room after the █████ , Ramses had stopped her in the middle of the hallway. He looked genuinely empathetic for her, a facial expression she wasn’t aware Ramses was familiar with. His eyebrows creased together, wrinkling his old forehead even more. He rubbed the back of his bald head, and she recognized the tone of news he was about to share with her.
“What?” she had asked urgently.
“This is about your yellow-haired friend,” Ramses said. “Pass on the message that her family can visit her when she flies back to wherever. We need to make sure she’s properly motivated to get on the plane given the whole Yuri situation. Fabricate some reason why.”
The statement had taken Alia aback.
“Her family agreed to meet with her, for real?” She repeated, excitement raising the pitch in her voice.
“Not quite,” he smiled sadly. “Just tell her that. We don’t want any problems, correct?”
She nodded, dazed. He patted her on the back without an inch of affection and walked away.
So, without hesitation, she complied. She passed on the message without asking a single question, following instructions blindly as if it were second nature. Yet from the very moment she did, a gnawing sense of dread had settled deep in her stomach, a quiet but persistent rumble of anxiety that she couldn't shake. It was as though her body knew before her mind could catch up that she had just made a terrible mistake. The thought of deceiving her friend, leading them astray without even knowing what consequences lay ahead, all because she was too afraid to stand up to someone like Ramses—a little, pathetic bitch—made her stomach churn. The more she thought about it, the more nauseated she became, as if the weight of her betrayal was physically manifesting within her.
A deep sense of guilt gnawed at her, as if she instinctively knew something terrible was about to unfold, and it would be her fault. Now, as ██████████ stepped the stairs up to the plane, dark thoughts of what would really happen as soon as they stepped onto the plane surfaced. It would blow up. They would separate █████ They would send them to a prison. She wanted to think Ramses just really wanted her out of the palace and would do anything to keep that so.
█████ waved goodbye to her, turning quickly and showcasing their melancholic smiles. They were just going back home at the end of the summer, basically. Not the total end of the world. She smiled back, although tears, real tears, pooled in her eyes. It was just the wind, she told herself.
“Bye!” Nora shouted down just before they shut the plane door. “Love you!”
That was it. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.
“I know!” Alia shouted back, but the door had already closed tightly.
Turning from idle, hums and whirrs with a low rumble, to revved up for takeoff, the plane emits a loud, consistent roar. The engine produces a deep, powerful roar that increases in intensity as the aircraft steadily accelerates.
Alia turns around so her back fronts the plane. She crosses her arms close to her chest, and allows the weight of her head on her neck to fold forward. All energy deflates out of her; like punching an airbag.
As the plane flies, she hears a steady, deep drone, punctuated by the whine or whistling sound of the turbine blades. A gust of wind from the takeoff swoops her hair up and down, and she anxiously tames the stray strands.
Haider walks over to stand next to her, still waving away the plane. They face opposite directions.
“Are you crying?” Haider asks, his face spread in disgust. “Stop it.”
Alia remains silent— ignoring her brother completely, as he lacks the emotional range to express true guilt. He’s a man, after all. Her deep upset prevents her from acknowledging Haider’s dumb comments. She doesn’t know what exactly he did, but whatever he’s done, it's enough for her to be pissed at him. As soon as she realized Lottie and Haider hadn’t given each other their farewells she knew he did something. Because Lottie is forgiving, too forgiving. And if Lottie hadn’t forgave, he must’ve really fucked up.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Haider scoffs. “She’ll be back soon enough.”
At this, Alia whips her head up to him. “What do you mean?”
Haider smiles knowingly. “You’ll see.”
She pinches his arm and he yelps, eventually slapping her hand away from him.
“What the hell did you do?” Alia seethes, her eyebrows furrowing in suspicion.
He shoves her in response, and she stumbles back, shocked at his aggressive behavior that has replaced all passiveness.
“I did this for you, too,” Haider snaps cryptically. “Fucking bitch. You don’t get to order me around. I’ll be your king someday, treat me like it.”
Alia stares at him in shock and disappointment for her once-kind brother. This is not the Haider she knows. It’s as if a dark fungus has overtaken his body, like some evil entity has possessed him into acting exactly like Davina and Ramses. She’s all alone now, in this battle of political war, the only one with some semblance of empathy.
“I could be queen, too,” Alia murmurs under her breath.
“Yeah, right,” Haider scoffs.
She turns to face him, so he can see it in her eyes that she’s being honest.
“There’s a progressive movement for me to be queen now that everyone has found out I exist,” she unfolds a crumpled paper from her pocket and hands it to Haider. “I’m technically the rightful heir to the throne. I was born before you.”
He peers down at the paper. Front and center is a black and white paparazzi photo of Alia in the car, with a call to action to have her instated as the rightful ruler. She found one of the servants carrying the anti-propaganda in their pocket, and confiscated a piece for proof. No, she doesn’t desire to rule a nation, but at least she has some stake now in how all of this plays out.
“This is a conspiracy, anyway,” he scoffs. “You are far from rightful, Alia. You’re an illegitimate bastard. I’m the king’s son. I have a birth certificate. You do not.”
“Fine,” she shrugs indifference. “But you underestimate the power of the Egyptians. I know them, I’ve been among them. I have seen the poorest parts of this country, I have seen tragedies that you’re privileged enough to be sheltered from, golden boy. If anyone can rally the people, it’s me.” She steps up closer to him. “I’m not a pawn, but I’ll be an opponent if you make me be one, Haider.”
His hands twitch as he straightens his jacket, a tightness in his jaw betraying the calm he tries to project. He stands still, shoulders rigid, but the subtle tremor in his fingers hints at the unease beneath the facade.
“Ramses’d kill you if you tried anything. He could claim you’re trying to corrupt the country with your womanly, hysterical claims.”
She pats him on the back harshly and passive-aggressively.
“Or I could kill him,” she says bluntly, a sudden boost of confidence moving through her. “I’m a saint to the people standing next to you all.” He clenches his jaw, but she continues. She points her pointer finger up at him in a fist. “I’ll find out what kind of deal you struck with Ramses to get yourself out of this pile of shit in regards to Lottie. Oh, and if you do anything to Nora, I’ll kill you myself.”
“I would never.” He catches her wrist with a closed fist. “You do a horrible job at staying out of shit you shouldn’t stick your nose in.”
“It’s what makes me so productive,” she says. “Most of the time. I couldn’t stop you from choosing her over Lottie.”
He inhales deeply. “I did what I needed to do.”
“Oh yeah? Because I remember, just months ago, before we even came to this hell-on-earth, that you said you would rather cut your own dick off than marry Davina and rule this god-forsaken country.”
“Things change,” Haider asserts sternly.
“That much is apparent,” she scoffs. “So what? I know what you did. I know you. Let me guess here, you dumbass piece of shit. You brought Lottie here because you felt bad her family disowned her. You forgot what life was like before the Institute, before school, and you let your dick and your nativity bring her here. You were angry at Davina at first, but you let her seduce you. And you let Ramses talk you out of being with Lottie to be with Davina instead, and Ramses convinced you that you would never be able to rule Egypt if you were with a white girl like Lottie, despite the question if Ramses will even step down from being a ‘temp’ king at all. But you still have feelings for Lottie, and you can’t let her go. So you’ve been leading her on, all the while getting engaged, conspiring with Davina, and letting the bitch convince you that being king is what you truly desire. But it’s not. It’s what she desires, and you go along with it, because you’re infatuated with her, too, and so you’ve allowed her to change you into her fantasy. Oh yeah, and the fact that you feel like you owe her for covering up the fact that you. Murdered. Baba.”
Haider’s eyes widen and he slaps his hand against her mouth.
“Would you shut the fuck up?” he panics. “How the hell do you know that? Did Ramses tell you?”
She licks his hand and he pulls it away in disgust.
“Alia!”
“So, it’s true.”
She pauses for a moment. Then, her hand raises, and promptly strikes Haider across the cheek. He reaches up, and lightly places his fingers on the tendered area, but he doesn’t fight back. His only smart decision, Alia thinks.
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
“I was drunk,” Haider admits.
“I’m drunk half the time, and I don’t go around killing Baba, you… ugh, Haider! You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. What goes on up there? Why the fuck did you tell Davina, and not me?”
He stares at her. “You just found out I killed Baba and you’re just angry at me for not telling you, and telling Davina instead.”
“I would’ve strangled the bastard myself if I had enough courage,” she scoffs. “But Haider, do you not realize what you’ve done? I’m asking you, actually. This is not a rhetorical question. Do you realize all the shit you’ve caused?”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Of course it does!” She throws her hands up expressively and counts on her fingers. “You’ve jailed █████ , had half of the servants fired, had an innocent woman tortured, invited batshit crazy spies into the castle, betrayed Lottie, betrayed me—”
“Just drop it, Ali,” Haider interrupts. “What’s done is done.”
She stares at him, flabbergasted by his ignorance, but something deeper strikes her—a slow, dawning realization. An epiphany. His apparent lack of remorse, the casual shrugging off of responsibility, is disturbingly familiar. It hits her like a wave, sharp and cold. This mindset, this evasion of guilt, is the very one she once nurtured in herself, convincing herself that forces beyond their control dictated their lives, shielding her from her own accountability. Now, seeing that same hollow justification take root in him, she feels an unsettling churn in her gut. It’s as if she’s looking into a mirror, but what reflects back is rotten—decayed by self-deception and denial.
What can she possibly say to make him see the truth? Is there any combination of words, any argument, any plea that could pierce the thick armor of ignorance he’s wrapped himself in? She wants to shake him, force him to look into the abyss of his own choices, his own guilt, and own it for once. But as she watches him, his indifference etched into his face, she feels powerless. How can she correct his skewed sense of morality when it was she who once showed him how to slip free from its grip? Is there even a way to untangle this knot, or has she lost him to this convenient numbness?
It seems to her that all the standards she thought they shared, all the values they once upheld, have evaporated like the desert heat as soon as they set foot back in Cairo. This place, this city, has eroded him, or perhaps it has only revealed what was always lurking beneath the surface. She wonders if it's not just him that’s changed, but if she, too, had been shaped by these same forces, and Cairo has merely exposed the truth neither of them wanted to face.
Her utter disillusionment translates into a sharp pain in her chest. Through this whole war, they had changed. Faced much different choices, much different challenges. And it buried Haider deeper into himself, but allowed Alia out of that cave, into the light.
“It’s not too late,” she says gently. “It never is. You can still make things right.”
His gaze softens, but his breath catches.
“I’m not going to fight you for the throne,” she admits. “But I’ll help you clean all of this mess up. I’ll help you make amends.”
“Amends?” he murmurs.
She nods hopefully. In his eyes, she notices a glimpse of belief, a glimpse of remorse. She pulls on his hands persistently.
“Come on, Habibi,” she insists.
His eyes flash in surprise; she never calls him that. But if there were any time to show her brother some compassion, now would be it.
“No, there are no amends,” he pulls his hands away. “I have to go.” He turns, straightens his button-up, rolls his shoulders back, and confidently walks away from her.
“What are you planning?” she calls out after him.
He ignores her.