They say a living conscience is worth more than a thousand witnesses.
— An old Arabic proverb
For when the world goes silent, and no one is there to judge,
it is the whisper within your own heart that decides who you truly are.
Some call it conscience, others call it mercy —
but in the end, it is the only voice that never lies.
After Adam had once told Ibrahim that he would drive the bus for a while, this time the tables turned. Ibrahim said firmly,
"I'm completely out of this, Adam. I won't take part in it. And if you do, then consider that I never knew you."
Ibrahim hurried off the bus, his steps quick and tense. Adam ran after him, calling out,
"I'm not doing it, I swear. I don't want to upset you — after all, you're my only friend."
Ibrahim turned to him, eyes full of sincerity.
"Adam, I just don't want my actions to bring any harm to my aunt. After she raised me when my father died and I was just a child, I can't repay her kindness by dragging her into trouble."
Adam nodded slowly. "Let's not do that again, Ibrahim."
The bell rang, echoing across the courtyard, signaling the end of the break. The two boys hurried back to class.
But when they stepped inside, it wasn't Miss Emily waiting for them this time — it was a man, Mr. Miller.
Adam slipped into his seat, exchanging a brief glance with the girl who had smiled at him earlier on the bus. There was something disarming about that smile.
Without thinking twice, he got up, walked over to her, and handed her the watch he had found in the black bag — a gift. Then he returned to his place, quietly satisfied.
Mr. Miller had seen it all. "What did you just do, Adam?" he asked, voice sharp.
Adam replied honestly, "I gave her a gift, Mr. Miller."
The teacher motioned to the girl. "Give me what he gave you. He shouldn't hand out gifts without permission."
She handed over the watch, and Mr. Miller's eyes narrowed as he examined it. "Such an expensive piece," he muttered. "How does a child like you get something like this? Your father works for a real estate company, doesn't he?"
He knew the company well — his brother-in-law owned it.
During a visit to the firm some time ago, Mr. Miller had run into Adam's father by coincidence. They had once been classmates. Old memories stirred.
Mr. Miller had always despised that man — jealous, bitter, because Adam's father had married the woman Miller had longed to marry: Adam's mother, Mrs. Jamila.
Yet, despite his hatred toward the father, he couldn't bring himself to hate the boy. Adam was brilliant — impulsive, yes, but pure-hearted, and exceptionally gifted in mathematics, the very subject Mr. Miller taught.
The rich girl raised her hand. "This watch looks a lot like mine," she said.
Mr. Miller shook his head. "It can't be. I remember now — Adam's father had one just like this, an heirloom from his own father."
The girl accepted the explanation easily; she was, after all, only a second-grader. It would be too much to expect every child in class to be as sharp as Adam or Ibrahim.
When the final class ended, Mr. Miller quietly slipped the watch into the girl's bag without her noticing. No one else in that room could afford such a thing — except her wealthy father, the owner of a vast company.
Later, he turned back to Adam. "Tell me, Adam, why — and from where — did you take this watch?"
Adam replied, "I took it from a bag on the school bus. It belonged to the driver."
"That fool Cohen," Mr. Miller muttered under his breath. "He's done it again."
Adam frowned in confusion. For all his intelligence, he lacked life experience — that explained the recklessness that often clashed with his sharp mind.
He stood up, asking to leave. "You'll see, Cohen," he said quietly. "You won't get away with it this time. I gave you your last chance."
What will Mr. Miller do about Cohen after this new theft?
And what fate awaits both him and Adam?
To be continued...
© Ibrahim Abdullah, 2025. All rights reserved.
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