Between Shadows & the Nile- A Time Travel Story, Series: The Time Pastures

Between Shadows & the Nile- A Time Travel Story

Series: The Time Pastures

Writer:Saima Nadeem

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Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual historical events and timelines is purely coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2026 by Saima Nadeem
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

 

 

Author’s Note

Why I Write About Times as long as I can remember, I have harbored a quiet, burning wish:

“I want to travel”

Not just across oceans or to different countries, but across the boundaries of time itself. Whenever I see pictures of ancient civilizations, ruined temples, or grand monuments from centuries ago, a deep sense of wonder takes over. I find myself staring at the crumbling stones and wanting, more than anything, to hear their stories. Who walked these halls? What were they thinking? What did they value?  We cannot physically step into a time machine just yet, I created this series. It is my way of wandering through those ancient ruins, exploring the lost chapters of history, and listening to the voices of the past.

We often think of time as a river, flowing in only one direction, leaving the past behind as nothing but dust and old bones. But what if the past isn't truly gone? What if every laugh ever shared, every battle ever fought, and every monument ever built is still out there, floating in the vast, silent canvas of space? Deep in the cosmos lies a living archive of human history. Every moment of our existence is preserved in the universe as cosmic images and memories. They are streaming through the stars right now, just like signals waiting to be picked up by a television screen. The past, the present, and the future coexist in the dark void—all mankind needs to do is learn how to unveil them.

This is the incredible secret of the Time Pastures.

Through Hassan, Murtaza, and Zaka, I invite you to join me on this ultimate journey of curiosity and wonder.

Between shadows and the Nile

 

 

 CH 1

 

Hassan sprinted to his next door cousin Murtaza's house, breathlessly calling out, “We can finally check out that mysterious, shining stone baba found during the excavation at Taxila. It’s said to have fallen from the sky! Baba's gone to the mosque for Isha prayer and forgot to lock the library!"

 

Murtaza's eyes sparked with excitement. "Oh yes! Let’s go!" He quickly told his mother and bolted over to Hassan's house. Hassan’s father, a renowned archaeologist, often brought fascinating artifacts home for research, and this time, that enigmatic stone was the focal point of his investigations. Despite weeks of trying, he and his team had been unable to uncover any clues about its origin. That stone was precious and unique, so it was always locked away in the library, just out of reach. But Hassan had gazed at it often, sensing an otherworldly power emanating from it. He had shared his intrigue with Murtaza, who was as curious as he was.

 

Murtaza came from a family of knowledge: his father was a doctor, and his mother was a scientist. Together, Hassan and Murtaza spent countless hours delving into the wonders of inventions and absorbed themselves in history, with Murtaza particularly drawn to the achievements of Muslim scholars and scientists. Now their minds buzzed with the mystery surrounding the stone.

 

They tiptoed into the library, hearts racing, and made their way to the stone. Murtaza whispered in awe, “It doesn't look like any stone from Earth. It’s too shiny! It’s like a star has landed here!”

 

“You’re right! Baba and his team suspect it might be from an asteroid or the remnant of a shooting star,” Hassan said, eyes locked onto the stone’s captivating brilliance.

 

“What if it’s a sign from aliens? I swear I can see reflections moving inside it!” Murtaza exclaimed just as a book tumbled from a shelf, breaking the spell.

 

“Oh no! We’ve got to leave before Baba comes back!” Hassan tugged at Murtaza, and they turned toward the door. Suddenly, the stone's glow intensified, engulfing the room in blinding light. In an instant, everything around them vanished.

 

When the light dimmed, they found themselves in an expansive, unfamiliar classroom filled with boys of various ages clad in elegant silk gowns and traditional caps. The air buzzed with an aura of concentration.

 

“Teacher is coming in a few minutes,” one of the boys announced, settling the rest into silence. Murtaza and Hassan exchanged bewildered glances, noticing they were dressed the same way. “Where are we? Is this real?” Hassan blurted out, confusion etched across his face.

 

“No, you’re not dreaming,” replied a boy who looked slightly older. “It’s 1020 AD, Cairo, Egypt, and you’re in the classroom of Al-Ḥasan ibn Al-Haytham, the famous Muslim scientist.”

 

“What? Al-Haytham, the father of modern optics and a legendary figure in astronomy and mathematics?” Murtaza gasped.

 

Before the boy could elaborate, Hassan interrupted, “Wait! Who are you and how do you know about us?”

 

“My name is Zaka,” he said confidently, piquing their interest. “I’m an astronaut and scientist from the future. Last year, while working in the asteroid belt between Jupiter and Mars, I stumbled upon a time belt that revealed blurry images and sounds from the past. I needed help to navigate through them, so I sent my asteroid to Earth, which brought you here to join my mission.”

 

“Is it really that simple?” Murtaza shouted, his voice echoing in disbelief. “Why us? Is this real or just a projection? Do you have a time machine?”

 

“Hold on!” Zaka interjected, raising his hands. “Your questions will never stop. Just enjoy this journey. There’s no time machine; all moments and memories are present in the mysteries of space. Many scientists in my time want this technology for themselves. I’m on a secret mission, but I’ll guide you when you need it.”

 

“Mission? What kind of mission?” Murtaza asked, concern creasing his brow.

 

“Don’t worry; you won’t be harmed. I’ll always be with you,” Zaka assured them.

 

“That stone belongs to you, doesn’t it?” Hassan pieced it together suddenly.

 

“You’re correct. Its purpose is fulfilled and it will shrink and vanish with time. Archaeologists will eventually forget about it, but you two will remain under its influence until I choose otherwise,” Zaka explained, unfazed.

 

“How will we communicate with the people here?” they asked, still reeling from the information.

 

“Everyone will understand you, and you’ll understand them, regardless of the language,” Zaka answered reassuringly.

 

“Are you both ready to join me on this thrilling time mission across the mighty Nile?” he declared, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

 

“Nile... you mean the Egypt of today—the land of prophets, pharaohs, pyramids…” 

 

“...and mummies!” Murtaza interjected, Hassan’s curiosity piqued. 

 

“But why the 11th century?” Murtaza pressed, eager for answers. 

 

“Because,” he answered confidently, “the journey into the shadows of light began here. The Nile is a treasure trove of ancient lights, memories, and shadows left by past civilizations.” Just then, the rattling of the classroom door pulled their attention, heightening the tension in the air.

The sun was painting the horizon in gold and crimson. Zaka was no more there among class mates. They knew this was just the beginning of their adventures across the Nile. A sense of purpose filled them for a journey that spanned beyond mere classrooms. The legacy of Al-Haytham, the allure of the Nile, the mysteries of pyramids and the promise of knowledge awaited them at every turn. Little did they know, this was not merely a journey of education; it was a remarkable transformation that would take them through the sands of time, binding them to the illustrious past and setting the stage for his own story.

An aged man clad in a silk gown and an Arabian cap entered the room, commanding immediate attention. Behind him trailed a group of boys carrying an array of scientific apparatus. With an air of authority, he launched into a lecture on the refraction of light, plunging into the fascinating principles of the pinhole camera.

 

“I remember al Haytham being the first Muslim scientist to give a glimpse into photography centuries ago. It’s clear that physics thrived in the rich environments of Muslim universities,” Murtaza leaned over to whisper to Hassan, a spark of pride in his voice.

 

“It’s evident he’s a brilliant scientist, but look at these students—they're completely immersed in what he’s saying. I don’t know how they manage such seriousness in a lecture. Physics, especially the lessons on light, often feels dull and tedious to me,” Hassan replied, scanning the room with a hint of restlessness.

 

“That’s the problem. We’ve let boredom take root in our minds, while the desire for knowledge has flown away to vibrant destinations where curiosity thrives and research flourishes,” Murtaza declared, a hint of melancholy in his tone.

 

“Stop being so philosophical; you know—” Hassan began, but his words were abruptly cut off.

 

“Quiet!” a fellow student shot at them, insisting on focus during the lecture.

 

The eagerness for learning was palpable among the students. They looked up to their teacher with immense respect, captivated by al Haytham’s words. Without hesitation, they grabbed palm leaves and charcoal chalks from the corner to jot down notes.

 

After a while, Hassan felt the relentless tug of thirst. As his mind wandered off, seeking an escape from the lecture, he glanced at Murtaza, who was still engrossed, before slipping out of class in search of water. He skirted through the corridors until he found himself in the back courtyard. The brick building loomed large, and as he stepped outside, the blazing sun and sweltering desert air hit him like a wave.

 

Just as he was about to head back inside, a voice cut through the heat. “What are you doing out here? Skipping class?”

 

He turned to see a striking young girl standing there, her beauty undeniably captivating. Hassan had heard tales of Egyptian girls, but nothing prepared him for her astonishing presence. He was spellbound, momentarily forgetting everything else.

“Hey! What are you doing here? Did you skip class?”

 

A stunning young girl stood before Hassan, her beauty striking him speechless. He had heard stories about the allure of Egyptian girls, but nothing could match the reality of her presence.

 

“Are you even listening to me?” she shot back, clearly annoyed. “Do you know what the consequences are for skipping class?”

 

“Uh… yes? No… I didn’t… I just…” Hassan stumbled, momentarily flustered by her intensity.

“Then get moving! Fetch water for all the students.” She effortlessly lifted two large buckets onto a dowel and placed it on his shoulders.

“Whoa!” Hassan pretended to struggle under the weight, trying to maintain his bravado.

Her irritation flared. She disappeared inside for a moment and returned with an additional bucket. “Now you’ll carry three,” she commanded, handing it over with authority before vanishing again.

What on earth is happening? Alone now in the backyard, he stood under the relentless sun, burdened with three heavy buckets.

“Which way do I go?” he mused, finally stepping onto the street. A lively market lay in the distance, pulsing with energy as people shopped for daily necessities. The scene was alive, reminiscent of the 11th century—a golden age for Muslims while Europe drudged through dark times.

“Where can I get water?” he asked a passerby. The man shook his head in disbelief, and soon others turned their heads, showcasing their surprise and amusement at his question.

“Did I mess up somehow?” Hassan thought, his confidence wavering.

CH 2

 

“The Nile is just a kilometer away,” the man replied with a hint of sarcasm. “Even a newcomer should know where to find water.”

“Right… Cairo. I’m in Egypt,” Hassan reminded himself, recalling the tales of the powerful Nile, essential to life in this vast, parched land.

But then, reality hit him. “One kilometer? That’s too far! How am I going to carry these buckets? They’re heavy even when empty!” With determination, he set off.

As he moved forward, he noticed groups of people making their way to the river, some riding camels while most walked. The lush green fields on either side provided a refreshing contrast to his struggle. Exhausted, he finally sat down.

 

“I can't go another step,” he admitted aloud, frustration creeping in.

 

“Are you a scholar from Al Azhar madrassa?” a man on a camel called out as he stopped beside Hassan. “Those female administrators can be tough. Trust me, I’ve been punished more than once!”

 

Hassan raised an eyebrow, considering his comment about women. “That one was quite young…” he mused.

 

The man continued, “I arrived from Syria for higher studies in Mathematics, just like countless others around the globe. I’ve made great memories here.” Then, sensing Hassan’s weariness, he added, “Feel free to reach out if you need any help.”

 

Hassan felt a sense of renewed energy as he caught sight of the glimmering Nile. The man nodded farewell and rode away.

 

The riverbank was bustling—people engaged in lively activity, boats transporting goods, and others gathering around the water's edge. Birds soared overhead, diving for fish with precision.

 

After quenching his thirst, Hassan felt the weight of the buckets, now filled to the brim, almost impossible to lift. He watched as others navigated the path with their loads, some struggling but pressing on with purpose.

 

“Come on! You’re young, you can handle this. Let me give you a hand,” a man with a single bucket offered when Hassan sought help. Yet even he faltered after just a couple of steps, realizing the challenge ahead.

 

As Hassan pressed on, he suddenly felt something squishy beneath his feet. Looking down, he saw a gigantic snake coiled on the muddy bank of the Nile. “What the—an anaconda!” Panic surged through him as he closed his eyes and yelled at the top of his lungs.

 

 

A shrill scream pierced the air as Hassan looked down in horror. “Anaconda at my feet!” The terrible imagination of a venomous desert snake bite flashed through his mind, freezing him like a statue. His heart raced as he envisioned himself being devoured, trapped in the belly of some monstrous beast. Just as he thought despair would swallow him whole, someone yanked him upward.

Dazed, he found himself precariously balanced on the back of a camel, beside Zaka. Trembling from fear, he watched as a local Egyptian teenager effortlessly dispatched a small snake with a single swing of his stick, the crowd erupting in laughter around him.

“I’m sorry, but earthworms have never been on my friends list. Big or small, it doesn’t matter—I dislike them all,” Hassan exclaimed, desperately attempting to justify his fear.

“You weren’t supposed to be in the Nile!” Zaka’s face was etched with concern. “I left you at Al Azhar Madrassa.”

“Stop making a fuss about it. Sigma has also made moves in this century. He’ll exploit every opportunity to find that bracelet and steal its stones. The position of Earth in space right now is perfect for tapping into the power of rocks and metals. Though his foolish attempts usually fail, this time it felt different. I hope I’ve chosen the right people for my time travel adventure.” Zaka locked eyes with Hassan after absorbing his story of being reprimanded by one of the administrative girls at the madrassa.

“Sigma? That’s a strange name. Who is he and…?” Hassan was interrupted as his camel lurched over a rock, jarring him.

“He’s my rival scientist. He’s trying to disrupt the magnetic pastures of metals and rocks to shatter the barrier of time. Disregarding the natural order has always led to chaos. I must stop him at any cost,” Zaka explained, his brow furrowed.

“Magnetic pastures of rocks? Time barriers? What are you really up to?” Hassan's confusion deepened.

“Planets, satellites, asteroids—this universe is brimming with rocks and metals. There are fields, pastures connecting images and time zones. Light rays from these rocks travel throughout the universe, and extensive research has been done on this theory up until the 24th century.” Zaka paused, then added, “Here’s your madrassa. Remember, discipline is the key to a developed nation. Don’t leave class without a teacher’s permission. Your time travel hinges on how you conduct yourself. I hope you won’t drag me away from my work again.” He dropped Hassan at the madrassa gate.

“Hey, you’re forgetting something!” Zaka suddenly remembered, handing Hassan the dowel with buckets that were now filled with water.

“I think this one should be here,” Hassan said, offering him the third bucket with irritation.

“I hate lectures! This future scientist should have told us that,” he complained, throwing a stone into the ground. “There must be a connection between the rocks in this universe! This boulder should link to its counterpart on Mars!”

“Put these buckets in their proper place,” the girl from earlier appeared again just as he tried to sneak away after placing the buckets at the door.

“That way,” she pointed toward another corner.

“The roof is too dusty to be cleaned by the bunkers again,” she warned from behind.

“Was I blind to be mesmerized by her beauty? That old scholar was right. Pitiless women hide behind the masks of girls here,” he muttered, annoyance boiling over as he dashed toward his classroom.

“Where were you? I looked everywhere for you in the madrassa!” Murtaza exclaimed as he found Hassan.

“Don’t ask! I had to go to the Nile to fetch a glass of water. These heavy buckets left scars on my shoulders, and a giant desert snake was about to swallow me! That future scientist from the 24th century, who brought us to the 11th century, overwhelmed me with his bizarre theories,” Hassan recounted, still shaken.

“There’s something suspicious about this entire time travel venture—unless I’m dreaming,” he whispered.

“What! You met him? I’m confused. He came from the future and brought us back to the past because he needed someone from the present to continue his research. He’s controlling this whole journey thanks to that mysterious stone your father found during excavation. All times are working within the same time frame. But how? What about the theories of relativity in our time?” Murtaza gripped Hassan’s shoulders, shaking him in excitement.

“Did you ask him anything? Tell me!” he urged.

“He was too rude to answer my questions. You’ll have to ask him yourself when the opportunity arises—probably only when your life is at risk,” Hassan snapped back, frustration seeping through.

“We’re going to the Nile tomorrow with Al Haytham on a royal ship! Our teacher, Al Haytham, has been given a project by Caliph Al Hakim to scientifically manage the waters of the Nile so floods can be controlled. All the students are required to accompany him to take notes!” a boy announced loudly outside their classroom.

Hassan felt a rush of anxiety and anticipation. The adventure was just starting, and they were in for a ride they could never have imagined.

 

 

 

 

 

CH 3

 

“Why are you wandering around? Come and join our discussion,” a student called from a small room, beckoning them inside. The room buzzed with energy, filled with boys of varying ages, all focused on revising the fascinating lesson on the reflection of light presented by Al Haytham earlier that morning.

“I disagree with the concept of the pinhole camera,” argued a strong-looking boy with brown hair, frustration evident in his voice. “How can we capture images on a screen the same way our eyes perceive them? This idea seems far-fetched. We’re just wasting our time.”

But another student quickly countered, “I understand your skepticism, but think about it for a moment. Light enters our eyes and reflects back in a straight line—just as it does in a pinhole camera. This theory holds incredible potential! By embracing these concepts, we could unlock new ways of seeing the world and enhance its beauty. Al Haytham’s work is not just admirable; it’s groundbreaking. Imagine the possibilities that lie ahead for us and the advancements we could achieve by understanding this better!”

Their conversation ignited a spark of curiosity, urging everyone to reconsider their views and engage more deeply with the ideas at hand. After all, true progress begins when we are willing to explore the unknown and embrace innovative thought.

In a dimly lit chamber filled with the musty scent of old books and fading scrolls, a heated debate erupted among a group of scholars.

“He seems right,” one of the fellows insisted, his voice eager with conviction. “Knowledge of optics could soon allow us to save the images from our eyes, and perhaps even cure many sight malfunctions.”

The second scholar nodded in agreement, but their companion, Murtaza, felt a pang of uncertainty as he absentmindedly reached for his glasses—only to realize they were missing.

“I’m not just voicing an opinion,” the brown-haired boy interrupted, rising with barely suppressed agitation. “I am older and more knowledgeable than all of you. You should accept my words without questioning them. Besides, many Islamic texts suggest that light cannot travel in a straight line. We should abandon this research immediately.” His anger hung heavy in the air, clearly unswayed by dissent.

An uneasy silence fell over the group. Murtaza exchanged a worried glance with Hassan, who appeared deep in thought, contemplating the intensity of the argument.

“I cannot agree with you,” Murtaza finally said, standing firm. “We have all studied the texts thoroughly, along with their translations.”

Calmly, the bearded scholar rose and retrieved a heavy stack of rough brown papers from a corner, presenting them to the brown-haired boy. “Where is it written? Let’s settle this debate.”

"What do you think? Is it really here?” the small-bearded boy chimed in, turning to Murtaza and Hassan for support.

“Actually, we’re newcomers,” Murtaza admitted sheepishly. “We’re still learning these concepts. Every religion supports gaining knowledge,”

“‘Learn these soon’? These texts are in Arabic!” Hassan whispered, his voice low and resigned.

“We only memorize verses before exams and forget them afterward. We have some books tucked away, but we haven't touched them.”

Murtaza felt a surge of guilt at their lack of dedication. “Don’t worry; I’ll keep my word. We’ll dive into this deeper,” he promised.

“I’m sorry, I may have misread that elsewhere,” the agitated boy muttered, feeling the weight of his embarrassment as he searched through the texts. Much to Hassan and Murtaza's astonishment, the group’s contentious energy dissipated, and they resumed their discussion as if nothing had occurred moments before.

“Let’s take a break,” Hassan suggested hurriedly, standing to leave the room alongside Murtaza. Outside, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God! I thought that man was going to lose it. I can’t believe they maintained their composure despite the clash of ideas, especially considering their diverse backgrounds.”

 

“It’s the 11th century,” Murtaza replied thoughtfully. “Muslims at this time were well-equipped with both religious and worldly knowledge. Their strong educational foundations enabled them to govern vast empires in the centuries that followed. Unlike us, the scholars of the 22nd century are often lost, confused by both earthly matters and metaphysical truths. Everyone claims to be a scholar in their own right, and we blindly follow without questioning authenticity.”

As the stars twinkled above them that night, Hassan marveled, "Everything changes over time, yet the moon and stars of both the 11th and 22nd centuries twinkle just the same."

 

Murtaza, resting against one of the grand pillars, smiled. "Just like this institution, destined to shine as the modern Al-Azhar University until our time."

 

A local teacher approached, his pride evident. "This university is named after Hazrat Fatima, known as Al-Zahra—the luminous one. Scholars from all over have studied here. Al-Haythem came from Iraq, and the renowned chemist Ibn Sina was among many who graced this madrassa. Cairo is the heartbeat of education in the 11th century."

 

"Back then, the Muslim caliphs supported learning with open hands. What happened to us?" Hassan lamented, taking in the sheer scale of the madrassa's construction.

 

Murtaza sighed. "Our rulers have traded bricks for money, and knowledge has become a commodity buried under their corruption. We lag far behind in acquiring modern skills." They were setting their beds to sleep.

 Meanwhile, taking advantage of dark, a shadow approached the three men near the Nile.

“I’ll pay more than you can imagine!” the shadow offered desperation tinging his voice.

 “The security around the pyramids is tight due to ongoing threats from robbers. No one is allowed inside,” one man insisted, his tone firm.

 The shadow displayed a colorful sketch of a queen adorned with a magnificent bracelet. “I must enter those pyramids to find this piece of jewelry.”

“A colorful drawing! Did you create this? Are you an artist?” The three men looked on in awe, intrigued by the vibrant image before them.

“Not an artist—a scientist,” the shadow retorted, frustration crossing his features. “Can you assist me or not?”

“Where are you from? You look… suspicious. Your features, your attire, your language—everything is peculiar!” the chief robber exclaimed, bewildered.

“There’s nothing strange about me; I’m just experiencing some issues with my system,” the man replied, glancing around, irritation creeping in.

“What do you mean by that? We don’t understand you!” the robbers exchanged perplexed looks.

“It’s because of that so-called scientist, Zaka. I traveled directly from the future to the past, skipping the present entirely. I’ll soon adjust, though,” he muttered, annoyance evident in his tone.

“Do you understand? I need that bracelet to rid myself of my shadow! Without it, my physical presence is impossible. I’m stuck in a time pocket. If you can’t help me, I’ll find someone else. I refuse to let that so-called scientist win again!” he shouted in frustration, spinning on his heel.

“I think we might be able to come up with a plan to help you enter the pyramids,” the chief robber said thoughtfully, eyes glinting with a sudden spark of interest as he reconsidered the colorful sketch of the bracelet. “Let’s discuss,” he called out, beckoning the man back.

 

As the sunlight began to rise over the horizon, Murtaza's voice broke the stillness of dawn. "Zaka, you just dropped us here in the 11th century, and it feels like you vanished without a trace!" His disbelief bubbled to the surface as he stared incredulously at Zaka sitting near them.

 

Zaka leaned back against the ancient stone wall, a mischievous glimmer lighting up his eyes. "Oh, come on! I'm on a quest to make time travel a reality. It's not just a pipe dream," he said, his voice thrumming with excitement. “You see, I’m hunting for the remnants of a lost queen’s exquisite bracelet. Legends say those stones possess extraordinary energies that distort time itself.”

 

Murtaza’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "A lost queen…a bracelet? Are you serious?"

 

“Yes! And I have to find that bracelet at all costs. Those stones are trapping pockets of time like flies in amber. Imagine if we could unlock one of those pockets! Humans could zip back into the past as casually as we walk down the street today! But I need your help to navigate the pyramids; that's where I believe the clues lie,” Zaka urged, his voice almost a whisper, pulling Murtaza deeper into the web of mystery.

 

Murtaza blinked, his heart racing with both trepidation and intrigue. “Pyramids? But wait—time travel isn’t real, is it? I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this bizarre adventure we’re on!”

 

“Why not?” Zaka shot back, practically bubbling with enthusiasm. “Every tick of the clock is a journey forward into the unknown! We may be moving into tomorrow, but I’ve just tweaked your perception of time—slowing it down for me and stretching it even further for you.”

 

The air crackled with possibility, and Murtaza could hardly contain his curiosity. Would he really step into the past, like stepping into a dream? He felt the weight of destiny on his shoulders, and for the first time, the unknown didn’t feel scary; it felt exhilarating. “But…," Murtaza began, struggling to grasp the concept.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CH 4

 

 

Zaka held up a hand, cutting him off gently. "Let’s save the details for later. The adventures ahead are going to be wild, but right now, I need to apologize to someone." He shifted his focus to Hassan, who seemed oblivious to Zaka’s presence.

 

"I’m sorry," Zaka began, edging closer to Hassan. "Sigma interfered with my research, pulling it from my mind, and I took my frustration out on you."

 

Hassan looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes. "I can see how stressful that must have been. It was my fault, too."

 

"Squeezed research from your mind? That's mind-boggling!" Murtaza exclaimed, adjusting his glasses instinctively, only to realize they weren't there.

 

"In the 24th century, anything is possible," Zaka replied with a wave of his hand, already turning away.

 

"Wait! Just one last question," Murtaza rushed after him. "Do you work for NASA?"

 

Zaka chuckled, flashing a grin. "Definitely not! I'm proud to be part of SUPARCO!"

 

"Enough chitchat, my young scholars! It’s time to get start for our enriching journey along the Nile!" Their hostel head appeared with a commanding presence.

 

As the sun climbed higher, they were ready, eager for their journey along the majestic Nile. The river, stretching 4,187 kilometers, unfurled before them, bathed in the golden dawn, leaving them in awe. The beauty of the land and sky was a breathtaking sight—the lines between the two blurred in a captivating dance of colors.

 

The students boarded a magnificent royal ship sent by the caliph, its vast deck and numerous rooms echoing luxury. All around them, trade ships, adorned for celebrations, bobbed gently in the water, while the banks teemed with life. People were fishing, washing clothes, tending to animals, and collecting water, each moment a glimpse into the daily rhythm of life along the Nile.

 

"Imagine this: Pharaohs transported immense stones along these waters to construct the towering pyramids that still hold secrets to this day," Murtaza explained, his excitement palpable. "For them, the Nile was sacred, its land reserved solely for cultivation—no construction could disrupt its purity."

 

As the ship glided forward, Hassan struggled to maintain his balance against the strong currents. "These river currents are so furious, racing like a speeding car!" he exclaimed, wobbling against the deck. "This is exhilarating!"

 

With laughter ringing through the air and adventure awaiting them, the trio set sail, ready to uncover the mysteries and wonders of the ancient world.

 

“Imagine this, Murtaza,” he said, his eyes gleaming with wonder. “How could such furious waves cradle a basket, carrying a fragile baby boy?” He seemed completely captivated.

 

“It must have been a heart-wrenching moment for that sister to let go of her brother like that,” he continued, lost in thought.

 

“You’re absolutely right, my friend,” Hassan chimed in, his voice growing passionate. “Who would have guessed that this baby would grow up to be Prophet Moses? He would stand against the Pharaohs by the command of God, freeing the Israelites from slavery and spreading the message of Allah across this land. It was all part of Almighty Allah’s divine plan. He protected and nurtured that boy in the very palaces of the Pharaohs!”

 

“Shhh, Hassan! Keep it down, will you? Why the theatrics?” Murtaza scolded lightly as he climbed up to the corner of the deck.

 

“Wants to fly, 

Jump up high. 

Wants to drown 

With the shark crowned. 

Wants to get lost 

In the world of ghosts.” 

Ah, my favorite childhood rhyme.

 

“By the way, I’ve never heard such a hilarious rhyme before! It’s amusing how the childhood of the 22nd century blends with the tone of the 11th,” Murtaza chuckled as he pulled Hassan back to reality. “Hurry up, those boys are coming out on deck…”

 

“Have you noticed, Murtaza? I still remember the bedtime stories our grandmother told us about prophets and their dream interpretations. I can’t believe this—I feel like I’m drifting back to my childhood!” Hassan exclaimed, oblivious to his surroundings.

 

“What do you mean?” the second boy asked, puzzled.

 

“Your destiny is to become a juggler! That’s the interpretation of your dream that you just shared with us!” a group of students from Al Azhar responded, amused.

 

“Now see your destiny!” the other boy retaliated, punching him hard. A fight broke out, and teachers and administrators rushed in to separate the boys until a sharp voice cut through their anger.

“It’s inappropriate to mock dreams and their interpretations. It’s serious knowledge,” an aged teacher appeared on the deck.

 

“I’m sorry, teacher! We were just trying to pass the time since it’s a long journey ahead,” one boy explained hastily.

 

“Well, instead of wasting time in derision, how about we have a session on dreams and their interpretations?” the teacher suggested, pointing towards a cabin.

 

There was no escaping this time. Everyone turned to the two boys, who suddenly felt responsible for ruining their free time.

 

“King Khufu only had three wives, all buried with him. That strange shadow man was telling us ridiculous stories about a fourth wife- lost queen and a bracelet, claiming to come from the future. The four of them were approaching to pyramids cautiously.  The shadow man mentioned dates like ‘a lap from the 10th round… merging the 22nd with the 24th centuries under a single sun.’ We shouldn’t believe him. He even not showing himself clearly,” one of the robbers commented, eyeing the picture with skepticism.

 

“These pyramids are burdened with mysteries and treasures within. Their intricate structures and forgotten inhabitants are filled with ambiguity. Perhaps this robbery could change our fate?” the chief robber mused, greed twinkling in his eyes as he clutched a handful of coins and let their scent fill the air.

 

“Are you forgetting the terrible insects and the Pharaoh’s curse? How do we even get inside?” the scar-faced robber protested, hesitating.

 

“We will tempt our luck this time. We will not only enter but scour the king’s domain!” the chief robber declared, sharpening his dagger with determination.

 

“Once, a king of Egypt dreamt that seven fat cows emerged from the river, only to be devoured by seven gaunt cows. He woke, distressed, and summoned his ministers for interpretation. One of them referenced the story of Hazrat Yusuf, who was imprisoned at the time. He foretold that the first seven years would yield bountiful crops, followed by seven years of famine. Yusuf offered a solution — to wisely store provisions during the prosperous years. The king was satisfied, ordered Yusuf's release, but Yusuf returned the favor by ensuring justice was served first,” the teacher began his lecture, captivating the audience.

 

“Now, feel free to ask questions about your dreams,” he said, scanning the eager faces of his students. While some hung on to every word, others gazed out the window, longing for the journey to continue.

 

“And as it happened, the dream came true...”

 

During the famine and drought, Hazrat Yusuf had a poignant reunion with his family when they journeyed to Egypt seeking grains. His eleven brothers and parents bowed before him—a scene that brought to life the childhood dream he had once shared. This remarkable story is elegantly captured in Surah Yusuf of the Quran. Hassan found himself lost in thought, a wave of nostalgia washing over him.

 

"Ah, Nano, may Allah bless you for those enchanting bedtime stories from my childhood," he murmured, his voice rising a notch above the din around him.

 

"Hey, juggler! We all know this story already, no need to show off," one of the boys jeered with a smirk.

 

"Great dude! I'm genuinely impressed now," Murtaza chimed in, his enthusiasm lifting the mood. The teacher acknowledged their engagement, praising the class for their keen interest. The session continued, stretching longer than anyone had anticipated, with each student sharing their dreams and captivating the class with their interpretations.

 

"I swear, if this keeps up, I’ll be flying with those seagulls outside. I’m utterly bored!" Hassan exclaimed, gazing longingly at the birds gliding through the sky.

 

"I'm feeling hungry too," Murtaza stretched, scanning the room for a hint of food.

 

"Seriously! With lessons and lectures, even on a field trip? Didn’t they have a bell system in the 11th century?" Hassan complained, glancing around for a clock.

 

"Don't even go there, man. Forty-minute lectures are hard to digest most of the time!" Murtaza responded, a hint of worry creeping into his voice.

 

"This is to teach us…" the teacher began, but before he could finish, the ship trembled violently, sending everyone tumbling from one side of the room to the other. Chaos erupted as they desperately clung to anything they could—vases, lanterns, wooden pens, even the scattering leaves of paper—but it was all in vain. The ship rocked wildly, resembling a fish thrashing about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CH 5

 

 

After what felt like an eternity, the trembling subsided, settling into a less frenetic sway. Some brav brave students ventured out. To their shock, a small boat sped past, having crashed into their ship. Their frantic shouts of warning went unheard. Nearby, another wedding ship had come to a halt, impacted by the chaos.

 

"I told you to be careful! What were you thinking, crashing into a wedding ship?" one man scolded his crewmate.

 

"Chill out! I know how to do my job. A little collision with a wedding ship? Just some fun. We’ve got to enjoy ourselves too!" he shrugged off the criticism.

 

"How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?" the third man queried.

 

"No more than half an hour; my crew is waiting. Soon, everything will be under our control," he assured, turning the small boat toward the nearest shore.

 

Meanwhile, the wedding ship resumed its voyage amid the lively sounds of tabla and tazmir, filled with music and laughter. Boys danced joyfully while sipping on herbal tea, their spirits buoyed by the enchanting atmosphere of a celebration in the 11th century.

 

"Look at the bride and groom!" Hassan pointed animatedly.

 

A circle of young girls danced around a stunning bride and her dashing groom, their joy palpable. The bride, donned in a beautiful white gown and heavy gold jewelry reminiscent of pharaohs and princesses, was the picture of elegance.

 

"Why are you staring at us?" one of the girls called out playfully.

 

"I think they want to join the fun!" another chimed in.

 

"Let’s send them an invitation! Ibrahim, Ahmed! These boys want to meet you!" They giggled as they gathered at the edge of the wedding ship.

 

"Oh my goodness, these girls are as fast and fierce as the Nile—with a little help from their drinks," Hassan teased, covering his ears and taking a step back.

 

“But I’d still love to chat with them in my time,” he mused, daydreaming about chatting with them on Facebook once he returned to the 22nd century.

 

"Traveling forward, not back," Murtaza overheard his musing and chuckled.

 

Suddenly, a flurry of rose petals cascaded down like raindrops upon them, tossed from the bride's family on the bridge above. They trailed behind the wedding ship, which was struggling after the collision.

 

The enchanting sight of colorful petals floating on the indigo waters was truly captivating. Murtaza playfully brushed some petals away, only to have them swirl around him. To his surprise, as he arranged a few, they began to form a neat pattern by themselves. When the intricate design finally emerged, it left them all in awe, as the ship continued its journey through this whimsical moment in time.

Murtaza stood there, his heart racing as he read the words over and over, bewilderment etched across his face. “What is this?” he muttered, “I’ve seen this before! But where?” Suddenly, clarity washed over him. “Of course! This is from Hazrat Umer's letter to the Nile!” He called out to Hassan, who was lost in the excitement of a wedding celebration happening on the riverbank.

 

“Dude, did you smell that? They’re having something amazing over there! We should totally join them. A future scientist needs a feast on this journey into the past!” Hassan's voice laced with longing, as he caught a whiff of roasted fish drifting through the air.

 

“Murtaza, focus!” he yelled, trying to bring Hassan back from his food fantasies. “Look at these petals! They’re trying to tell us something!” Murtaza pointed eagerly toward the riverbank.

 

“What are you talking about? Those petals are just… petals! It’s your stomach talking, not some mystical message,” Hassan scoffed, scanning the now random surface of the water where the petals had once flowed.

 

“It wasn’t an illusion!” Murtaza protested. “Don’t you know? The Egyptians sacrificed a young girl to the Nile every June 12th for centuries, hoping to appease it. It was Hazrat Umer who put an end to that grisly tradition. When he abolished the sacrifice, the Nile dried up, bringing famine upon the land. The people, desperate for survival, wanted to return to their ancient customs.”

 

Hassan paused, captivated despite himself. “Wait, seriously? They really tried to force it back?”

 

“Yes! It wasn’t just folklore; it was a matter of life and death for them,” Murtaza continued with fervor.

 

“Wow,” Hassan admitted, impressed. “I had no idea. Did Hazrat Umer… did he get a response?”

 

“Absolutely! He wrote a letter to the Nile himself. Allah, the Almighty, controls all things—ocean, sun, and moon. That very night, the Nile overflowed its banks, nourishing the land once more. The practice of sacrificing girls came to an end!”

 

“Huh,” Hassan said, glancing at the joyful girls on the wedding ship drifting by. “Sounds like the Nile has seen it all. Imagine being that river, witnessing the rise and fall of civilizations.”

 

“Right? Sometimes, I wish I were the Nile myself.” Murtaza sighed but quickly shook himself back to reality as their ship hit a sudden jolt. “Have we arrived?” Hassan asked, eyes scanning the desolate riverside.

 

“I don’t think so. I expected to see the shadufs here…” Murtaza murmured, peering over the edge. Just then, the ship’s captain approached, his expression grim.

 

“Our ship is in trouble. We’re waiting for support,” he reported. “That last boat rammed into us and fled.”

 

A nearby student exclaimed in irritation, “We should chase them down and show them a lesson!”

 

But before they could rally, a chilling voice echoed from the shadows. “Anyone who moves will lose their life.” In an instant, their ship was surrounded by small rowboats, pirate-like figures climbing aboard, swords glinting ominously.

 

The ship’s guards sprang into action, swords raised high, creating a barrier against the attackers. The air buzzed with tension as steel clashed, but the guards were pushed back by the sheer number of attackers. Students, unarmed, joined the fray, but they were no match for the infiltrators, who fought with rough precision.

 

Murtaza and Hassan grabbed long sticks and bravely joined the struggle. As chaos reigned, they spotted Zaka, valiantly dressed as a guard, scrambling to defend them.

 

“Pirates on a river? Seriously?” Hassan inched closer, breathlessly.

 

“They’re henchmen of a notorious band of robbers,” Zaka said urgently while shielding them behind a wooden barrier. “Here, take these!” He slipped something into their pockets.

 

“Why drag us into this?” Murtaza asked, bewildered by the sudden turn of events.

 

“Thanks to that sly Sigma, you’re now part of our time-travel quest!” Zaka declared, eyes alight with adventure. “You’ll search for the lost queen’s burial place in the pyramids and unearth her fabled bracelet.”

 

“What? We’re meeting a mummy?!” Hassan exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief as he peered out at the fierce men attacking their ship.

 

“A queen, not just any mummy!” Zaka corrected him. “But remember, this isn’t just a treasure hunt—she must willingly offer you the bracelet. It’s not something to be taken; trust me, the stakes are high.”

 

Hassan scoffed, “A woman can never offer…” but hesitated as the intensity of the moment settled in. Murtaza exchanged a determined glance with him, realizing they were on the brink of a journey that could change everything they believed.

 

“And that, my friend, makes it all the more exciting,” Murtaza replied, gripping the stick tighter, ready to face whatever came next.

"Why not? By the 22nd century, such a question shouldn't even be on the table! Every day, we find ourselves mesmerized by the laughter, the conversations, and the joyful movements of those who have long since departed this world. But here’s the incredible truth: humans have mastered the art of preserving memories. Nature has been doing so for eons with its high-definition cameras—stars and galaxies capturing every moment since the universe began.

 

Every single frame from the dawn of time is etched in the cosmic fabric; we merely have to sift through the vastness of its archives to unearth our favorites. Here in the 24th century, we’re on the brink of revolutionizing this discovery process for humanity. So brace yourselves! We’re embarking on an extraordinary journey that you, the 22nd-century folks, couldn't possibly fathom—a journey to reconnect with the past, to engage with history like never before!

 

But just as Zaka's words lingered in the air, he vanished, leaving the group astonished.

 

“Stop!” they yelled, racing towards the deck, only to find themselves blurred by the shadows of swords glinting in the blazing sun.

 

The attackers were ruthless, seizing five of the unfortunate students, rounding them up as hostages. Murtaza and Hassan trembled among them, aware of their precarious situation.

 

"You've snagged just five fools and none with their bags? What good are they to me?” the chief robber shouted with contempt. He maintained his distance in another boat, simmering with rage.

 

“We encountered fierce resistance, and the rescue boats were on the way…,” one of the men stammered, desperate and frightened.

 

“Get lost before I lose my patience!” the chief seethed, causing the remaining thugs to retreat hurriedly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CH 6

 

“Which one of you has the identity cards from your madrassa?” the chief demanded, pressing the sharp edge of his dagger against Murtaza’s neck threateningly.

 

“I didn’t hear you,” he growled, moving to another hostage when Murtaza couldn’t muster a response.

 

“I’m broke; please spare me!” one of the students pleaded, only to be tossed into the water by the chief as punishment for his empty pockets.

 

“Let’s lighten the load on this boat, shall we?”

 

“Are you asking for this?” Murtaza quickly rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a card, his heart racing.

 

“Of course, I’m dying for that pathetic little tag!” Hassan chimed in, producing his card in a panic.

 

“What about the rest?” The chief's eyes gleamed with greed as he relished the opportunity to intimidate.

 

“Let the crocodile have a treat,” the other robbers laughed cruelly, enjoying the sight of their drenched comrades struggling against the unforgiving waves.

 

“You both better lead us to the pyramids with those cards!” the chief leered, watching their eyes widen in horror.

 

“Are you mourning your friends?” one attacker mocked, reveling in the fear that paralyzed the two captives.

 

Meanwhile, Hassan’s father dashed into the library, frantically searching for a glimmering stone he had locked away. “Thank God it's still here! Tomorrow, I will be free of this burden,” he sighed with relief, locking the door securely behind him.

 

“You look worn out,” Hassan’s mother noted, barely tearing her eyes from the drama unfolding on TV.

 

“Not really. I’m just anxious… Suparco is about to take over our project, and they want to claim the rock our archaeological team unearthed from Taxila. This rock, remarkably, bears resemblances to both asteroids and Earth’s geological formations. I believe there are asteroids buried here, their earthy counterparts misplaced in the cosmos! I’ve got to convince Suparco to let me stay involved in this investigation. I can’t let my project come to a halt!” He expressed his disappointment and frustration.

 

“Everything will turn out just fine. Don’t stress yourself,” she reassured him. “Zeemal, please call your brother for dinner.”

 

“I haven't seen him in a while; he must be outside,” Zeemal muttered, not bothering to move her gaze from her phone.

 

“He’s probably with Murtaza. Go get him,” Hassan’s father suggested before returning his focus to a pile of papers on the table.

 

“What’s the true origin of this rock? Was it traveling through time and space?” he mused to himself, circled images of the rock frequenting his thoughts.

 

Just then, they found themselves drawn to the other side of the shore, where serene camels awaited to carry their weary bodies. Soon, they were precariously perched on the backs of these desert ships, accompanied by their captors. The Valley of Kings and the Valley of the Dead lay ahead, transforming the landscape into a haven of history. Camels were the only viable means of transportation in 11th-century Egypt.

 

Before them loomed the Great Sphinx, an emblem of authority and mystique, casting its magnificent shadow over the land. The reality of the ancient pharaohs wrapped around them—the rolling sand dunes, the sweltering sun, the rough whistling wind—all seemed to protect and honor these majestic artifacts.

 

Cautiously, the robbers advanced, halting their camels at the entrance of the largest pyramid, the Great Sphinx itself. This limestone marvel, with the head of a lion and the body of a man, was an enduring symbol of secrets yet to be unveiled.

 

“I can’t believe the skies of the 21st century witnessed the same wonders we are experiencing here in the 11th century!” Murtaza exclaimed, captivated by the atmosphere.

 

“Show your identities,” one of the robbers commanded, rounding them up once again."

"During our ride on the Nile, we encountered an accident and lost our cards," one of the robbers explained, attempting to garner some sympathy.

 

"Don't waste my time with excuses. Just pick two of you," the chief security officer responded sternly, sensing the brewing conflict. Just then, a guard from the other side intervened.

 

“Be considerate of the researchers. They deserve respect. Let them pass,” he said, swinging open the door before anyone could object.

 

As they stepped inside, three chambers greeted them at the entrance. “It should be right here,” one of the robbers scanned the area.

 

“Yes, here it is!” another shouted, discovering a sack filled with digging tools and lanterns.

 

“That guard has already taken a hefty payment for his 'services.' We don't need him as a partner in our findings,” the chief remarked, rifling through the tools until his fingers brushed against an old, torn book hidden within his robe.

 

“This way!” he commanded, pointing into the dark lobby. A suffocating odor enveloped them as they moved forward, the oppressive silence weighing heavily in the air. Hassan felt the sand sucking at his feet, as they stumbled over the uneven, crumbling bricks that whispered of a bygone era.

 

“We possess nothing in this life, yet King Khufu erected this massive pyramid as his final resting place,” one robber observed somberly.

 

“The Pharaohs believed in life after death, entombing their nobles with treasures and even slaves,” the chief retorted, his frustration clear. “After all, he was a powerful king; his burial should reflect that.”

 

“I’m starting to feel drowsy in this maze of confusing paths. Searching for each other will take forever. What if we get lost in these treacherous riddles?” the first robber hesitated, visibly shaken.

 

“Hey, fool! A man with multiple wives should take a page from this structure—it's a lesson in hiding!” the chief scoffed. “He built separate pyramids for his wives, and kept a fourth for the hope of enjoying an afterlife with his favorite.”

 

“If he were to awaken now, he’d surely suffocate from the stench,” Hassan replied, struggling to acclimate to the thick atmosphere.

 

“Don’t fret; he’d just command some renovations and head straight to a luxury hotel in the meantime. ‘Many stories surround the pyramids, clinging to their peaks. How did they rise toward the sky? Their construction remains an enigma,’” Murtaza mused, envisioning future generations investigating these monumental structures.

 

“We came here after meeting a peculiar man holding an unusual picture—King Khufu’s anonymous wife, adorned with a stunning bracelet encrusted with valuable stones. Was it wise to trust his story and gamble with our lives?” The second robber finally spoke up, doubt creeping into his voice.

 

“He must have been referencing one of the future scientists—Zaka or Sigma,” Hassan whispered to Murtaza.

 

“I stumbled upon this book during a heist in one of the pyramids. It details the legend of a precious gold bracelet lost during Khufu’s reign. I’m convinced that man was referring to the same treasure. Check out the maps and illustrations here; they could guide us through this maze. I don’t trust him, but I trust this book. Now, let’s move forward without delay,” the chief asserted, tucking the book back into his robe.

 

“We’ve unearthed countless artifacts—chariots, games, and more—during our robberies, but we’ve never come across any gold. A queen wouldn’t be buried with just a single bracelet!” Greed sparkled in the eyes of the second robber.

 

“Stop!” the chief barked, halting them at a crossroad. “Search for a staircase here,” he ordered, the tension palpable.

 

They flicked on their lanterns, and after a thorough examination, signs of a staircase began to emerge from the sand and debris.

 

“Let’s descend and forge our path!” one robber encouraged, tugging at Murtaza.

 

“No, that’s too dangerous!” Hassan protested, panic in his voice.

 

“Then take this route if you're so afraid. Do you really think this is a vacation?” the robber countered, pulling Hassan along.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CH 7

 

 

“Now you must decide among yourselves. If it’s too difficult, I’ll make the decision,” the chief pressed from behind. Murtaza struggled to maintain his balance as he caught Hassan from stumbling. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed as bricks tumbled from the ceiling.

 

They squeezed their eyes shut, waiting for the disaster to subside, then reopened them, relieved to find themselves on the first step.

 

The staircase appeared sturdy enough to hold their weight, and they cautiously advanced, lanterns casting ominous shadows along the walls. The eerie sounds of crumbling stone heightening their anxiety.

 

“Let go of my feet!” Hassan yelled, his panic rising.

 

“Something's crawling on me! Itches—like insects!” one robber shrieked.

 

“Deadly, stinging termites!” another cried, frantic as the tiny invaders swarmed around them.

 

“Run! They won't catch us if we move fast!” the chief shouted, sprinting ahead.

 

But the dilapidated staircase couldn’t withstand their hastiness—it began to crumble. They tumbled down the stairs, the lanterns extinguishing in the depths as they fought against the encroaching sand.

 

Now, enveloped in darkness, they faced the unknown, but one thing was certain: they had to press on if they were to survive and uncover the treasures hidden within these ancient walls.

“Zeemal, have you called Murtaza’s side for your brother? Your father is also waiting for him at dinner,” Hassan’s mother entered the room, her tone laced with concern.

 

Zeemal looked up from her phone, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “Can you drop this already? Are you even listening?” She snatched her mobile back as her mother turned to leave.

 

“Just one last message, please, Mama,” Zeemal protested, but her words faded as her mother exited the room.

 

“I’m not his babysitter. He’ll show up when he wants to. They’re probably glued to their video games,” she muttered, sliding into a dining chair.

 

In the adjoining room, Hassan’s father was immersed in a book, gesturing animatedly. “Oh yes, I found a crucial clue. Pharaohs used these kinds of stones in their jewelry! This particular rock traveled all the way from Egypt to Pakistan because of tectonic movements. But how can it possibly share characteristics with space stones? It’s still a mystery,” he mused, glancing up just as he joined them for dinner.

 

“I’ll share this with my team tomorrow,” he concluded, excitement twinkling in his eyes. Meanwhile, Hassan’s mother resolved to call Murtaza’s mother, determination set on her face.

 

---

 

“Grab my hand, Hassan!” Murtaza shouted, his voice strained. The two hung precariously from a rope, the grip of the termites on their hands throbbing with pain, yet Murtaza held on tightly. With one mighty pull, he yanked Hassan up, sending them both tumbling onto a sandbag.

 

“I don’t want to go any further!” Hassan's voice quivered with terror.

 

“Come on, we can’t stay here!” Murtaza urged, glancing back at the dim light of the robbers’ lanterns.

 

“Search for a small door!” the chief commanded, his voice echoing in the cavernous shadow.

 

After exploring the corners, they spotted a tiny door at the base of the wall.

 

“Open it!” one of the robbers demanded, thrusting a shovel into Murtaza’s hands.

 

“There’s a handle!” Murtaza exclaimed, pointing out a wooden ring.

 

“I can’t!” he grunted, straining against it until he fell back.

 

“Keep trying! And what are you doing just standing there? Help him!” the robbers barked at Hassan.

 

“It’s too intricate! Why aren’t you helping us?” Hassan shouted, frustration mirrored in Murtaza’s wild eyes as they gasped for breath.

 

“Don’t you get it? We’re dragging you two fools along for a reason!” the chief snarled, brandishing a dagger threateningly.

 

“AAAAAH!” they both yelped, jolting back as an army of gigantic spiders surged forth through the broken door, descending like a dark cloud upon them.

 

“Cut them down!” the robbers shouted, drawing their blades without hesitation. “Follow me! These creatures only attack those who tread in their webs.” The chief plunged into the room, leaving Hassan and Murtaza behind, vulnerable, as the spiders crawled menacingly toward them.

 

“This place is cursed. These creatures are a sign; something precious lies hidden here,” Murtaza muttered, gripping his injury as the spiders advanced.

 

“They knew it,” Hassan said, desperation creeping into his voice just as they heard terrified screams from the room. The spiders were now invading the robbers’ bodies, a horrific scene unfolding before their eyes.

 

“Aay may day, zee jay hoo, ‘aay zay noo…” the chief recited powerful incantations from his book, but suddenly, a giant spider bit his hand, causing the book to tumble away. He continued his chanting, and miraculously, all the spiders retreated into silence, leaving the robbers bloodied and bewildered in an ancient room filled with sand and webs.

 

“I think our search ends here. Start digging!” the leader commanded, pulling a small lantern from his pocket.

 

“Find those idiots and make them dig!” he snapped, eyes darting nervously around the chamber.

 

Reluctantly, they began their painful task, digging through the sand while shrieks echoed as they unearthed skulls and bones. As they worked, Hassan’s gaze fell upon the open book in the corner. There, an image captivated him: a regal queen adorned with heavy gold jewelry, her arm highlighted by an exquisite gold bracelet. An inscription beneath the image read:

 

“Fall asleep, dear. In the 10th century, the sun will shine, and your lucky stones will place you on the throne. A mist will cloak you from the 21st century, but it’ll clear in the skies of the 24th lap of time.”

 

Murtaza leaned in closer, trying to decipher the cryptic message, their adventure entwining deeper with the secrets of the past.

“Where are the remains of that queen?” the chief demanded impatiently, his eyes glinting with desperation. “I believe no one has reached here before!”

 

“Can you read these codes? What’s written?” He turned to Hassan and Murtaza, who were poring over the cryptic dates, utterly indecipherable to the chief.

 

“Yes, these are dates that connect your time to the past and future,” Hassan replied, his voice steady.

 

“What do you mean by ‘your time’? Where do you come from?” the chief yelled, frustration spilling over.

 

“We’re from the future,” Murtaza interjected quickly, sensing the tension. “A scientist dragged us here for his research, claiming to come from two centuries ahead of you. That’s all we know!”

 

Suddenly, a tremendous rumble shook the ground. “An earthquake!” Murtaza shouted, terror etched across his face as he watched debris tumble from the roof.

 

“Keep digging! This old building won’t collapse; it’s just a trick to deter us. We must be close to our goal!” one of the men urged, fueled by excitement. Strangely, the three men paused, ordering Hassan and Murtaza to dig deeper.

 

“Move faster!” Fear, thrill, and anticipation danced on their faces. Though Hassan and Murtaza were battered and terrified, they begrudgingly complied. As Murtaza unearthed the sand, something suddenly seized his shovel from below. He screamed and fell back, unconscious.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CH 8

 

“There’s someone beneath the sand! They grabbed my shovel!” Murtaza gasped before succumbing to darkness. Ignoring him, the men pressed on, discovering that the shovel was stuck to a door handle.

 

“There must be a tunnel! Open it!” they demanded of Hassan, who was frantic with worry for his friend. After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, only for hundreds of mummies to surge from the walls, enveloping them in a terrifying frenzy.

 

“Grab the door!” one man shouted as they leaped into the tunnel, slamming it shut behind them, leaving Hassan and Murtaza to face the mummies alone.

 

“Stop! Take us with you!” Hassan shouted, desperate to escape.

 

“You opened the door, so you’re cursed now. These mummies will harm you, not us. We can’t help you!” the leader declared brutally before pushing Hassan to the ground.

 

Hassan glanced at Murtaza, then at the mummies closing in, paralyzed with fear. “Please, Murtaza, open your eyes! Please…!” Tears streamed down Hassan’s face.

 

Meanwhile, Murtaza’s mother replied to a frantic inquiry, “Yes, they came a little while ago, but they took off right away.”

 

“What happened? I thought they’d still be with you?” she asked, worry creeping into her voice.

 

“Don’t worry; they might be outside in the lawn,” Hassan’s mother said, suddenly silencing her phone and moving towards their shared lawn. Murtaza’s mother followed suit, opening the door to check outside.

 

As Hassan wept, he felt a strange shudder within the bricks around him. The stones in the walls began shifting, and the mummies retreated, disappearing back within the walls as the bricks rearranged themselves like a deck of cards. Faces of kings, queens, jacks, and spades swirled around him.

 

“I’ve seen this before,” Hassan murmured, struggling to recall something crucial. “This pattern looks just like my video game!” Finally, it clicked. “Come on, Hassan, you can do this. It’s like a video game. Just be careful to progress at each level!”

 

“Hassan, just play—use your fingers!” he heard Zaka’s voice echoing from somewhere afar. He pointed at a brick with a king, and it shifted in response to Hassan’s thoughts. Hassan focused, waving his hand through the air, aligning the kings, jacks, and spades in a row, but something was missing—the fourth queen was nowhere to be found.

 

“This king needs to marry four queens, not three,” he thought aloud. Suddenly, a spark of inspiration ignited. He remembered the old book left by the robbers—the page with the queen’s image and code!

 

With urgency, he tore out the page and placed it on an empty brick. Instantly, it merged with the bricks, and they began to rearrange themselves with astonishing speed. The pattern completed, the room brightened, illuminating Murtaza, who slowly awakened.

 

“Thank goodness! You’re awake!” Hassan exclaimed, rushing to Murtaza’s side. “The curse is broken! We have to find a way back now.”

 

Just then, a stunning queen appeared in the room, radiant with power as the place flooded with light. The adventure was far from over, but they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

“Just like that picture,” Hassan murmured as he gazed at her.

 

“I can’t thank you enough. You’ve broken my curse,” she declared, her voice echoing in the dim room. “I am the fourth queen of King Khufu, adored by him. On our wedding day, he gifted me a magnificent gold bracelet. His other wives, consumed by jealousy, plotted my death to seize it. But my loyal servants buried me here, hiding my bracelet alongside me, ensuring I could reclaim it in my next life. No one knew my resting place; my rivals cursed my grave. I’ve wandered these pyramids for centuries, and every greedy robber who dared to enter met their doom. But now, the world shall witness the beauty and power of King Khufu’s fourth queen. I’m ready to reclaim my throne and exact my revenge. The king belongs to me, and the throne is rightfully mine!” She erupted into a maniacal laugh.

 

“Where is the king?” she demanded, stepping closer.

 

“Please, let us leave; we’re not here by choice,” Hassan urged, trying to deflect her attention.

 

“No! You will help me find my loyal servants within these walls. They must awaken to serve me!” she commanded, her eyes burning with intensity.

 

“If the outside world discovers you, they’ll covet your treasures, especially your gold bracelet. Your tomb will become just another tourist site like those of your rival queens. You will find no peace,” Murtaza attempted to reason with her.

 

“Let us go! We can’t assist you any further,” Hassan insisted, desperate to free themselves from her grasp.

 

“It’s always difficult to reason with a woman, no matter her status. They never stop talking,” Murtaza whispered to Hassan.

 

“Oh, you want this?” she snapped, removing her bracelet and thrusting it towards them. “Now help me.”

 

“It’s essential that the queen presents her bracelet willingly,” they recalled Zaka’s advice at that moment.

 

“No, we don’t…,” Hassan began.

 

“Take this!” She let the bracelet slip from her fingers, clattering to the ground.

 

“Not again! I must take my revenge! I refuse to let my rival queens’ rule!” Panic gripped her as she noticed a wooden coffin emerging from the shadows.

 

She continued to yell and argue, but eventually, dread overtook her, and she approached the coffin. “I’ll awaken again. I’ll rise again!” The coffin closed, disappearing into the sand before their eyes. Darkness enveloped them, and suffocation gripped their chests. They collapsed just as Zaka appeared.

 

“I’m grateful for your help. I needed these stones to enhance the effects on wandering asteroids in the future. This bracelet is a relic of the queen. After my research, I’ll return it here,” Zaka explained, clutching the bracelet. Moments later, they found themselves outside the great pyramids, surrounded by the students of Al Azhar.

 

“Are you okay? We heard you were kidnapped by robbers and brought here. Thank God you’re alright,” one boy said, concern etched on his face. Hassan and Murtaza took in the scene, still half-convinced it had all been a dream, watching as guards carted away the unconscious bodies of the robbers.

 

“Abdullah… I’m so glad to see you alive!” Murtaza exclaimed, recognizing the boys whom the robbers had thrown into the Nile.

 

“Thanks to that guy; he saved us,” they said, gesturing toward Zaka.

 

“Are you really taking the bracelet to the 24th century? Can we share this story in our time?” Murtaza asked, curiosity brimming.

 

“I told you before, nature reveals its secrets only with permission. It has a set time to uncover its mysteries. The discovery of this bracelet has linked timelines. The archaeologists in the 24th century will find the mummy of the fourth queen. Her secret is no more, as she wished! Let me tell you, the search for this mummy started in your time but only succeeded after two centuries,” Zaka said, leaving them astonished.

 

“Oh no, we’re out of time! Your mothers are frantically searching for you. Until our next time expedition!” As the darkness swept over them again, they barely had a moment to respond before finding themselves back in the library.

The mobile phone rang incessantly, its sound cutting through the clutter of papers strewn across the table. “Where on earth I’m missing?” Hassan’s father exclaimed, pushing through the mess with growing frustration. Just then, a glimmer of hope surfaced in the chaos. His boss was there on the phone. "Hi, Mr. Nabeel, I understand it’s late, but I couldn't stopped myself to tell you the big news,” he seemed excited.

 

“The International Archaeological Organisation had handpicked you for their groundbreaking project. This week, you would embark on a journey to one of the world's most mystifying and historically rich locations. Equipped with the latest non-invasive technologies, you would soon join a passionate team of archaeologists and historians in a quest to unveil the secrets hidden within the grand pyramids. With tools like cosmic-ray imaging, radar, and advanced 3D simulations at your disposal, you were set to explore the depths of these monumental structures without disturbing their timeworn integrity. As you prepared for your journey, the thrill of participating in active excavations surrounded by remnants of ancient civilizations filled you with anticipation. You were not just going to learn about history; you were going to uncover it—one hidden chamber at a time. The treasures of the past awaited you, and this was only the beginning of a remarkable adventure in your professional life.”

 

 “Thank you so much, sir! I’ve already uncovered several clues about the origin of that stone! Which stone!” He burst out in confusion. His excitement was visible as he envisioned the possibilities ahead. However, the celebration was short-lived. “Hassan and Murtaza are missing, and you’re here reveling!” His mother’s voice interrupted, concern etched on her face.

 

Just then, muffled voices echoed through the house. “Open up! Who locked us in?” came the frantic shout from the library. “Sorry, Baba! We were just checking something out,” Hassan sheepishly confessed as the door swung open, revealing him and Murtaza, looking a mix of guilty and intrigued.

 

“What were you doing in there? I locked that door just moments ago!” his father exclaimed, astonished.  “Let’s not panic the boys,” Hassan’s mother chimed in, guiding them away from their near mishap. “I’m thrilled to see how this all unfolds but surely I’m missing something,” his father said, eyeing the strange empty box on the table before locking the library door once more.

 

“What’s fascinating is that this stone didn’t get buried under the Himalayas due to tectonic shifts; it journeyed from space before landing on Earth after a millennium. While your father might never uncover the true story behind it, he will definitely pave the way for future archaeologists and scientists,” Zaka mused, his gaze lingering on the rock before he cleverly detached one stone from his bracelet and tossed it into the shimmering depths of the asteroid belt.

 

“Get ready for the adventure of a lifetime!” Zaka shouted, pressing the stone into the locking mechanism that transported him to the 24th century. As he landed, an unexpected sight greeted him—aliens playing interstellar chess! With a grin, Zaka confidently approached. “Mind if I join in? I’ve heard galactic strategy is a whole different level!” Laughter erupted from the group as the game began, setting the stage for a peculiar yet hilarious series of cosmic antics.

 

THE END