Chapter Eighteen: Broken

Life in prison was far worse than Abboud had imagined. The prison was not just cold walls and iron bars; it was a world filled with cruelty and injustice, where one found themselves trapped among ruthless men. The prisoners around him were a mix of dangerous criminals—murderers, drug dealers, and violent offenders. There were no rules to protect the weak here; brutality was the only law.

When Abboud first entered his cell, it felt like the world was collapsing around him. The prison was dark, and the air was thick with the stench of dampness and mold. The other prisoners looked at him with contempt, seeing him as an outsider in this place where everyone had adapted to a life of harshness.

Inside his cell, Abboud was surrounded by people who were no different from the guards who had abused him. But these prisoners were even more merciless. They saw him as weak, a refugee without anyone to defend him. One prisoner, a large, tattooed man named Grigor, ruled the cell with an iron fist. He took pleasure in tormenting others, especially the vulnerable.

Grigor (with a harsh voice as he approached Abboud): "So, you’re that Syrian refugee? I heard you caused trouble. Here, no one causes trouble unless they want to get taught a lesson."

Abboud didn’t respond. He knew that speaking up would only make things worse. But Grigor wasn’t planning to leave him alone.

Grigor (grabbing Abboud’s shoulder forcefully): "When I talk to you, you answer. Got it?"

Abboud held himself back, trying not to provoke him. "I’m here to serve my sentence. I don’t want any trouble."

But Grigor wasn’t looking for peace. He wanted to flex his power at others’ expense. He shoved Abboud hard, sending him sprawling to the ground. The other prisoners laughed loudly. This was their entertainment—watching others humiliated was how they passed the time.

In those moments, Abboud felt helpless once again, but he decided not to give up. Despite the cruelty and the circumstances, he knew he had to endure. But he also knew that facing Grigor or anyone else in this place head-on wouldn’t be wise. So, he held back and waited.

The days dragged on with excruciating slowness, and Abboud lived in constant fear of being targeted again. In prison, there was no place for safety, and he had to stay vigilant. The criminals in his cell treated him as inferior, a refugee with no protection or influence. Even the food given to the prisoners was often taken by Grigor and his gang, leaving Abboud with scraps.

One night, after the iron doors had closed, Abboud sat alone in a corner of his cell, trying to find some peace in this hell. But he heard Grigor’s footsteps approaching again.

Grigor (with a mocking smile): "You know, in this place, you have to pay to stay alive. And I’m not talking about money."

Abboud didn’t need any explanation. He knew that Grigor was suggesting that he become one of his lackeys, that he work under his command. But Abboud wasn’t the type to sell his dignity just to survive.

Abboud (with a steady voice despite the fear he felt): "I’m not that kind of person."

Grigor laughed loudly. "Oh, we’ll see about that. Prison is long, and you’ll learn a lot here."

As the days passed, the bullying attempts against Abboud escalated. Grigor wasn’t the only one who enjoyed humiliating others—there were other prisoners who watched Abboud, testing his physical and mental strength. But Abboud clung to the only hope he had—that one day, he would leave this dark place. He thought of his mother, of Layla, and of the future he still hoped to start in Germany.

Whenever Abboud sat alone in his cell, thoughts swirled in his mind like relentless waves. Was all of this worth it? Had his decision to leave Syria been the mistake that led him to this fate? He remembered his last words to Abbas when he told him to run. Would he do the same thing if he could go back?

The nights grew longer in prison, and the hard times intensified. One night, as Abboud lay on his hard bed, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. It wasn’t hunger—it was the weight of the psychological and physical pressure he had been enduring. Grigor and his kind were constantly trying to drag him into trouble, and the conditions in the prison were growing harsher by the day.

Despite all of this, Abboud didn’t lose his faith. He had an inner strength that refused to break. He knew that prison wasn’t the end of the road, and that one day, he would get out, and what he was going through now was just a test of his resilience and patience. He spent his nights thinking and planning, wondering how he could survive this dark place and reclaim his life.

Abboud (to himself, in a faint voice as he stared at the cold walls): "I’ll get out of here. I’ll live to tell my story. I won’t let this place take my life."

But the bitter truth was that every day in prison was like a nightmare, and he had to learn how to live with this grim reality until the time came for him to leave.

As the days passed slowly, Abboud began to adapt to prison life. He learned how to avoid trouble, how to keep his head down, but he always remained on guard. Every day that passed brought him closer to the day his nightmare would end, and he pinned all his hopes on that small glimmer of light that kept him alive.

In the quiet moments of isolation in his cell, Abboud often found himself lost in memories of Layla. Although time moved slowly behind bars, her image was etched in his mind, lighting up the darkness of his cell.

The gray walls closed in on Abboud from every side, the heavy silence hanging over the place. The dim sunlight barely trickled through a small window, no larger than his hand. Abboud sat on his metal bed, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts wandered far from the present.

"Every time I close my eyes, I see Layla... that look in her eyes when I left Syria. Is she still waiting for me? Does she still carry the same love?"

"She promised me... She promised me she would always be by my side. But the world has changed so much since then. The war, the pain, the exile. Is her promise still standing?"

"I wrote her a letter before I was imprisoned. I never got a reply. Has she given up on me? Or was it just the circumstances that tore us apart?"

Abboud remembered the beautiful days he spent with Layla before the war. How they would sit together, dreaming of a better future. Layla had always been his source of hope and support. But now, behind bars, Abboud felt that dream slipping further away, though his love for Layla was the one thing that kept him strong.