Three seconds after he pressed Enter, a single name appeared: No photo. No bio. Just a location: Alexandria, tram stop 6, Thursday, 4:17 PM.

“The website,” she said. “It told me someone would be waiting. It said you’d look lost.”

Omar laughed. It was absurd. He was a software engineer—he believed in algorithms, not mysticism. But something about the specificity nagged at him. Not “Alexandria.” Not “afternoon.” Tram stop 6. 4:17 PM.

The clock on Omar’s laptop read 2:47 AM. Outside his window, Cairo was holding its breath—the kind of silence that comes just before the first call to prayer. He clicked the bookmark he’d been avoiding for six months: .