Abdulla, the older brother, a high school junior with quick reflexes and a protective streak, sits cross-legged, fully focused on his game. Next to him, Mohammed, the younger brother, no more than nine, bounces in anticipation, his feet barely touching the floor. "Abdulla, can I please play just one round? I promise I won't mess up your game,""Sorry, Mohammed. You're too young, and Mom and Dad said you can't play yet. Maybe when you're older, okay?"Mohammed's face falls, but his eyes never leave the screen as Abdulla continues playing, the sound of virtual gunfire filling the room.
Mohammed tiptoes into the room, glancing around to make sure no one is watching. He snatches up the controller, his heart pounding with excitement and fear. "Just a few minutes... no one will notice," The TV flickers to life, bathing Mohammed in a blue glow as he logs into the game for the very first time.
Mohammed's fingers blur over the buttons, his eyes wide and unblinking. He mutters strategies to himself, barely pausing to eat or drink. "If I just make it to the last ten, maybe I'll win this time... One more round can't hurt," Each victory makes him crave another, and each loss only fuels his determination. Hours slip away until the digital clock on the wall blinks 5:00 PM.
"Mohammed! What are you doing? You know you're not supposed to be playing that game!"Mohammed doesn't even hear her at first, so absorbed is he in the game. Only when Mom yanks the plug from the TV does he snap back to reality, his world suddenly thrown into darkness. "No! I was about to win! Give it back! Please!"
"They don't understand... I need to play, I can't stop now." Mohammed slips out the back door without a second thought, the moonlight guiding his way as he disappears into the night. The world outside is unfamiliar and cold, but his desperation drowns out any fear.
The scene is chaotic—neighbors rush out, sirens wail in the distance, and Mohammed lies stunned on the pavement, pain radiating through his body. "Why did I do this? Was a game really worth all this?" As paramedics tend to him, reality sets in, heavy and inescapable.
"Mohammed, we were so scared. We just wanted you to be safe," I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much I was losing control. "We all make mistakes. What matters is learning from them," Mohammed nods, vowing to never let a game take over his life again, grateful for a second chance to make things right.
