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3. sameer

a/n: i'm sorry i'm so late :] this one has made me quite emotional and very insecure, so i had to take a short break and get back to it. a huge part of why how i got back was constantly reminding myself of how happy i feel when i see the comments on here. so if u have any nice comments, pls don't hesitate to leave them anywhere so i can cling onto them when i'm editing and feeling like my writing is absolute shit :)

speaking of nice comments, ik that not that many ppl read this fic, but if any of u happens to be the person or one of the ppl who send hate on chronometer, pls leave asap and i'd like u to know that I am deeply disgusted by u and that it's a dishonor to my fic that someone like u reads it. how unfortunate is it to be such a uselessness! 

on a happier note, this is dedicated to the wonderful krystal lovenoh8 for always being nice and sweet and encouraging and a literal sunshine. a literal krytal <3

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"Sameer."

Sameer. Scott feels as if the name is missing something. An explanation, he thinks and internally chuckles; he doesn't know the meaning of his own name. However, he doesn't ask for one simply because it might not have a meaning. Plus, an angel that speaks Arabic and is sent by his father from heaven should have a unique name.

"That's a nice name," he half-lies, only to be polite to his life saver.

The angel – Sameer – looks up at him. "Thank you," he says then looks down at the backpack again. "Don't you have your passport in this?"

Scott thinks back to the last time he saw his passport, exerting a great effort to snatch it away from the darks wells of his blurred memory. He hates his short memory. It surfaces to the top of his mind after a few seconds of heroically earned concentration. He was in the hotel room then, and he asked his father if he should take his passport with him.

"Yeah, yeah, we should."

Scott complied and put it an external pocket their backpack, taking his father's passport as well. 5 minutes later, his father started frantically searching for his passport since they "should take their passports with them in case anything happened." Short memory ran in their blood.

"I have it, Dad," Scott said, opening the pocket to reveal both green passports safely secured in a pocket in the bag that was just a couple of inches bigger than their size. "You said we should take them."

Scott's father exhales in relief and took the bag from his son, stuffing it with his digital camera and two bottles of water.

Scott sighs at the memory as he feels his throat tightening. Another situation featuring his passport comes to his mind, and he doesn't make any effort at pushing it away.

A couple of hours later than his first memory, it was still early in the day – the goddamned day – and the sun was bright and burning right in the middle of the sky. Scott feels bitterness in his mouth at how ironical it is that he was fascinated by the sun back then. He would've still been fascinated if he was in Texas now.

They were with their safari group at St. Catherine Mountain. Their tour guide had just told them about the geographical properties of the mountain and the role it had played historically and religiously, being one of the places the sacred family has passed by during their journey. Scott remembers wondering if their tour guide was Christian and wanting to ask him since most Egyptians were Muslims. After that, the tour guide dismissed the group for ten minutes – for pictures, he said. Just like he said before at Tur and Mount Sinai, and just like he said when his father decided to hike in the Colored Canyon.