من حفر حفرة لأخيه وقع فيها

Omar and Zayd were brothers. They lived in a dusty, sun-baked village, their modest homes standing side by side. Every morning, without fail, they walked the same worn path that led to the bustling market.

Their daily journey was the same, but their lives diverged sharply.

Omar was a diligent man. He rose with the first hint of dawn. He worked hard, traded his goods honestly, and greeted everyone with a genuine smile. His small stall at the market flourished, expanding year after year.

His family was well-provided for. His home, though simple, was always orderly and welcoming. Success seemed to follow his every sincere effort, earned through sweat and integrity.

Zayd, however, despised hard work. He favored long hours of rest over productive labor. He dreamt constantly of instant wealth but rarely lifted a finger to achieve it, always seeking shortcuts.

He watched Omar’s steady rise with a heart heavy with resentment. Envy was a constant companion, gnawing at his peace, twisting his every thought into bitter knots.

“Why him?” Zayd would often mutter under his breath, watching Omar’s camel laden with goods. “Why does fortune always shine on Omar?”

He conveniently overlooked Omar's relentless early mornings. He ignored the late nights Omar spent preparing his wares. He saw only the comfortable life, the respected name, and the growing prosperity.

The familiar path to the market, once a simple route, became a daily, painful reminder of his brother’s steady good fortune, and his own festering discontent.

Zayd’s bitterness deepened like a poisoned well. Soon, a dangerous, dark idea took root in his mind, promising a twisted kind of relief.

Zayd decided Omar’s streak of good luck needed a forceful intervention. A very hard push, directly into trouble.

He aimed to disrupt Omar’s dependable routine. He wanted to cause a mishap, make him look foolish, or even inflict a minor injury. Just enough to derail his brother’s smooth path.

One particular evening, the sky was utterly black. No moon offered guidance, no stars pierced the inky cover. It was the perfect cloak for a secret, malicious act.

Zayd waited until every lamp in the village was out, and the sounds of sleep filled the air. He crept silently from his house, a heavy shovel clutched in his hand. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum of fear mixed with dark anticipation.

He made his way to the market path, moving like a phantom. He chose a specific spot—a slight depression in the ground where Omar always took his familiar stride. It was ideal for concealment.

He began to dig. The soil was dry, loose, and easy to work. It flew up in dusty clouds with each determined swing of his shovel, silently carving out his revenge.

He dug relentlessly. The pit grew deeper, narrow, and surprisingly steep. He pictured Omar plunging into it, perhaps twisting an ankle, certainly dropping his valuable goods, scattering them in the dirt.

A cruel, fleeting smile touched Zayd’s lips in the absolute darkness. He imagined Omar’s cries of distress.

After what felt like an eternity, the hole was deep enough to be a serious hazard. He gathered thin, brittle branches and dry reeds from the nearby scrubland. He laid them meticulously over the gaping opening.

Then, he carefully sprinkled loose sand and dust on top, making sure to cover every trace. He stomped around it, blending the disturbed earth perfectly. The trap was now invisible. It was flawless.

Zayd wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow. He squinted back at his sinister handiwork. It was utterly undetectable. A surge of triumphant, dark satisfaction swelled within him.

He stole back to his bed, utterly exhausted but brimming with smug pride. Sleep came easily. He could barely wait for morning, convinced that a twisted form of justice was finally at hand.

The first rays of morning light stretched across the desert. But something was different. Omar was not in his usual place, calmly preparing for the market. Instead, his voice, rarely strained, carried across the village green, filled with genuine urgency.

“Zayd! Have you seen my lead camel? It broke its tether during the night!” Omar shouted, his voice laced with frustration. His baskets of fresh dates and spices were ready, but his most reliable transport was nowhere to be found.

Zayd heard the commotion from his bed. He sat up abruptly, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face. Omar was late. Very late. This was perfect. He would be rushing, frantic to make up for lost time.

Omar was known for his calm, methodical approach to everything. Today, he was clearly agitated. He would surely be distracted. He would absolutely miss his step.

Zayd practically sprang from his bed, ignoring his morning ablutions. He had to see it. He had to witness his brother’s imminent humiliation, the sudden ruin of his morning.

He imagined Omar yelling, flailing helplessly in the pit, covered in the very dust Zayd had used to conceal it, his face contorted with anger and pain. The vision filled Zayd with perverse delight.

“I’ll help you look, brother!” Zayd called out, feigning concern, his voice betraying a hint of unbridled eagerness. It was too loud, too high-pitched.

He burst out of his door, almost running. He didn't bother with his usual, careful route around the familiar small dip in the path. He was too consumed by the desire to reach the market path quickly, to get a clear view of the impending spectacle.

His eyes were fixed on Omar, who was now visible in the distance, desperately trying to coax his stubborn, runaway camel back towards their home. Zayd was so utterly consumed by his malicious anticipation, he forgot the critical detail.