text: "Asmah, there’s something I have to tell you.” Downstairs from the promenade, by the shore, was Fatihah’s favorite spot in Beirut. Under the moonlight, the two young women sat alone on the pier. “Two years ago, I was a lot like you. I went to protests. Human rights abuses. Corruption. People were suffering. We wanted change and we thought we were doing our part. "One night the police came and took me away. I was scared but then I met Ali. He was not a policeman. He had a kind face. I didn’t want to trust him but with time I realized he just wanted to help me. My situation was difficult. I had been misled by some very bad people. It reflected badly on my parents. They were also arrested but Ali gave me options. My parents would be alright. Everything would be alright. God knows, I didn’t trust him but I was so afraid.” “Oh God, Fatihah. That’s horrible!” Asmah said, eyes wide. “Ali asked me about an American exchange student at my university. John Brown. Ali asked if we were just classmates or something more? Of course, he knew already. He let me go and I went back to the marches and John. But afterwards I would meet Ali and tell him everything.” Fatihah trailed off for a moment. “Ali told me a few days after it happened. He looked so sad. He really did understand. We even cried together. John Brown was not his real name. It was Brian O’Donnell. They had found photographs, documents, money. I loved him, Asmah. I couldn’t believe it. But there was no doubt.” “Wait, what happened with John - with Brian?” Asmah asked. “He wasn’t allowed to leave.” Fatihah said looking Asmah in the eyes. “You mean, they arrested him?” Asmah asked. Fatihah looked away for a moment. The only sound came from the cafés above and a fisherman’s boat out at sea. “Asmah, your journalist friend, Ahmed. He isn’t who you think.” Fatihah said. “Wait, what?” Asmah said shaking her head, “He's Ahmed. He's a hero. Fatihah, what are you saying?” “Asmah, he is not. Let me help you.” Fatihah began, eyes shining in the moonlight. After a moment's thought, Asmah stammered: “That’s a lie! Who are you even? I thought we were friends but...” Asmah got up, turning away. “Asmah. Don’t!” Fatihah said, standing up. “It’s too late. We’ve lost her.” came Ali's voice over Fatihah’s earpiece. “It’s over.” “Asmah. Please! They won’t let you leave. I can help you.” Fatihah called out. Asmah stopped, looked over her shoulder at Fatihah, then turned and ran. “Fatihah.” Ali whispered. “I’m sorry, Asmah.” Fatihah said, taking the gun from her handbag. To the café-goers above, the shot was indistinguishable from the engine noise of the fishing boat that had pulled up. Seawater was poured over the stain. Asmah’s body was loaded onto the boat next to Ahmed’s. “It’s alright, Fatihah. You did the right thing. Everything will be alright.