Chapter Three: The First Confrontation
Six months had passed since Majid's return to his childhood. Winter had given way to
spring, and the coastal city of Al-Khobar was blooming with life. For Majid, these months
had been a careful balancing act—maintaining the facade of a normal twelve-year-old
while laying the groundwork for his future plans.
His research into time travel had yielded little concrete information. The physics books
he had borrowed from the library spoke of theoretical possibilities—wormholes,
quantum entanglement, relativistic effects—but nothing that explained his experience.
The metaphysical texts offered more imaginative explanations but lacked scientific rigor.
Yet one recurring theme had caught his attention: the concept of consciousness
transcending time. Several mystical traditions suggested that under extreme
circumstances—near-death experiences, profound meditation, or intense emotional
trauma—consciousness could slip free of its temporal moorings. Majid had certainly
been in an extreme state on that balcony, contemplating suicide, his emotions raw and
overwhelming.
But theory and speculation would only take him so far. What mattered was that he was
here, in the past, with the knowledge of the future. And he intended to use that
knowledge.
Today marked an important milestone in his plans. After months of careful preparation,
he was ready for his first direct confrontation with one of the people who had betrayed
him—not Zuhair, whose time would come later, but someone whose betrayal had been
more subtle yet no less damaging.
Mr. Fahad Al-Otaibi, his mathematics teacher.
In Majid's original timeline, Al-Otaibi had been more than just a teacher. He had been a
mentor, encouraging Majid's interest in business and finance, guiding his academic
choices. Majid had trusted him implicitly, following his advice on which university to
attend, which subjects to focus on.
It was only years later, after his downfall, that Majid discovered the truth. Al-Otaibi had
been receiving kickbacks from certain universities for steering promising students their
way. The university he had recommended to Majid had been substandard, its business
program outdated and inadequate. Those educational deficiencies had contributed to
Majid's business failures, leaving gaps in his knowledge that his competitors had
exploited.
Now, sitting in Al-Otaibi's classroom, Majid watched the teacher with cold calculation.
The man was in his early forties, with a neatly trimmed beard and an air of intellectual
authority that Majid now recognized as carefully cultivated rather than genuine.
"For today's assignment," Al-Otaibi was saying, "I want you to work in pairs on these
problem sets. They're a bit more challenging than what we've covered so far, but I
believe in pushing your boundaries."
As the class shuffled into pairs, Majid deliberately remained seated. When Al-Otaibi
approached his desk, he looked up with an expression of polite interest.
"Majid, you need to find a partner for this exercise," the teacher said.
"Actually, Mr. Al-Otaibi, I was hoping to speak with you privately," Majid replied. "It's
about my future education."
A flicker of interest crossed the teacher's face. Even at twelve, Majid had shown
exceptional aptitude for mathematics and business concepts. He was exactly the type of
student Al-Otaibi liked to "guide."
"Of course, but let's discuss it after class. For now, please work with..." He glanced
around the room. "Work with Zuhair."
Majid nodded and moved to join Zuhair, who was already struggling with the first
problem. Their friendship had cooled over the past months, becoming more distant as
Majid subtly withdrew. But they still maintained the appearance of friendship, sitting
together at lunch, occasionally playing football after school.
"These are impossible," Zuhair complained, staring at the worksheet. "How are we
supposed to solve these?"
Majid glanced at the problems. With his adult knowledge, they were trivial, but he had
been careful not to show the full extent of his abilities. He wanted to appear gifted but
not suspiciously so.
"Let's try this approach," he said, deliberately making a small error in his explanation
that Zuhair wouldn't notice but that would prevent them from solving the problem
perfectly.
The class period passed slowly, with Majid constantly aware of Al-Otaibi moving
between the desks, offering guidance and praise. Finally, the bell rang, and the students
began packing up their materials.
"Don't forget, your projects on practical applications of algebra are due next week," Al-
Otaibi called over the noise. "Majid, please stay behind."
As the classroom emptied, Majid approached the teacher's desk, his heart beating
slightly faster despite his determination to remain calm. This would be his first active
move against one of his betrayers, not just observation and planning.
"You wanted to discuss your future education?" Al-Otaibi prompted, gesturing for Majid
to sit in the chair beside his desk.
"Yes, sir," Majid said, adopting the respectful tone of an eager student. "My father and I
have been talking about my education path. He thinks I should focus on engineering,
like him, but I'm more interested in business and finance."
Al-Otaibi nodded, his expression thoughtful. "You certainly have an aptitude for
mathematics that would serve you well in either field. But I agree, your analytical
thinking seems particularly suited to business."
"That's what I think too," Majid said, allowing enthusiasm to color his voice. "I've been
reading about different universities with strong business programs. Have you heard of
King Fahd University's program? Or King Saud's?"
A barely perceptible tension appeared in Al-Otaibi's posture. These were prestigious
universities with excellent reputations—not the ones he typically "recommended" to his
students.
"Both are fine institutions," he said carefully. "But university is still many years away for
you, Majid. There's no need to be so specific in your planning yet."
"My father says it's never too early to set clear goals," Majid countered. "He's been
helping me research. Did you know that Al-Yamamah University has connections with
several international business schools? Their graduates often receive scholarships for
further study abroad."
Al-Otaibi's expression tightened further. Al-Yamamah was another prestigious
institution, one that would never offer kickbacks to teachers for student referrals.
"That's... very thorough research for someone your age," he said, his tone slightly less
warm than before. "But as I said, these decisions are years away. For now, you should
focus on your current studies."
"Of course," Majid agreed smoothly. "But I was hoping you might recommend some
advanced reading materials. Books that would help prepare me for a business education
at one of these top universities."
It was a subtle challenge, forcing Al-Otaibi to either provide genuinely helpful resources
or reveal his reluctance to support Majid's interest in universities that wouldn't benefit
him personally.
The teacher hesitated, then reached for a notepad. "I can write down a few titles," he
said, his pen moving across the paper. "But remember, these are university-level texts.
They may be too advanced for you at this stage."
Majid accepted the list with a polite thank you, noting that the recommended books
were indeed legitimate and valuable—Al-Otaibi was too careful to be caught giving poor
advice when directly challenged.
"One more thing, sir," Majid said as he stood to leave. "My father mentioned that some
teachers receive... incentives... from certain universities to recommend their programs to
students. He said it's an open secret in educational circles. Is that true?"
The color drained from Al-Otaibi's face. "That would be highly unethical," he said stiffly.
"I've never heard of such practices."
"I'm glad to hear that," Majid said, his expression innocent. "Because my father also said
that if he ever discovered a teacher trying to influence my educational choices for
personal gain, he would report them to the Ministry of Education immediately. He has
connections there, you know."
The threat was clear, though wrapped in the naive words of a child repeating his father's
statements. Al-Otaibi's lips pressed into a thin line.
"That would indeed be the appropriate response to such unethical behavior," he said,
his voice tight. "You should get to your next class now, Majid. You don't want to be late."
Majid nodded and left the classroom, a cold satisfaction settling in his chest. He had not
directly accused Al-Otaibi of anything, had not revealed his knowledge of the future. But
he had sent a clear message: Majid Al-Harthi would not be manipulated or exploited.
It was a small victory, but significant. For the first time since his return to the past, Majid
had actively moved against one of his betrayers, had seen the fear in their eyes. The
sensation was intoxicating.
As he walked to his next class, Majid felt the familiar tingling in his fingertips, the slight
blurring of reality around him. These episodes had continued over the months, brief
moments when the world seemed less solid, when he felt the pull of... something. They
worried him, these reminders that his presence in the past might not be stable.
But the sensation passed quickly, as it always did, and the world solidified once more.
Majid took a deep breath, centering himself. He would not be deterred by these strange
occurrences. His path was clear.
One by one, those who had betrayed him would feel his influence, would face the
consequences of actions they had not yet committed. And when he finally confronted
Zuhair, years from now, the revenge would be all the sweeter for the waiting.
That evening, as Majid sat at the dinner table with his parents, his father mentioned a
business opportunity that had arisen at work.
"The company is establishing a small investment fund for employees," Abdul Rahman
explained. "Nothing major, just a way to pool resources for potentially profitable
ventures. I'm considering participating."
Majid looked up from his food with genuine interest. This was new information—his
father had never mentioned such an investment fund in his previous life.
"What kind of ventures?" he asked.
Abdul Rahman seemed pleased by his son's interest. "Primarily local businesses looking
for capital. The fund managers are considering a new shopping complex in Dammam,
and a technology startup in Riyadh."
Majid's mind raced. If this was a new development, something that hadn't occurred in
his original timeline, it suggested that his presence was already altering events. Perhaps
his conversations with his father about business and investing had inspired him to pay
more attention to such opportunities.
"The technology startup sounds interesting," Majid said carefully. "Technology is going
to change everything in the coming decades."
His father nodded. "That's what the proposal suggests. They're developing software for
business management, apparently. Something about streamlining operations and
inventory tracking."
In his previous life, Majid had witnessed the explosive growth of such software
companies in the late 1990s and early 2000s. If this startup was positioned correctly, it
could be extremely profitable.
"I think you should invest, Baba," he said with conviction. "Technology is the future."
Abdul Rahman chuckled. "You sound very certain for someone so young. But I
appreciate your input. I'll look more closely at the proposal."
Majid's mother, who had been listening to the exchange with a mixture of amusement
and pride, reached over to ruffle his hair. "Our little businessman," she said
affectionately. "Next you'll be giving stock tips to your father's colleagues."
If only she knew, Majid thought. With his knowledge of future market trends, he could
make his family incredibly wealthy. But he had to be careful, to introduce his insights
gradually and plausibly. Too much success too quickly would raise questions he couldn't
answer.
Later that night, alone in his room, Majid updated his journal with the day's events. His
confrontation with Al-Otaibi had gone exactly as planned, and the unexpected
information about his father's investment opportunity represented a new variable in his
calculations.
He was making progress, slowly but surely reshaping the past to serve his future. The
cold determination that had driven him since his return remained strong, but alongside
it, something else was growing—a sense of power, of control over his destiny that he had
never felt in his original life.
As he closed his journal and prepared for bed, Majid allowed himself a small smile. The
game was just beginning, but already he was changing the rules. And this time, he would
be the winner.