The car gradually veered off the main road, delving into a narrow dirt path – no signs, no travelers in sight.
It felt as though the city had closed its doors behind us, leaving us alone in the mountain\u2019s embrace.
The tires groaned over the gravel, and the shaking grew stronger, as if the car itself hesitated between going forward\u2026 or turning back.
But it didn\u2019t retreat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When we reached a slightly elevated spot, Girgis slowed down, pulled over beside a large boulder, and stepped out.
He walked calmly around the vehicle, then opened the back door for us and said with quiet confidence:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That word\u2026 \u201cWe\u2019re here.\u201d
He didn\u2019t say, \u201cThis is the place,\u201d or \u201cWe\u2019re close.\u201d He said it as if he knew exactly where we were going.
Strangely enough, he said it as if we were following a plan\u2026 when in truth, none of us really knew what we were looking for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We got out, but my mother lingered for a moment. She held my little sister\u2019s hand a bit too tightly and whispered to my father:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father answered in a reassuring voice:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother closed her eyes for a moment and sighed, as if remembering there was, in fact, a paper confirming it\u2026 but worry still hovered behind her expression.
Trying to convince herself, she forced a smile. My father responded playfully:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She gave him a mock glare and replied:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They laughed. I laughed too. My sister didn\u2019t get the joke, but she laughed with us anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We followed Girgis along a sloping path that wove between pale rocks.
We weren\u2019t at the top of the mountain yet, but close – about a hundred and twenty meters high, in a fairly elevated spot.
The mountains were still. The air was still\u2026 Everything around us seemed to breathe in a heavy hush.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Girgis stopped. He bent down and picked up an old wooden stick that had been lying on the ground. After brushing off the dust, he pointed it at a section of the stone wall:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We drew closer. I saw a cracked stone wall – but it wasn\u2019t just any crack.
The split looked deliberate. Not random fractures, but a sharp, clean angle\u2026 precise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Girgis ran the tip of his stick along the edge and said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father crouched before the wall, examining the angle intently.
Then he pulled a small notebook from his bag, tore out a sheet, and began moving it along the wall, sometimes anchoring it with stones, sometimes asking us to hold it steady in different spots.
He measured the slope at three separate points along the rocky line, like a man searching for a mathematical pattern he wasn\u2019t sure existed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After a minute of silence, he said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he hesitated, as if a thought were forming:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He stepped back, stared at the wall, and added:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother raised an eyebrow:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He replied, slower now, as if sketching the shape in his mind:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He then immersed himself in calculations – drawing lines on his notebook, measuring angles with his fingers, comparing distance and elevation – before murmuring:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he slowly looked around and said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then\u2026 Girgis\u2019s voice came from behind us. Soft, but dry as stone:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The moment froze.
Time stopped.
My breath halted.
It wasn\u2019t a word – it was a blade, driven into the stillness of the place.
Something inside me shuddered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father turned to him, his eyes narrowing, and asked in a sharp, low voice:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Girgis didn\u2019t answer right away. It was as if he realized he\u2019d said something he shouldn\u2019t have.
He looked at us, then at the wall, then at nothing at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father stepped closer:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Girgis inhaled slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
From that moment on, Girgis no longer seemed like a hotel driver\u2026
He looked more like an archaeologist by accident – a man who knew more than he let on, as if fate had brought us together for a reason we didn\u2019t yet understand.
I sat on a small rock, thinking about the strange coincidence that had brought us here\u2026 and whether it was a coincidence at all.
He stood there, holding his stick like it was an extension of an old memory, staring at the stones the way we did\u2026 but differently.
As if he had entered the story the moment he heard that one sentence from his grandfather –
As if the place itself remembered him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And for no clear reason, I remembered the old man at Ramses Station.
I wanted to ask my father about him – who he was, how he had appeared\u2026
But something held my tongue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father sat on a low rock, sketching something in his notebook.
I asked him as I stared at the surrounding rocks:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked up:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother asked:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Girgis shook his head in astonishment:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father hesitated before answering:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother, looking at the sharp angle, said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father replied, half-muttering:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked at me:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Girgis, still staring at the rocks, asked:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father answered with calm certainty:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then my mother, as if recalling something she once read, said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father thought for a moment before replying:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he added, like someone opening the door to a new possibility:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My mother looked at him in surprise:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Girgis stepped closer and said:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My father nodded:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stepped closer to one of the protruding corners and ran my hand along the line.
I said to myself, tracing it like I was reading a map I couldn\u2019t see:
Wait\u2026 are we really believing this?
A single line on an old, cracked wall\u2026 some hand-drawn slope calculations\u2026
And suddenly we\u2019re talking about an inverted pyramid buried under a mountain?
How insane is this?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Is it possible? All this talk of buried structures, hidden pyramids\u2026 and we\u2019re just looking at a crack. One sharp corner.
It could be completely natural.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But something inside me whispered\u2026
This wasn\u2019t just stone.
It felt like a scar – an old wound.
Something here\u2026 didn\u2019t want to be forgotten.
But it didn\u2019t want to be uncovered either.
As if the rocks were waiting for someone who could understand them, not just dig through them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then, from behind the silence of our thoughts, a faint sound emerged\u2026
Soft, like the wind brushing something hollow.
Girgis looked around slowly, then said in a low voice:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He didn\u2019t explain. We didn\u2019t respond.
It was as if the mountain had wanted to speak\u2026 then thought better of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at the wall again and reached toward the corner.
The texture felt slightly different in this spot\u2026 smoother, like someone had touched it many times.
Then my mother leaned forward and whispered:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No one answered.
But I felt it\u2026
As if something – or someone – was listening to us from within.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They were trying to uncover the heart of it all using math and chisels and sketchpads\u2026
But maybe – just maybe – there was something here that didn\u2019t need to be measured.
Only noticed.
Not proven\u2026 but felt.
As if I had known this place\u2026
Long before I ever arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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