The Journalist

Part 54: What I'm afraid of is happening

From the airport, I immediately held a taxi and asked the driver to take me to the train station. After getting permission from my mother, I can't wait to see her again. Thanks to mom, I, who was almost a loser, chose to fight once again. Feelings that had withered, now growing spread and further strengthen the roots.

Ameena may have read my letter, but let me reveal once again how I feel about her directly. Although this heart might be torn and crushed again, I will not regret anything that happened in the future.

Arriving at the station, I immediately bought a ticket. For a moment, my gaze was fixed on the elderly traveling salesman who was peddling fur growers in the chin area. It reminds me of Mr. Ali who was so dashing with a cudgel that grew bushy around his chin and part of his cheek.

I approached the grandfather too. Grandpa who saw me approached him, then offered the product.

"I want to buy this? How long does the effect last?" my many.

Grandpa gasped to hear I could feel arabic. "A little over a week if you apply it regularly."

I gave up money to buy the product. The grandfather offered another product.

"Didn't you want to buy a hair blackener?" he asked while looking at my golden hair.

I was a little tempted by his offer. However, at once I remembered Khalila who often called me by the nickname "Bond Sister, so I stopped buying the product. I don't want to lose the nickname the little girl gave me.

"No, thank you."

While on the train, I was willing to stand together and crammed with other passengers. A four-hour drive brought me back to Aleppo. I got off the train and searched for a bus on the route I usually take. But before that, I took the time to shop for various snacks for orphanage children.

I looked at the bus that had just left. Then I ran after the bus. Fortunately, the road is still slow. The bus stopped and the driver asked me where I was going.

"We can't go there. The Syrian army and Syrian rebel militias are fighting on the border at the moment. It's better if you drop your intention to go there if you don't want to die" said the driver, who knew my direction.

I'm aghast. Hearts hit. My eyes were panicking. The various snacks I just bought, immediately fell to the ground when this hand suddenly weakened.

Not likely. Why did something I was worried about actually happen?

I immediately called Aoba and the guys. If this really happened, they should have known it and gone there. That way, you can come with them.

"Ayano-san! Have you left yet?" ask Aoba as soon as the phone is connected.

"Where are you?"

"We are heading to the area adjacent to the Turkish border. We are informed that loyalist forces of the Syrian ruler, aided by the Russian military, are intensifying their offensive to seize the territory. Ayano, isn't that little kid you're with living in the area?"

Like receiving a meteor strike, that's how I feel right now. To my knowledge, the area that includes rebel— territory including the village that Ameena— lives in is a major producer of oil and wheat. The biggest challenge for the Syrian government today is the economy. The food crisis that occurred in a number of government-controlled areas, requires them to immediately seize territory that is a source of fuel and food. This is why my heart suddenly riled up when I wrote the news about this country's economic crisis last night.

I immediately remembered the weapons that the territory's guard group had. Certainly not as sophisticated as the stockpile of weapons owned by the Syrian and Russian militaries. If the war really happened, then they would definitely lose by a landslide. What about Ameena, Khalila and the people there? Will they be captured and become prisoners of war?

I pressed the contact button, was about to call Aoba back asking them to pick me up here. However, my thumb was held back for a moment. Can't! Too long to wait for them to get here! I gotta get there. Now too!

No other choice, I immediately ran with a fully loaded backpack. The little suitcase that contained my clothes, I just left. I kept running for tens of meters.

I tried to hold the car that was passing through the street. Shit, no one's willing to take me that way. The road is getting quieter indicating the direction to the place has indeed been sterilized. Even so, I'm not tired of stopping cars and asking them for a ride. The car that stopped this time turned out to contain foreign journalists looking European.

"Yes, we're going there. Things are so fucked up there."

"May I ride in your car?"

They glanced at each other. I know, their car's full. But I still wish they could give me a ride. I even cupped my hands full of pleas. Suddenly, someone called my name.

"Yes ... Ayano Kei!"

I looked to the side, right behind the car.

"Kamal Malek!" I immediately ran to Malek who was riding his big motorbike in a press vest like a war journalist.

"Where are you going? Are you going south?" my many.

"Yes, the region has been besieged by the regime's military. It looks like there's going to be a big war there!"

"Then I'm with you!"

"Get it!"

"Let me take the bike!" my door.

Kamal Malek retreated backwards, while I replaced his position driving the motor. I started driving the bike above average speed. My angry face hides behind a helmet. My right hand clutched tightly onto the handlebar of the motor, continuing to split the street.

"Ayano Kei, slow down a bit! Are you trying to pick up death? This is not a circuit arena!" yelled Kamal Malek sitting behind me.

I'm getting more and more driven to increase my speed. We feel like we are flying in these quiet streets. I don't care about the protests Kamal Malek continues to make. I only think of one. Get to Ameena's place!

Approaching the border area, we instead got information from some journalists who were already there. Only local journalists were allowed to cover the story. Foreign journalists are only allowed to collect material presented by local journalists.

How can it be like that? It is very difficult to verify the information and reports received. Local journalists are, on average, from the regime as well as the opposition, but there are also sympathizers of extremist groups aimed at spreading propaganda.

Several journalists from Western media appeared to protest. However, unfortunately, the ban to cover remains echoed. I reached into my pocket, took my phone to contact Ameena. I need to know how it is at this time. Including the circumstances of all those who were in the foundation.

Damnit damnit! Damnit damnit! Damnit damnit! There is no network! Argt, I'm so frustrated!

I looked far away at the border between the regime and the rebel groups. If it was like this, there was only one way to be able to enter the territory. I had to disguise myself as part of that military and get into battle!

Amouria ... Khalila .. and all, I will definitely save you!

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