The Campus Conversion

The Campus Conversion

The new semester had just begun at Westbridge University. Among the many groups on campus, the Arab Cultural Society, composed entirely of male students, had recently gained attention. Initially, it was a small group promoting Arabic language and culture, but their presence began to grow noticeably.

These male students could often be seen in the quad, wearing white Nike jerseys with green details and black fanny packs. They looked confident, unified, and their numbers seemed to expand each day.

Sophomore Chris, an engineering major, noticed them during a campus fair. They were friendly, inviting male students to learn about Arabic culture and join their society. Chris grabbed a flyer and moved on, but the image of the group lingered in his mind.

A few weeks into the semester, Chris was approached by Tariq, a charismatic member of the Arab Cultural Society. He was friendly and asked if Chris had considered attending their upcoming event.

“It’s going to be great,” Tariq said with a smile. “We’re having a cultural night with food, music, and a lot of fun. You should come.”

Chris hesitated but eventually agreed. “Sure, why not? I’ve never been to one of these events before.”

The event was lively, with traditional Arabic music, delicious food, and a welcoming atmosphere. Tariq introduced Chris to several members, all dressed in their signature Nike jerseys and fanny packs. By the end of the night, they handed Chris a fanny pack, encouraging him to wear it as a sign of solidarity.

“Just try it on,” Tariq suggested. “It’s comfortable and shows that you’re part of something bigger.”

Over the next few weeks, Chris noticed more and more male students wearing the Nike jerseys and fanny packs. They seemed to be everywhere—at the library, in the cafeteria, even in his classes. The Arab Cultural Society was no longer just a small group; it had become a dominant presence on campus.

The male students who wore the jerseys began to change in subtle ways. Their appearances grew more uniform—darker hair, more intense expressions, and they started using Arabic names. Chris, now wearing his own fanny pack, began to feel the pressure to fully embrace the transformation.

One afternoon, as Chris walked across campus, he bumped into his friend Jake, who had also started wearing the jersey. But something was different about him—he looked more serious, more confident, and his name tag now read “Khalid.”

“Jake, what’s going on?” Chris asked, confused.

“Call me Khalid now,” he replied with a calm smile. “I’ve embraced the new identity. You should too.”

Chris felt a wave of unease. The people he had known for years were changing, and it was all happening so quickly.

The pressure to conform grew stronger with each passing day. The Arab Cultural Society began holding more events, encouraging male students to join and wear the jerseys and fanny packs. Those who resisted found themselves increasingly isolated, while those who embraced the change were welcomed with open arms.

Chris found himself at a crossroads. He liked the sense of community the group offered, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to fully commit to the transformation. One evening, Tariq invited him to a special meeting, where they would officially welcome new members.

As Chris entered the room, he saw dozens of male students, all wearing the jerseys and fanny packs, their features now distinctly Arabic. They greeted him warmly, but there was an underlying expectation—an unspoken pressure to join them fully.

“Tonight, we embrace who we truly are,” Tariq announced. “We shed our old identities and become part of something greater.”

Chris felt the weight of their gaze on him as they handed him a new Nike jersey and fanny pack, this time with his new name, “Ahmed,” stitched on it. The room was silent as he held it in his hands, knowing that once he put it on, there would be no going back.

By the end of the semester, the transformation was complete. The campus was filled with male students wearing the white Nike jerseys with green details and black fanny packs. Their features were now distinctly Arabic, and they moved with a sense of unity and purpose.

Chris, now Ahmed, walked through the quad, no longer feeling like an outsider. He was part of the new order, part of a movement that had changed the face of the university. As he looked around at his fellow students, he realized that the transformation was not just physical—it was a complete change of identity, one that he had fully embraced.

And as the new semester began, it was clear that Westbridge University would never be the same again.

At last even the teachers knew that it was better to join willingly.

Hayun Wadud

It was hard for Tom Holland to imagine his life getting any better than it already was. Not even 30 years old, he was a multi-(multi-multi-)millionaire, global star of stage and screen, blessed with multitudes of talent and, not for nothing, an equally successful and famous girlfriend.

So when his agent told him a burgeoning group of movie studios based out of Saudi Arabia wanted Tom--and only Tom--to star in its first big-budget movie, Tom figured...why not? It's not like he had anything to lose.

When he arrived for the shoot, he was overwhelmed by the almost contradictory sense of humble majesty in the country. The people welcomed him, not because he was Spider-Man--almost as though they'd been waiting for him.

His benefactors, the producers, certainly had been awaiting his arrival. Their welcome for Tom had been lavish, no expense spared. But this was no Hollywood party. It was purely Saudi. Not a word of English was spoken, no one smoked or drank or swore. Prior to his arrival, Tom knew a handful of Arabic words osmosed through past conversations. He wasn't consciously aware when his mind began to think, and his tongue to speak, purely in Arabic.

"Nadeem," one of the producers called in Tom's direction. Tom responded; he wasn't sure why he knew he should answer to that name, if it even was a name...he just knew he should. "Nadeem," the prince/producer continued, "we are so glad to see you assimilating so well. Now you must fully immerse yourself in our culture and tradition." The prince paused. "For your acting role, of course."

Tom nodded. In unconscious Arabic, he replied, "Of course, brother. I will do whatever is needed."

Six Weeks Later

What had been needed, he was told, was to grow out his beard in accordance with Islamic custom. Tom obeyed without question, just as he did when he was taught that he must also keep his underarms and genital area free of hair. He made sure to observe strict modesty in his dress, throwing out the tank tops and shorts he'd packed for the trip to Saudi, ensuring his shoulders and legs were never exposed. Other customs he absorbed and assimilated without being told. He lowered his gaze in the presence of Saudi women. He exorcised all profanity from his vocabulary, sprinkled "alhamdulillah" and "inshallah" effortlessly throughout his speech, and forgot what pork had tasted like.

After six weeks in Saudi, Tom was eager to get going on the movie shoot. Over lunch with the producers, he humbly--almost sheepishly--asked when his job would begin. "Soon, Nadeem," one of the princes said in response; Tom had long since become accustomed to being called Nadeem. He thought of it as a term of endearment. "We are working behind the scenes to prepare for your role. I promise you, Nadeem, it will be the role of a lifetime inshallah."

Tom beamed at that. Somehow, instinctually, he knew it to be true.

One Year Later

Another glorious day in Saudi Arabia. Another gift from Allah to one of his humblest, most loyal servants. These days Nadeem al-Fasih bore vague memories of a life other than his, a life filled with reckless excess, hedonistic indulgence and an utter disregard for God and the Quran. But those memories, if they had even been real, were merely echoes, as though they accounted for an alternate version of him from some other universe.

Nadeem was no hedonist, no infidel by any means. He was the kingdom's foremost ambassador to the godless Western world, almost like a movie star among the Muslim faith. At just 22 years old he had a prominence typically reserved for only the highest ranking members of the royal family. Although, like many Saudis, Nadeem had some royal blood in his veins, he had not been particularly highborn. Now, though, he was the face of Saudi Arabia across the earth.

And that face came with a charismatic, powerful voice, a deep and resonant Arab lilt that made effective dawah wherever he went. It wasn't rare for Nadeem to return from a trip abroad and inform the royal family that yet another nation-state had reverted to Islam, its people embracing their superior Arab heritage and devoting themselves to Allah. In just his first full year of global dawah, Nadeem was primarily responsible for converting what had been Great Britain into the United Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, even unifying Ireland in the process under the Islamic flag. He had garnered the international nickname "Hayun Wadud" for his innate ability to turn cities and townships rife with internal conflict and division into friendly Muslim neighborhoods.

Despite that, as he walked with his brothers to Friday prayers, Nadeem felt no pride nor inflation of ego. He felt what any good Muslim should feel--submission to Allah and an ever-growing desire to help more and more avoid the fate of hellfire and join him and his brothers, sisters and wives in the birthright of Islam.

The Awakening of Destiny - Chapter 3: The Encounter

The sands of time shifted once more, and the horizon of your world blurred and folded, bringing forth a figure from an era long past. My arrival in 2024 was not a mere coincidence; it was a significant event orchestrated by forces beyond your comprehension. I, Sayyid Hassan al-Fatimi, an indomitable figure from history, had crossed the boundaries of time with a singular purpose—to guide you, Omar, in your transformation.

When our paths finally crossed, it was in a setting where the ancient and modern worlds collided—a dramatic, almost surreal landscape where the echoes of my time intertwined with the realities of yours. The moment was charged with an energy that could only be described as otherworldly. You stood there, a young man whose life had just begun to take shape under the influence of the Arabization movement, and I stood before you, a figure from a time long forgotten, yet ever present in the currents of history.

As our eyes met, I saw the questions, the doubts, and the curiosity that swirled within you. My presence was overwhelming, a force that seemed to defy the very fabric of the world you knew. Yet, within that overwhelming presence, there was something more—something familiar, something that resonated deeply within your soul.

I began to speak, my voice carrying the weight of centuries, filled with the wisdom and experience of countless generations. Each word I uttered seemed to reverberate through you, solidifying the path you had begun to tread. I spoke to you of the movement that had already started to reshape your identity, of the power that lay within the name you now bore—Omar. I revealed to you the true nature of the Arabization movement, a force that had silently expanded its influence across time and space, and your role within it.

As I spoke, you felt a fire ignite within you—a fire of purpose that burned brighter with each passing moment. The doubts and uncertainties that had plagued you began to fade, replaced by a sense of clarity and determination. It was as if your purpose and my mission were intertwined, bound together by the invisible threads of fate.

I could see it in your eyes, Omar—the deep connection you felt to me, to the movement, to the destiny that now awaited you. This was no longer just a journey of self-discovery; it was a calling, a responsibility that you could not, and would not, turn away from.

In that moment, you understood that your transformation was not just about adopting new practices or beliefs; it was about becoming a leader, a guide for others who would follow in your footsteps. The fire of purpose that I had ignited within you would continue to burn, driving you forward, shaping you into the man you were destined to become.

Our encounter marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life, Omar. The ancient wisdom I imparted to you would be the foundation upon which you would build your future, and the future of the movement. Together, we would continue to reshape the world, one step at a time, one soul at a time, until the vision of Arabization was fully realized.

And so, with our paths now intertwined, you and I would walk forward into the unknown, guided by the fire of purpose, driven by the power of the name you now bore. The encounter had set the stage for the next phase of your transformation, and there was no turning back. You were no longer just a boy; you were Omar, and the world would soon know your name.

The Awakening of Destiny - Chapter 1: The Awakening of Omar The Awakening of Destiny - Chapter 2: The Silent Transformation The Awakening of Destiny - Chapter 3: The Encounter

The Weakest White

The room is dimly lit, the air thick with tension. Intricate Arabesque patterns line the walls, casting eerie, shifting shadows. Five male contestants sit in a semicircle, illuminated by the cold, stark light from a massive screen displaying the first question.

Rashid (the host) stands at the center, his presence both commanding and unsettling. Dressed in a dark, finely tailored suit with subtle Arabic designs, his eyes seem to penetrate the contestants' thoughts.

Rashid: (with a chilling smile) "Welcome, gentlemen, to The Weakest White. Tonight, we’ll test not just your knowledge, but your ability to adapt. Each wrong answer brings a change—a transformation. Are you prepared?"

Contestant 1 (Chris): (nervously) "Transformation? What do you mean by that?"

Rashid: (smirking) "You’ll see soon enough, Chris. But let’s begin with something simple. What is the official language of the United Arab Emirates?"

Contestant 2 (Jake): (confidently) "Arabic."

Rashid: "Correct, Jake. Well done. You’re safe… for now. But Chris, your question: What is the holy city where Muslims perform the Hajj pilgrimage?"

Chris: (relieved) "Mecca."

Rashid: "Correct. But Paul, let’s see how you do. What is the traditional headscarf worn by Arab men called?"

Contestant 3 (Paul): (uncertain) "Uh… the turban?"

Rashid: (with a sly grin) "Wrong. The correct answer is ‘keffiyeh.’ But don’t worry, Paul. You’re about to learn more than you ever imagined."

The lights dim further as a low hum resonates through the room. Paul’s body begins to tremble. His skin darkens, taking on a rich olive tone, his facial features sharpening and becoming more defined. His clothes shift into a traditional white thobe, and a keffiyeh materializes on his head. Paul gasps, clutching his head as his memories are overwritten. He is no longer Paul; he is now Fahad.

Rashid: (watching intently) "How do you feel, Fahad?"

Fahad: (calmly, with a hint of pride) "I… I feel complete. I understand now."

The other contestants watch in horror as Fahad joins the ranks of The Collective, his eyes reflecting the same eerie calm that unnerves them all.

The tension thickens as the next round begins. The remaining contestants, visibly shaken, try to maintain their composure. The game continues, with each question feeling like a step closer to an inevitable fate.

Rashid: "Michael, your turn. What is the Arabic word for peace, often used as a greeting?"

Contestant 4 (Michael): (hesitant) "Salaam?"

Rashid: (smiling) "Correct. You’re safe… for now. But Andrew, what about you? What is the name of the traditional Arab coffee, often flavored with cardamom?"

Contestant 5 (Andrew): (uncertain) "Uh… Turkish coffee?"

Rashid: "Incorrect. The correct answer is ‘Qahwa.’ But don’t worry, you’re about to experience it firsthand."

Andrew's transformation is even more dramatic. His muscles bulge, his posture changes, and his skin darkens to a deep bronze. His hair thickens and darkens, while a beard forms on his face. His Western clothes morph into a dishdasha, and his eyes lose their original color, taking on a deep, enigmatic brown. The change is complete, and Andrew is now Mustafa.

Mustafa: (speaking in a deep, resonant voice) "I see clearly now. This is my destiny."

The remaining contestants, now Chris, Jake, and Michael, look at each other with growing dread. The transformations have not just altered appearances but reshaped their very identities. The game has become a nightmare they can’t escape.

Only Chris, Jake, and Michael remain. The atmosphere is oppressive, with the shadow of The Collective looming over them. Fahad and Mustafa stand silently behind Rashid, their faces serene yet unnerving.

Rashid: "We’re nearing the end. Chris, your question: What is the name of the month in which Muslims fast from dawn to sunset?"

Chris: (his voice trembling) "Ramadan."

Rashid: "Correct. You’re safe. Jake, let’s see how you fare. What does the word ‘Allah’ mean in Arabic?"

Jake: (desperately) "God?"

Rashid: (nodding) "Correct. You’re safe. Michael, your turn. What is the term for the collection of traditions and sayings of the Prophet Muhammad?"

Michael: (struggling to think) "Um… Hadith?"

Rashid: (smiling darkly) "Correct. It seems you’ve all managed to survive… for now. But there can only be one leader."

The final round begins, with each contestant facing increasingly difficult questions. The pressure mounts until Michael finally stumbles.

Rashid: "Michael, your time has come. You will lead The Collective."

Michael’s transformation is the most intense yet. His entire being seems to dissolve and then reform, stronger, more commanding. His features become regal, his stance authoritative. He is no longer Michael but Sultan—the leader of The Collective.

Sultan: (with unwavering resolve) "I understand now. This is my true self, my true purpose."

Final Scene: The New Order

With Sultan at the helm, The Collective is now complete. Fahad and Mustafa stand by his side, ready to follow his commands. The game show is over, but the story has just begun. Sultan, once Michael, now leads The Collective with an iron will, ready to spread their influence far beyond the confines of the game room.

Rashid: (smiling with satisfaction) "The game has ended, but the real journey begins. Lead them well, Sultan."

Sultan nods, his gaze fixed on the horizon of possibilities ahead. The contestants have been absorbed into something far greater than they ever imagined, their former selves lost to the power and unity of The Collective.

New clothes

This guy's clothes were all torn. And he didn’t have enough money for a new one

Many passers-by laughed at him. But the Arab man understood his problem and decided to help

He handed him Arabic national clothes

The guy, without thinking twice, accepted the Arab man’s gift and changed clothes.

New clothes brought new thoughts into his head. He started a new life. And joined the brotherhood💚