The world around him was nothing but a blur.
Assad felt like he was suffocating.
As if he couldn't breathe.
As if the weight of his guilt was crushing his chest.
So he stepped outside.
Without a goal. Without thinking.
Pushed by a pain too great to be contained within four walls.
His footsteps echoed in the silent streets,
the echo of a heart on the verge of exploding.
He walked...
More to escape than to move forward.
More to flee the chaos of his soul than to reach any destination.
The streetlamps cast yellow patches on the damp cobblestones.
His twisted shadow seemed to struggle behind him...
A prisoner of a past that refused to die.
The wind carried scents of wet earth.
Of dead leaves.
Of faded innocence.
And without even knowing how, without even realizing it...
He found himself in front of that house.
The one he hadn't seen in so many years.
Samir's house.
His heart tightened. Violently.
He stood there, frozen.
Petrified.
Unable to take another step.
Through the slightly open window, he saw the inside.
Bathed in soft, flickering light.
The table was set with care,
despite the modesty of the meal.
Samir's parents were there.
Aged. Emaciated.
Their shoulders bent under an invisible sorrow.
And between them, Samir's younger brother —
not so young anymore —
was trying to brighten the evening with a smile too wide... too forced.
A burst of laughter reached him.
Fragile. Almost unreal.
Assad stepped back,
as if struck by a punch to the chest.
He didn't want to see.
He didn't want to know.
But he couldn't look away.
Every detail was a stab to the heart.
The ceiling yellowed by dampness.
The worn curtains.
The patched clothes.
The fatigue in every movement.
The wear in every gaze.
They weren't poor before.
Not like this.
Before...
Before, they had plans. Dreams.
Samir had plans.
He was supposed to change their lives.
He would've been an architect.
He would've built houses, bridges...
Dreams of stone and light.
He talked about it all the time.
Eyes shining.
Fingers drawing invisible shapes in the air.
> "I'll build a house for Mom...
With a big veranda for her plants.
And a huge library for Dad."
Assad felt his knees give way.
He leaned against the wall.
Head lowered.
Breath short.
All of that...
All of that died with him.
Not just Samir.
An entire line of dreams.
An entire family...
Broken by him.
He remembered Samir, hunched over his notebooks,
studying late into the night...
While they laughed and joked in the courtyard.
Always serious.
Always disciplined.
And he... Assad...
Had dragged him down.
Little by little.
A dare here.
A bet there.
A cigarette.
Then something else.
Then... the fall.
He relived the night when it all started.
Samir's hesitant gaze.
Assad's carefree laugh.
The promise that it would be "just to try."
He remembered the biting cold of the morning.
The one when he found him.
Lifeless.
Eyes empty, turned toward a sky he would never see again.
Assad closed his eyes.
He should've stopped him.
He should've been stronger.
But he had been a coward.
Arrogant.
Blind.
And now...
Here was the price.
Not just the death of a friend.
But the silent ruin...
Of a family that had asked for nothing.
His fingers slid against the stone wall.
Searching for support.
A sob rose.
Hoarse.
Ripping.
But he swallowed it back.
He had no right to cry.
Not him.
Not after what he had done.
The window opened gently.
Samir's mother came out to shake a tablecloth.
Her face passed just a few meters from him.
Assad instinctively stepped back into the shadows.
She had aged.
How much she had aged...
Her hair was almost completely gray.
Her eyes...
Still soft.
Still kind.
A kindness that had nowhere left to go.
She looked vaguely into the street, without seeing him.
And Assad felt something break.
A fragment of himself.
Of who he was.
Of who he could have been.
He leaned against the wall.
Breathing hard.
He wanted to go in.
To fall to his knees.
To ask for forgiveness.
To scream out all his shame.
But what right did he have?
No word could fix what he had destroyed.
Nothing would bring Samir back.
Nothing would erase the years of suffering.
He stayed there.
For a long time.
Watching life go on... without him.
Staring at the invisible ruins he had left behind.
The night wore on.
The meal ended.
The younger brother cleared the table.
The father turned on an old radio.
It crackled.
Casting a faded melody into the air.
Everything seemed ordinary.
And yet...
Everything was tragic.
Finally, Assad turned away.
He walked off slowly.
Like a condemned man leaving the scene of his own crime.
The wind lashed his face.
Tears burned in his eyes.
Silent.
Denied.
Each step took him farther from that house...
But never far enough to forget.
Never far enough to forgive himself.
And in the darkness...
He thought he heard Samir's voice.
Light. Teasing.
Tender.
> "You're not brave enough, Assad..."
He clenched his fists.
Until his nails dug into his palms.
No.
He wasn't brave enough.
Not brave enough to forget.
Not brave enough to undo it.
And now...
He was nothing but a shadow,
Wandering through a world where the living
Bore the weight of his dead.