The night seemed endless.
A bottomless void.
A shroud of ink covering even his wounded soul.
In the vast palace frozen by silence, only the wind slipping through the arrow slits dared disturb the darkness. It left behind a long, eerie murmur, like a forgotten prayer.
Assad stood there, motionless at the center of his chamber, a prisoner of a storm no sea could ever contain.
He closed his eyes, hoping to escape the turmoil.
But the darkness, instead of soothing him, only made it louder.
Every memory became a blade.
Every emotion, a wildfire.
And at the heart of that blaze… Nahia.
Over and over again.
A cruel mirage he couldn't dispel.
He no longer even knew when it had begun.
What precise moment had marked the start of this bittersweet obsession?
A stolen glance? A spoken word? A silence shared?
He couldn't tell.
All he knew was that she was there.
Everywhere.
Inside him.
Her subtle, sweet, almost imperceptible scent…
Her quiet, graceful steps, as if she refused to disturb the universe…
Her trembling, gentle voice that touched his soul more surely than a cry ever could…
Assad drew a deep breath, trying to push the images away.
But even the silence conspired against him.
He walked to the glass doors and drew back the heavy drapes.
Outside, the sky was scattered with stars — indifferent, eternal.
And beneath that celestial dome, he felt infinitely small.
Weak.
Broken.
His thoughts drifted back, again, to Samir.
Always.
Incessantly.
He remembered the day, as teenagers, when they had sworn to remain united.
> "You and me against the world, right, Assad?"
Samir had laughed that day. A clear, shadowless laugh.
Now, even the memory felt warped by time.
And Assad had promised.
To watch over him.
To protect.
But he had failed.
Betrayed.
Lost.
His fist struck the wall. A dull thud.
But not hard enough to shatter the pain.
He could have had it all. Commanded everything.
The world bowed at his name.
But not her.
Not Nahia.
Her pure soul should never be stained by his darkness.
> "You must forget her…"
But how could he forget Nahia, when she lived in every silence he knew?
When the shadow of her smiles haunted him more surely than any memory?
He saw her again, that first time.
Not just the moment she had lifted her eyes…
But every moment after.
Her discretion.
Her refusal to draw attention.
That desire to become invisible.
And yet, it was always her his eyes found.
Always.
He watched how she arranged flowers with such care.
How she served tea without trembling, even under heavy gazes.
That sadness, too…
Ancient.
Silent.
He should never have noticed her.
Never.
But she drew him in like light draws lost souls.
Assad turned away from the window, unable to bear the sky's indifference.
He walked to his desk.
Every step echoed like a sentence.
He sat in the large leather chair.
His throne of solitude.
Before him, a photograph.
Yellowed by time.
Samir and himself, laughing freely, carefree.
A lost world.
He reached for it.
> "Forgive me…"
But Samir would never answer again.
The hours passed, slow and shapeless.
Nahia.
Samir.
The weight of the past.
The mirage of the future.
He remembered the few times she had smiled.
Shy, involuntary smiles that faded quickly.
And in those fleeting sparks, he had seen what she could have been.
Free.
Radiant.
Happy.
In a world where her eyes wouldn't carry that sadness.
In a world where she hadn't borne, in silence, the weight of a grief too old.
In a world where she would have been light, and he… worthy enough to walk beside her.
He had wanted to tear her from his heart.
But some fires never die.
We bury them beneath duty, shame, silence…
But they rise again.
Always.
And they consume everything.
He rose suddenly, nearly toppling the chair.
Walked to the hidden cabinet.
Chose the strongest liquor.
He didn't have the strength to fight on an empty stomach.
One glass. Then another.
The fire in his throat was nothing compared to the one in his soul.
He collapsed against the wall.
The glass empty in his hand.
Eyes closed.
But the images, they kept coming.
Nahia, golden light.
Samir, bursts of laughter.
Two ghosts.
Two absences.
Two open wounds.
He no longer knew how long he stayed like that.
When he opened his eyes again, dawn was just beginning to rise.
Timid.
Pale.
Indifferent.
He stood with difficulty.
A man is nothing without his chains.
And his… he had chosen them.
He would do what must be done.
He would fight, even against himself.
Because some sins do not deserve forgiveness.
And because sometimes, loving means letting go.
His final thought, as he left the room in silence, was as clear as it was painful:
> "I will love you in silence, Nahia.
I will love you in the shadows.
But I will never come near you."
Never.
Even if every beat of his heart already betrayed that promise.