The evening grew quiet after dinner.
A quiet that didn't soothe, only reminded him where he was.
Rayyan stood near the living room window, pretending to admire the garden lights outside. In truth, he just needed space to breathe. Everything in this house felt practiced—measured, graceful, controlled.
And he… he was something unexpected in the room.A sudden sound in a world made of silence.
Madam Sofia's words still echoed in his chest:
Some people are meant to stay where they are.
He closed his eyes.The words didn't stab.They simmered—slow, steady, burning without flame.
Down the hallway, two voices rose—soft, but sharp at the edges.
Aydan and his mother.
Rayyan didn't mean to listen.He didn't move closer.He just… heard.
"Why do you speak like that about him?" Aydan asked. His tone calm, but strained.
"I didn't say anything cruel," Madam Sofia replied. Not defensive. Just composed. "I simply stated a reality."
"A reality for who?" Aydan asked. "For us? Or for him?"
Silence.
Rayyan could almost see the scene:
Aydan, standing straight—jaw tight, shoulders held like he was shielding something.
Madam Sofia, seated, posture perfect, expression soft, eyes unwavering.
"He's just a boy," she said. "A boy who has known nothing but hardship. Do you think life changes that easily?"
"It could," Aydan said. "If someone gives him a chance."
"A chance is not enough." Her voice did not rise. "A chance lifts a person only to let them fall harder. I don't want to watch you get hurt trying to save someone who may not survive where you are trying to take him."
The words settled.
Not cruel. Not hateful. Just… true, in a way that hurt more because of its honesty.
Rayyan's breath caught. He stepped back.
He shouldn't be hearing this.
But the damage was already done.
Aydan's voice returned—quiet, steady:
"I don't want to live in a world where we choose who deserves dignity."
Another silence.
A sigh. Soft. Not defeated—just tired.
"You're too kind," she said. "You'll learn the world isn't built for kindness."
Footsteps followed.
Rayyan turned back to the window just in time.
Aydan stopped beside him. Expression steady. But his eyes were quieter than they had been an hour ago.
"You heard?" he asked.
Rayyan nodded.
"I'm sorry," Rayyan said.
Aydan shook his head instantly.
"No. Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong."
But Rayyan hadn't been apologizing for doing wrong.
He had been apologizing for existing somewhere he did not belong.
Aydan didn't tell him to ignore it. He didn't say it didn't matter. He didn't try to fix anything with empty words.
He simply said:
"Let's work hard. Both of us."
Rayyan looked at him then. Really looked.
And in that moment, he understood:
Kindness was not just a gift.
It was a promise.
And promises were heavy.
And soon, life would test how much kindness could endure.