Reluctantly, Antara allowed himself to be pulled along. Together, they made their way through the winding paths leading away from the slums, heading toward the dense forest that stretched out just beyond the town. The world around them grew quieter as they delved deeper, the air cooler and scented with pine and earth. Shadows danced among the trees, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves, whispering secrets to those who would listen.

Finally, they reached a small clearing where the trees opened up to reveal the night sky in all its splendor. Stars spread across the heavens like a blanket of light, stretching endlessly. The two friends lay down on the soft grass, staring up at the celestial canvas above them.

After a few moments, Adam broke the silence. “Life hasn’t been good, has it?”

Antara let out a soft sigh, his gaze still fixed on the stars. “It’s been fine, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Adam replied, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Yet you seem to have barely left your home.”

Antara shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering toward Adam. “I do go out. I tried to visit you when… when your mom passed away, but you didn’t answer.”

Adam nodded, the memory still fresh and painful. “I know. I wasn’t in the mood back then.”

Antara nodded, the silence stretching between them once more. “Do you… feel better now?” he asked hesitantly.

Adam shrugged. “Can’t complain.”

The quiet settled again, wrapping around them like a blanket as they both stared at the stars.

“It’s been a while since we went out like this, hasn’t it?” Adam said softly.

“Yeah,” Antara replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Adam took a deep breath, turning to look at his friend. “Since they took your job away, you’ve holed up.”

“Not really,” Antara murmured, glancing away. “It’s just that… well, I don’t see the point sometimes.”

Adam fixed him with a steady gaze. “You’re addicted, aren’t you?”

“Addicted?” Antara replied, a look of confusion and irritation crossing his face.

“Yeah. Addicted to feeling down all the time. It’s like you’ve embraced this misery and made it your whole life.”

Antara shot him a defensive look. “I’m not addicted to anything, Adam. There’s just… nothing out there for me. Nothing worth doing.”

Adam shook his head, a determined glint in his eyes. “Oh, there’s plenty out there. You just don’t want to see it.”

Antara scoffed. “Enlighten me.”

Adam paused, choosing his words carefully. “Helping your father. Supporting him in his fight.”

Antara frowned, looking away. “In his fight? You mean the protests?”

“Yeah. People have been standing up against the regime for years now. And it’s heating up,” Adam said, his voice growing more passionate. “You know that.”

Antara shrugged, avoiding Adam’s gaze. “I know about it. Doesn’t mean I can do anything to help.”

Adam’s expression hardened. “You haven’t tried hard enough.”

Antara’s gaze flashed with anger. “I did try! Don’t you remember last year? I opened that stall to try and make a living, to contribute somehow. And what happened? They closed me down, threw me in jail and beat the shit out of me.”

Adam’s face softened, recalling the memory. Antara had been treated unjustly, forbidden from making an honest living while others around him did so freely. It was a cruel system, and it had taken its toll on Antara.

“Anyway,” Antara continued, a bitterness creeping into his tone, “what happened to your face, Badr? Was it… them?”

Adam nodded slowly. “Who else could it be?”

Antara sighed, resignation clouding his features. “See? Now you understand. There’s nothing we can do.”

Adam looked up at the stars, a determined light in his eyes. “People are rising up. They’re fighting back.”

“Good for them,” Antara muttered, sounding weary.

Adam turned to him, his voice soft but insistent. “Everyone’s fighting their own battles, you know. Everyone has a story. Me, you… we’re not alone in what we’ve been through. Thousands of people have seen the same cruelty we did. That’s why they’re standing up.”

Antara nodded, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I know.”

Adam leaned back, looking up at the night sky. “Some people win those battles, and some lose. But people don’t always understand that fighting isn’t always the answer. Sometimes, acceptance is the most powerful thing.”

“Acceptance? I did accept the reality, but people refuse to” Antara echoed, a sarcastic note in his voice.

Adam nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe you did accept your suffering but you are running away from it all.”

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“Face it with bravery. It’s not about surrendering; it’s about finding strength in enduring.”

Antara’s gaze scoffed, and he looked down, his expression that of annoyance.

Adam looked up at the stars, his voice low and threaded with a quiet ache. "I was… addicted, I think. I liked being sad and lonely, I didn’t mind it, actually, I searched for it. It’s strange, but I clung to those shadows like they were safe—pushing away anyone who got too close, convincing myself that solitude was a shelter.”

He paused, his gaze softening as though he were tracing old memories in the stars above. "I remember the moment it hit me—how exposed I felt, like I’d been stripped bare. Everyone around me, they already knew, Antara. They saw the hurt in me, the bitterness. They saw right through those walls I thought I’d built so high. I was the last one to know, thinking I’d hidden it all so well, at that moment I felt terrified.”

His voice grew softer, almost reverent, as he continued, “Looking back now, I see how many people reached out, trying to pull me back. People like you. You wanted to help, to save me from that hollow place, and I—” he hesitated, his voice breaking slightly. “I was angry. I pushed you away, and the worst part is, I believed I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting myself, back then I thought I was helping you, I thought that if people knew the real me, the addicted me, the angry me, they would slowly but surely come to hate me."

Adam closed his eyes, the weight of what he’d lost settling around him. “ I was living a lie, and I believed the lie, I believed that it was the true me nevertheless… it had a cost. Paths I never took, options never explored, people I let slip away. My whole world became so narrow, defined only by what I thought I knew about myself and my view. And the truth is, I knew nothing. I was so caught up in my own pain, so certain that no one could understand it. And all the while, people around me—they carried that same pain with them, each in their own way.”

He looked at Antara then, his gaze steady but filled with a quiet longing. "Everyone suffers, whether they show it or not. Some will try to help you, some will give up, and some may even come to resent you. But they know, Antara. They might not see it all, they might not understand it, those who are close to you, they know what you’re going through, you think your father didn’t notice the scars you have around your neck? He knows, he suffers everyday for it…”

Antara tried to voice something but he couldn’t..so Adam continued “You know it took me a while to finally understand, when I realized how hard I’d been fighting against the very people who wanted to help, I felt… terrified. It’s a feeling you don’t shake easily.”

His breath wavered slightly, and he exhaled slowly, gathering himself. “The pain—it took its toll. It shut doors I didn’t even realize had been open. But in the end, I let go. I stopped fighting against myself, against everyone else. I found a kind of peace in accepting the suffering for what it was.”

A hint of softness filled his eyes, a quiet strength woven into his words. “There’s something freeing in that, in surrendering to what we can’t change. Just give up, accept it for what it is and suffer in this accursed life, most importantly suffer bravely. Let the pain shape you, but don’t let it define you. That’s all any of us can do, really.”

He let the silence stretch around them, hoping that somewhere in the quiet, Antara might feel the truth he’d only just begun to understand himself.

Adam looked at him, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Maybe that’s what you need, Antara. To suffer, but with bravery. To accept it, face it. It’s the only way forward. Live your life according to your own perspective, respond to it, the way you believe is best, whatever that is.”

Antara’s expression softened, a faint glimmer of understanding in his eyes. He looked up at the stars, letting the silence speak for him.

Adam gazed at the stars above them, the faintest smile touching his lips.

He turned to Antara, his voice quiet and full of a gentle reverence.

“Remember Aiden’s story?” Adam said suddenly, his tone light, almost teasing. “You know, the guy with the magic flame?”

Antara snorted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, you mean the fire boy? Yeah, I remember.”

Adam grinned, reclining against the grass as he pointed vaguely toward the stars. “Yeah, yeah. That one. The one your dad told us a thousand times.”

Antara’s smirk faded slightly, the weight of the name settling on him. He glanced at Adam, who seemed lost in thought, a wistful smile on his face. Antara looked away, his gaze fixed on the sky, but his mind drifted elsewhere—back to the small, cramped room where his father used to sit, weaving the story with his deep, resonant voice.

Antara could see it clearly, as though it were happening all over again. He was a boy, sitting cross-legged on the floor of their modest home, the faint glow of the lantern casting flickering shadows on the walls. His father sat in his worn chair, his hands calloused but steady, resting on the armrests as he leaned forward to speak.

“A long time ago,” his father began, his voice deep and steady, “there was a man named Aiden. A wanderer who stumbled upon something extraordinary—a flame, swirling and alive, unlike any fire he had ever seen. It wasn’t just fire, you see. It was magic, pure and untamed, glowing with colors that no words could describe.”

Antara, wide-eyed and leaning forward, had asked, “What did he do, Baba? Did he take it?”

His father chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not at first. He was drawn to it, yes, but he knew the risks. Everyone who’d heard of that flame said it was dangerous. They said touching it would destroy you. But Aiden… Aiden was different. He believed there was something greater within that flame, something worth the pain. So, against all warnings, he reached out.”

Antara remembered his father’s pause then, the way he let the silence build, drawing him and Badr closer into the tale.

“When his fingers touched it, the pain was unlike anything he’d ever known,” his father had continued. “It burned him from the inside out, tearing through his body and soul. He screamed, wanting to pull away, but he didn’t. He held on, because something inside him told him he had to endure it.”

Antara’s younger self had squirmed, biting his lip. “Why didn’t he let go?”

His father’s gaze softened, his voice lowering. “Because in that agony, he saw things. Visions of the universe, of stars being born, worlds colliding, the secrets of creation itself. And through that pain, he began to change. The fire didn’t just destroy him; it remade him.”

His father had leaned back then, his expression distant. “When it was over, Aiden was no longer just a man. He had become a star, brighter and more radiant than any other in the sky. His suffering had transformed him into a beacon, a light to guide those who were lost.”

Antara had stared at the lantern’s glow, trying to imagine what it must have been like to touch that flame, to endure that pain, to become something so much greater. “Did it hurt forever?” he’d whispered.

His father had smiled faintly. “Pain like that never goes away completely, my boy. But it can become something else. Something meaningful. Aiden’s star still burns to this day, they say. A reminder that even through the hardest struggles, there’s a way forward.”

Antara blinked, the memory fading back into the present. The stars above him glittered faintly, their cold light feeling impossibly far away. He glanced at Adam, who was still lying back, staring at the sky.

“You know,” Antara murmured, his voice softer now, “he used to say the same thing every time. That the pain doesn’t go away. It just… changes.”

Adam turned his head slightly, meeting his gaze. For a moment, there was no teasing, no lightness—just quiet understanding.

“It does change,” Adam said. “But only if you let it.”

Antara didn’t respond, his thoughts still lingering on his father’s voice and the story of the man who touched the flame.