He opened his eyes heavily...
His panting breaths, quick and restless, broke the silence around him.
Breaths were broken, suffocated, and full of questions;
Huff... puff... huff...
Only whiteness surrounded him—absolute, endless whiteness, like a blank sheet of paper yet to be written on.
No building, no street, not even a shadow of a gazelle.
There was only one thing there—
A blue wooden door,
Alone, standing in the middle of this boundless void,
As if the entire world was condensed into that simple frame.
Vantias's breath caught, his face dazed and stunned, looking around desperately for any sign of a gazelle, but all he saw was the old blue wood of the door in the middle of the white emptiness.
He swallowed hard, his heart pounding faster, breathing quicker, his eyes scanning the surroundings faster—but still, he couldn't take his eyes off that blue door.
The question in his mind was just one sentence:
"What is behind that door?"
Vantias stepped closer, every step pounding his heart, as if something inside him screamed that something terrible was behind that door.
He reached the door, touched the handle; a faint scent of dampness spread in the air, but behind it, there was a familiar smell—something… For a moment, he hesitated, something inside his mind said:
"Don't open the door… please."
Vantias whispered under his breath:
"I want to know…"
Vantias opened the door and stepped inside...
The white light faded and was replaced by night—a calm night with a sky full of stars. The gentle creaking sound of a branch swaying in the wind, the cool night air, the smell of damp earth after the rain. In front of him was the yard of a house. A familiar house... but not for Vantias, for someone else—for Cyrus.
Vantias walked slowly. The feeling of stepping into a living memory clawed at his heart. Distant laughter, like a trace of the past, came from a lit window. He approached silently, with eyes calm but full of longing.
Behind the glass, the warmth of a family flowed. A child with shining eyes sat beside a smiling mother and father. That child was himself—Cyrus at seven years old.
A beautiful woman with black hair and eyes, simple and dignified, opened the fridge with a smile and took out a cake. A simple cake, but full of love. She placed it on the table, and the father, with a big laugh, said:
"Well, it's time, little one!"
Vantias smiled unconsciously. All his tension, all his fear, everything faded for a moment in the warmth of that simple scene...
Vantias touched the window glass...
He muttered unconsciously:
"Mom… Dad…"
Suddenly, the lights went out.
Everything plunged into darkness, like a pre-made decision—like the hand of fate.
A moment of silence, then the sound of a match being struck, and then... the warm light of a candle flame. The mother lit the small candles on the cake, and faces came alive in the flickering light.
Laughter returned. The parents laughed, clapped, and encouraged the child to make a wish and blow out the candles.
At that moment, nothing was wrong. Nothing was lost.
Vantias stood in the dark behind the window. With a smile shining through hidden tears.
But deep in his gaze, something was broken—not just a memory of the past, but a reality that would never return.
A tear quietly and silently slipped from Vantias's left eye and fell to the ground.
The moment the tear touched the cold ground of the yard, the world seemed to change.
The stars went out, the laughter faded, and the air grew heavier.
He was now inside the house—same house, but something was different.
It was no longer birthday night.
No laughter remained.
Little Cyrus sat silently and motionless on a wooden chair.
His small feet swung in the air, and in his hands was a colorful children's book—the kind that tells animal stories with happy pictures.
His lips moved silently, as if reading quietly to himself, but no sound was heard.
His eyes were down, focused on a page he may have read many times; perhaps his only refuge in that house.
Then, the door opened with a heavy sound.
His father entered, face flushed, and the mother followed.
He slammed the door and shouted, his voice echoing off the walls:
"You betrayed me…!"
His voice, like a heavy hammer, shook the house.
The mother's hands trembled as she tried to speak, but the father continued:
"How could you do this to me and to Syrus? With my boss?"
Silence shattered, then the first plate broke.
The sound of shattered pottery on the floor, then a glass thrown against the wall.
The mother screamed, the father yelled, and the air filled with anger and harsh words.
Little Cyrus remained seated.
The book slipped from his hands onto the floor, open on a page showing a smiling fox.
The child's eyes stared at the fox, motionless.
No tears, no sound—just watching.
Suddenly, the father came toward him, grabbed his hand.
In a harsh but firm voice, he said:
"Son, we're leaving. That woman has no place in our lives anymore."
The mother looked at them in shock, then ran wildly toward them:
"No! That's my child! You can't take him from me!"
The fight escalated, screams tangled together.
The father still held Cyrus's hand and was heading for the door...
But suddenly the mother grabbed a vase from the table and with all her might...
Thud!
The vase hit the father's head with a heavy blow.
Sounds of breaking, falling, and breaths cut off.
The father fell to the floor.
Cyrus stood terrified, still holding his father's hand.
Cyrus looked at the blood that filled the ground.
"Dad?"
But this silence was no longer safe.
Everything became white again.
A heavy, cutting silence, like air without oxygen.
No house, no night light in the sky, no sound of breaking plates.
Only whiteness... absolute, endless, merciless whiteness.
In the midst of this boundless void, a small wooden chair was seen.
On it, a lonely child sat—Cyrus.
His body trembled, his shoulders rising and falling with each sob.
He covered his eyes with his small hands, as if trying to erase the world.
He was crying... with a choked and wounded voice.
Sobs that screamed helplessness,
And among them, only a few words were heard:
"Dad?..."
"Mom?…"
"Why did you leave me alone?…"
Vantias stood.
Silent. Breath held tight in his chest.
Another tear slid down his cheek, just like the previous one.
His hand rose slowly, unconsciously,
He wanted to come closer…
He wanted to hold him,
Tightly, so tightly that all the pain, all the sounds of breaking, would dissolve in his embrace.
But his hand stopped halfway.
As if something held him back—maybe fear,
Maybe shame...
Maybe the belief that he didn't have the right to touch his childhood.
Then, the child's voice came again.
Weaker, more broken:
"I've been so alone…"
Vantias could no longer resist.
He stepped forward.
Knelt beside the chair and silently embraced the small trembling body.
A calm but endless hug.
Little Cyrus didn't resist for a moment.
He surrendered himself to that embrace.
And the sobs soaked into Vantias's clothes.
For a moment, the world was just this—
A wounded child
And a man who finally learned to love him.