The next morning, Aziel decided not to let sadness consume him. He took the keys to his new studio and headed there.

The space was located in one of the relatively quiet neighborhoods of Seoul, on the third floor of an old building. When he opened the door, the room was flooded with the morning sunlight. It was empty, only dust motes were dancing in the air, but for Aziel, it was the most beautiful place in the world. This was his home, his freedom.

​Aziel turned on the music on his phone, a melody with a slow but deep rhythm. He closed his eyes, began to move—at first cautiously, as if touching the space, then more confidently. His body remembered every single strike, every single touch with Sojin. Into his dance, he put his jealousy, his fear that Sojin might one day not return, and his newfound identity.

He was spinning between the empty walls, and it seemed to him that with every movement he was growing bigger, becoming stronger. 20 years old, alone in a foreign city, but now he had a purpose.

— I will not let your dark world destroy me, Sojin, — he whispered, being breathless when the music ended.

​Aziel sat on the floor and looked out the window. He understood that if he wants to be next to Sojin, he cannot be just a weak boy who waits at home. He must become so strong that Sojin won't be able to hide him from his life.

​Seoul was beautiful in its own way, but so different from his native Egypt. The air here did not have that warm, sandy scent that he was feeling in the streets of Cairo. He took out his phone; on the screen were numerous missed calls received from his mother.

He pressed the call button.

— Habibi, — his mother's voice was heard, and a lump immediately settled in Aziel's throat. — How are you? Did you eat today? You are strong, right, my boy?

*habibi - my love

— Hello, mom... everything is fine, — Aziel tried to speak with a firm voice, but the longing was doing its part. — The studio is already ready. Soon I will start the classes. It's just... I just missed you guys.

​They talked for a long time. Aziel could not tell the truth about his orientation or about Sojin. His family loved him, but he knew that in their world, his feelings might never be understood. Korea was a salvation for him and, at the same time, a challenge. He was a new person here, with a new identity.

​Later that day, Aziel met Minho. They were sitting in a small cafe.

— I see your gaze is in the distances again, Aziel-a, — Minho said, drinking his tea.

— I am just afraid, Minho, — Aziel continued, playing with the rim of the cup with his fingers. — I am afraid that what I feel... toward that boy whom I love, might simply be wrong. In my country, in my home, it would be impossible. But it's not only that...

He went silent for a moment, then raised his gaze onto Minho, an undisguised anxiety in his eyes.

— He is older than me in age and much more experienced. He seems to know all the dark and bright sides of life, while I... I feel very inexperienced and naive next to him. I am constantly afraid that because of my age or inexperience, I will make a wrong step, say a wrong thing, and lose him. I am afraid that for him, I am just a temporary interest, a little boy who doesn't understand yet what life is.

​Minho was listening to him very carefully. He was seeing Aziel's purity and that sincerity which was met so rarely in cities like Seoul.

— Aziel, listen to me, — Minho's voice was more serious now. — Experience is not only the years. Sometimes those people who have seen a lot of things and are considered "experienced" need someone like you the most—someone who is still able to love and feel sincerely. If he has chosen you, then inside that same "inexperience" of yours, there is something that he lacks. Don't try to be like how he is. Stay like how you are, and that will be your greatest advantage.

​Aziel took a deep breath. Minho's words calmed the storm inside him a little, but Sojin's cold gaze inside the car was still fresh in his memory.

​The next few days, Aziel spent putting the studio in order. He was painting the walls on his own, choosing the music system. After work at the restaurant, he was coming here and dancing until late at night. The Korean language, which he had learned back in Egypt, was helping him communicate with the tenants and advertising agents, but he was still feeling "different."