​— The first shot was wrong.

​The voice sounded excessively loud in the enclosed space, and Aziel's finger involuntarily pulled back from the trigger. His palm trembled lightly. His heart was beating fast—not from fear, but from an unusual feeling. The coldness of the metal still remained inside his fingers.

— Focus, — the instructor said calmly, — you are excessively tense.

​Aziel replied nothing. He raised the weapon again. This time, he breathed slowly. Deeply, he remembered Sojin's face, his cold eyes, the bruises over his body.

The shot sounded.

The bullet hit the target, not the center, but close, much closer. Aziel's lips stretched for a moment.

​He was telling no one why he was here. But he himself knew: he did not want to be someone who needs to be protected anymore. He wanted to be someone who can stay next to Sojin. Not as a burden, but as an equal.

During the following weeks, his life changed silently. In the mornings, he went to shooting classes; he was learning how to hold the weapon, how to breathe, how not to tremble, learning to control the body.

​A few hours later, he was already in another place, in the dance studio. Here, the air was different, familiar, safe.

— And... five, six, seven, eight—

His voice was calm. Confident.

The students were repeating his movements. Here, he was controlling everything. Here, he was strong.

​During the break, Aziel sat on the floor, leaning his back against the cold wall. His breathing was still fast after the heavy dance rehearsal. The body was tired, but the mind was not.

He opened his bag and took out the book: "Modern Painting Styles and Forms of Expression".

He slowly opened the pages: abstraction, impressionism, surrealism, expressionism. He was looking at the pictures for a long time, analyzing. Trying to understand, trying to find one thing that could replace what Sojin was doing.

​His fingers stopped on a painting; there was a human there, but not completely—only a silhouette, only light, only feeling, no nakedness, no real body. Aziel's heart tightened lightly. This was possible. Art did not mandatory have to be nakedness.

​At that moment, Sojin's studio appeared in his mind again. The canvases. The naked bodies. Those people who stood in front of Sojin, allowing him to study their every detail. That thought squeezed Aziel's chest from the inside. He understood that for an artist, that was work, it was art, it was a form of expression. But it wasn't changing what he himself felt. That thought was not giving him peace; if they were together, it would mean that Sojin was going to continue living in that world, going to continue seeing other bodies every day, touching them—even if only for art—and spending hours in their presence. Aziel could not pretend that it doesn't cause him pain.

​He did not want to force Sojin to leave his art. He knew that that was impossible, but maybe there was another way. Maybe there existed a form with which Sojin could continue creating without that naked, overt physical presence.

Exactly for that, he was reading these books. He wanted to understand the artist's mind. He wanted to find that language with which he could speak with Sojin—not as someone who demands, but as someone who understands.

​In the evening, when the city was filling with lights, Aziel went to the restaurant. There, he became another person. Under the stage lights, his dark skin was shining with a golden tint, his movements were becoming slow, fluid, and tempting. The rhythm of the music was passing through his body, and every movement was calculated, controlled, beautiful.

​Aziel finished his routine evening work at the restaurant. The body was tired, but the thoughts were glued to Sojin, painting, and the future. He went out into the street, walking toward home under the lights of the dark night.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated. The name of his father, Karim, appeared on the screen.

— As-salamu alaykum, ya ibni, — Karim's firm voice was heard.

*ya ibni - my son

​— Father? Why are you calling at this hour, is everything okay? — Aziel grew worried.

— We are in Korea, at the airport. I, your mother, and ikhwati are waiting for you. Come pick us up.

*your sisters and brother

​Aziel was in shock. His family did not know Korean at all, and they could barely understand a few words of English—and even that with great difficulty. They were going to be completely dependent on him.

​At the airport, Aziel saw them. They were a true Egyptian family, with dark skin and bright eyes.

At the airport, Aziel saw them. They were a true Egyptian family, with dark skin and bright eyes.

​The father: Karim. Short in stature (1.70m), with a stern face, a black beard, and piercing eyes. He was a professional butcher, and his hands were hardened from work. He wore a traditional long galabeya—Karim, as a traditionalist Egyptian, presents himself in exactly this kind of clothing, which is very different from the modern Korean style.

​The mother: Fatima. Tall in stature (1.85m), with delicate facial features and dark blue eyes. She was a tailor and looked very elegant inside her blue sheila.

*sheila - a type of hijab

​The sisters: Leyla and Amira, 17-year-old twins. Leyla's eyes were light brown, while Amira had different colored eyes—one black, the other dark blue.

​The brother: Zayd. The 5-year-old little boy, who was looking at the Koreans with surprise through his blue eyes.

​— Ya fuadi (my heart), — Fatima exclaimed and hugged her son.

​Aziel settled them in a hotel, since there was no room in his small apartment. The father, seeing Aziel's lifestyle, shook his head.

— Ya ibni (my son), — Karim said, placing an envelope full of money on the table. — This is for you. We have come for two weeks, but you must have a big house. Find a good apartment, so that every time we come, you can receive us at your place.

​Aziel found a new apartment in just two days.

It was bigger, brighter, the gentle sunlight was pouring inside through the windows. The rooms were still empty, the walls unfamiliar, but there was already a feeling in the air that this could become a home.

​He took a vacation from the restaurant.

Two weeks.

Two whole weeks he had to be with his family.

Two whole weeks… without Sojin.

​He used to see Sojin only at the restaurant—in those brief moments, in those fleeting glances.

But even then they could not talk normally; Aziel could see him and that was enough… at least at that moment.

But now… two weeks without any possibility of seeing him.

​The first week passed more quietly than he was expecting.

They were spending time together.

They were walking along the streets of the city, eating together, talking about the past, remembering those years when everything was simple.

At first, Aziel was not happy about their coming. He did not want his two worlds to collide.

But the more time was passing, the more he was understanding how much he had missed them. The mother's voice in the morning, the father's heavy steps, the sister's laughter, the brother's carefree questions.

Those were reminding him of who he had been… before this life.

​One day, Aziel was standing near the window of the new apartment.

He was looking at the city.

At this city, which had given him everything, and had taken away just as much.

He was thinking about Sojin.

Thinking about where he is now.

Whether he is painting.

Whether he is tired.

Whether he is thinking about him.

At that moment, he suddenly understood that he can no longer completely divide his life into two parts.

He turned toward his family, who were sitting in the living room.

And he said calmly—

— I want to introduce you to a few people.

They looked at him with interest.

— To my friends.

​Aziel took his phone.

He wrote to Mina:

"Are you and Minho free today? I want to introduce you to my family."

A few seconds later, the answer came:

"Of course. Where and when?"

— This evening, — Aziel wrote.

He sent the address.

And he lowered the phone slowly.

His heart was beating fast.

Because this was the first step.

Mina and Minho.

They were among the few people in his life who knew him in this city. Who had seen his different sides, who had been next to him when he was silent, closed, and sometimes—broken.

The evening in the new apartment was full of warmth and the aroma of spices. Fatima had prepared traditional Egyptian dishes, and a kind of noisy but pleasant atmosphere was reigning around the table. Mina and Minho were a bit stiff at first; they had never seen Aziel in such an environment, surrounded by relatives who were speaking an unfamiliar language.

Karim, Aziel's father, was sitting at the head of the table. Although his English was limited, he was trying through his hospitality and directness to show his respect toward his son's friends.

— You... good people, — Karim said, slowly choosing the English words and looking at Mina and Minho. — Aziel is lucky. Ya ibni (my son) has good friends. And good people must have a good family.

He turned toward Mina, who was smiling and eating the Egyptian sweets.

— Mina, you are a very beautiful girl, ya binti (my daughter), — the father continued, making signs in the air with his hands. — I have a nephew in Egypt. He is a very good boy, strong, hardworking. You will suit each other very well. He will be a good husband for you.

​Mina's cheeks instantly reddened. She was not expecting such a sincere and direct proposal. Aziel felt how sweat was covering his forehead. Mina, overcoming the embarrassment, bowed politely and replied in a low voice:

— Thank you, Mr. Karim. That is very nice... I will think about it.

​Karim nodded with satisfaction and fixed his gaze onto Minho.

— And you, Minho. Near this new house, I saw a very pretty girl today. She looked very modest. You must come to visit Aziel very often so that you get acquainted with her. It is time for you to settle down too.

​Minho stopped eating for a moment. He looked at Aziel, then at Karim's kind and expectant gaze. He smiled slightly, but there was a confidence inside his voice that was characteristic only of him.

— Thank you for the care, but... — Minho went silent for a moment and continued politely, — I prefer boys. So, the female neighbor is definitely not my luck.

​A moment of silence reigned in the room. Karim blinked his eyes, then looked at Fatima, who was also a bit confused. The father had not completely understood the subtext of what Minho said, but he felt that something was not right. He wanted to ask again, but Aziel, whose heart had begun to beat fast, understood that he must save the situation before his conservative father begins to dig deep into the topic.

— Father, the guests are probably already tired, — Aziel quickly intervened, rising from his place. — Minho is simply joking in his unique way. Let's drink tea and finish the evening. Yalla (come on), mom, it's time for the aromatic tea you prepared.

​The evening ended on a relatively quiet note, but Aziel was feeling that the collision of his two worlds was just beginning.