They finally reached a narrow area filled with small, closely packed houses. The lanes were tight, the walls old, and the surroundings quiet in a way that felt heavy.
Alice looked around, confused.
"What is this place?" he asked softly.
Elara stopped and turned toward the group.
"This is where our project truly begins," she said with determination. "Come on, follow me."
Everyone followed her until she stopped in front of a tiny house. Inside lived a woman who looked tired yet gentle. Elara stepped forward and smiled.
"This is Nina," Elara introduced. "She is twenty-seven years old. She is already married and has three children."
Alice froze. His eyes widened in shock.
"Twenty-seven… and three kids?" he whispered, then turned to Elara. "But why are we here? What does this have to do with our project?"
Elara took a deep breath.
"Listen to her story," she said calmly. "Then you'll understand."
She continued, her voice steady but emotional.
"Nina wanted to study. She was very good at mathematics. She completed only up to twelfth grade in Arts, but secretly, she studied Maths and Science for eleventh and twelfth as well. She worked twice as hard, hiding her books, hiding her dreams."
Everyone stood silent.
"She even gave exams for both streams — Arts and Science — without telling her parents. But when they found out, they were furious. Instead of supporting her, they forced her into marriage at the age of twenty."
Alice clenched his fists.
"At twenty-three, she gave birth to her first child," Elara continued. "And now… she spends her entire life doing household work in this tiny house."
She looked around the small room and said quietly,
"Just think… if she had been allowed to study, where would she be today?"
Nina finally spoke, her voice soft but filled with pain. She shared her struggles — her lost dreams, her regrets, and the life she never got to choose.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Some looked angry.
Some looked heartbroken.
Some couldn't even meet her eyes.
And that was the point.
Elara broke the silence.
"This is why education matters. This is why girls must be allowed to choose their future. This… is the real story we need to tell."
Just then, the door opened, and three children ran inside the house. Two little boys and a young girl rushed forward excitedly.
"Elara!" they shouted together.
Before anyone could react, they wrapped their arms around Elara, hugging her tightly. Elara knelt down and hugged them back warmly, her face softening instantly.
"You're here again!" the little girl said happily.
Elara smiled. "Of course I am. It's Sunday, remember?"
Alice watched the scene, surprised. He leaned closer and asked quietly,
"You know them?"
Elara nodded. "Yes. I come here every Sunday to meet them."
Alice blinked. "Every Sunday…?"
"Oh," Noah muttered softly, exchanging a glance with Victor.
Noah was the first to speak. "Elara… how long have you been coming here?"
"And why?" Victor added.
Lucien crossed his arms. "Is this part of the project, or something more?"
Alice looked at her intently. "Do you help them regularly?"
Elara answered every question calmly, one by one.
"Yes, I've known Nina for a long time. I help when I can. Sometimes with studies, sometimes just by listening. This isn't just a project for me — it's real life."
The group quietly noted everything down, the weight of her words settling in.
After a moment, Elara turned to Nina and smiled gently.
"I'll come back and meet you later," she said softly. "We still have another place to visit today."
Nina nodded, understanding. "Take care."
Elara waved goodbye to the children, giving each of them a small smile. The kids waved back, reluctant but happy.
With heavy thoughts and silent minds, the group stepped out of the house and moved toward their next destination — carrying Nina's story with them.
They walked quietly through the narrow streets, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the road. The air felt different now — heavier, thoughtful.
Alice walked slightly behind Elara, his eyes fixed on her, not with curiosity, but with something softer… respect.
"Elara," he finally spoke, breaking the silence. "You really come here every Sunday…? I mean, you don't care about the place, the surroundings… or what people might think."
Elara looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
Alice smiled faintly. "Most girl would hesitate. Some would even say 'eww' and walk away. They wouldn't hug the children, wouldn't sit inside that house, wouldn't come back again."
He paused. "But you didn't hesitate. Not even for a second."
Elara laughed softly. "Haha… not all girls are the same, Alice."
She walked a little ahead and added calmly,
"There are girls who come to places like this, who meet people like Nina, who help without judging. Empathy doesn't depend on status."
Noah nodded thoughtfully. "That's true."
Elara continued, her voice gentle but firm.
"You know, people often think feminism means putting women above men. That's wrong. Feminism means giving women the same priority, the same respect, the same opportunities."
She glanced back at them.
"And men? Men don't lose anything because of that. Equality isn't a competition."
Victor adjusted his glasses. "So feminism is balance… not domination."
"Exactly," Elara replied with a smile.
Lucien smirked lightly. "You sound like you've thought about this a lot."
Elara shrugged. "I've seen a lot."
Noah suddenly spoke up. "This reminds me of Princess Diana."
Elara's eyes lit up. "Yes. Princess Diana is a perfect example. She didn't care about royal image when it came to humanity. She hugged people, touched lives, stood with those who were ignored."
Noah nodded. "We should add that topic too."
"Definitely," Elara said. "She showed the world that kindness is strength."
Next Location
Soon, they arrived at another place. It was quieter, more isolated. The atmosphere felt tense — different from before.
Alice stepped inside first, holding the door open.
Then Elara entered.
After her came Noah, Lucien, and Victor.
Alice paused for a second and said,
"You know… feminism also means this. Letting a woman lead. Not because she's a woman — but because she's capable."
Elara smiled, understanding the unspoken respect behind his words.
Inside, a young boy sat alone, his posture stiff, his eyes distant. His story was different, yet connected — another victim of pressure, expectations, and silence.
Elara walked forward first, kneeling to his level.
"Hi," she said softly. "You don't have to be afraid. We're just here to listen."
The others watched quietly.
This wasn't just a project anymore.
It was a mirror to society.
A reminder that pain doesn't choose gender, but opportunities often do.
And as Elara spoke, as Alice listened, something subtle shifted — not just in the room, but within them.
The room was small and dim, with cracked walls and a single window letting in pale light. The boy sat on a wooden chair, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. He looked no older than sixteen, yet his eyes carried a tiredness far beyond his age.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Elara slowly stepped closer and knelt in front of him so they were at the same level.
"It's okay," she said gently. "You can take your time. We're here to listen."
The boy swallowed hard. His voice was low when he finally spoke.
"My name is Theo," he said. "People think boys don't suffer… but that's not true."
Everyone fell silent.
"My father died when I was ten," Theo continued. "After that, everyone said the same thing — you're the man of the house now."
He let out a small, bitter laugh.
"I was a child… but suddenly I had to be strong. I had to earn. I had to stop crying."
Noah's jaw tightened.
"I wanted to study," Theo said softly. "I was good at school. Teachers said I could do well. But dreams don't matter when there's no money."
He looked down at his hands.
"At fourteen, I started working. Construction sites. Shops. Anywhere they'd take me. If I got tired, they laughed. 'You're a boy, be a man,' they said."
Victor exhaled slowly.
"I wasn't allowed to fail," Theo continued. "Girls are told to adjust. Boys are told to endure. No one asks what we want."
Lucien shifted uncomfortably.
"One day, I fainted at work," Theo said. "When I woke up, my mother was crying… apologizing to me."
His voice cracked for the first time.
"That day, I realized… suffering doesn't have a gender. Silence does."
The room felt heavy.
Elara's eyes glistened, but her voice stayed steady.
"Theo… none of this was your fault."
He nodded slowly.
"I don't hate my family," he said. "I just wish… someone had asked me if I was okay."
Alice felt something twist in his chest. He had never thought of it this way.
Theo looked up at them for the first time.
"People talk about feminism like it's against men. But it's not. It's about choice. About not forcing roles on anyone."
Elara smiled softly.
"Yes," she said. "Equality means no one is sacrificed for society's expectations."
Silence followed.
Noah broke it quietly. "You're strong, Theo."
Theo shook his head. "I didn't want to be strong. I just didn't have a choice."
That sentence hit everyone differently.
Alice finally spoke, his voice lower than usual.
"You should've been allowed to dream."
Theo gave a faint smile.
As they stepped outside later, the sky had begun to darken. No one spoke for a while.
This wasn't just about women.
This wasn't just about men.
It was about human beings.
And somewhere between stories, silence, and shared pain — something inside all of them had changed.
As they walked out of the dim, quiet room, Theo's shoulders shook slightly. For the first time in a long while, tears rolled down his face. The weight of years, of struggles no one had asked about, poured out silently.
Alice noticed immediately. He crouched down to Theo's level, a gentle smile forming on his lips.
"Hey, hey… don't cry like that," Alice said softly, nudging him lightly. "You know… it's okay to smile too."
For a moment, Theo blinked, uncertain. Then, with a shaky breath, a small, hesitant smile appeared. And then, as if something in him had finally let go, a soft laugh escaped his lips.
It was the first laugh anyone had heard from him in years.
Alice grinned widely. "There it is! That's better. See? Smiling isn't so bad."
Theo looked at him, a mix of embarrassment and relief on his face. But soon, they were laughing together, small jokes passing between them, teasing each other lightly. It was playful, innocent, yet profound — a sign of trust, a bond forming.
Elara walked behind them, watching quietly. She noticed the way Alice treated Theo, patient and kind, never condescending. Something inside her shifted. This wasn't how he used to be before, she thought. He's… good now. Caring. Gentle. Funny, even.
She felt a quiet warmth spread through her chest. Maybe it wasn't just the children, the stories, or the struggles — maybe people could change when treated with kindness.
As the laughter faded, the group began walking again. Theo seemed lighter, freer, his shoulders less tense. The room's heavy weight had followed them into the streets, but now it felt like a burden shared, not one carried alone.
Finally, they paused, giving the group a moment to catch their breath. Elara turned to everyone, her expression serious but gentle.
"Today, we've seen two sides of the same reality," she began. "Nina's story taught us how dreams can be stolen when opportunities are denied — when people are forced to follow a life that isn't their own. But Theo's story… Theo's story shows something equally important."
She let the words sink in, looking each of them in the eye.
"It shows that struggle doesn't care about gender. Boys are forced to endure, to hide pain, to act strong even when they are breaking inside. And when we ignore that, we ignore their humanity too. Feminism isn't only about women — it's about giving everyone, regardless of gender, the chance to live, to dream, to cry, and yes… to laugh."
She smiled faintly, letting the silence of their thoughts settle.
"So remember this," Elara continued, voice soft but firm, "education, empathy, and opportunity — these are not privileges. They are rights. And anyone, anywhere, can be denied those rights if we let society's expectations decide their worth."
Alice nodded slowly, his gaze still on Theo, who now seemed lighter, smiling softly to himself.
"Every human being deserves a chance," Elara said, almost whispering, "to be happy, to be heard, and to live fully — not just survive."
The group remained quiet for a long moment, reflecting on the stories, the struggles, and the laughter that had finally broken through the pain. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the streets — a subtle reminder that even after the darkest struggles, light can reach everyone.
And in that moment, Elara thought quietly to herself: This is why we tell these stories. This is why we listen. Because every human being matters — and every life has meaning.