Harry woke up with a racing heart.
A strange sensation pressed on the top of his head, somewhere between numbness and pain. It felt as if someone had touched his brain from the inside. Instinctively, he pinched his forehead.
It was just a dream…
So why did it feel so real?
He closed his eyes and opened them again. The room was the same room. Walls, bed, window.
But the image of that city, that fog, and that strange name still wouldn't let him go.
Harry had lost his parents years ago.
Now he only had a younger high school sister and an older brother who practically acted as the head of the household.
He got out of bed and stood in front of the mirror.
An ordinary face. Nothing memorable, nothing demanding attention. That had always been his strength… or maybe his weakness.
He opened the door and went downstairs.
His sister was busy cooking, and his brother was reading the newspaper at the table.
Harry glanced at his messy clothes.
He didn't feel like explaining. Quietly, he went to the bathroom, closed the door silently, and washed his hands and face. When he returned, his breathing had steadied.
"Good morning."
Both of them looked up and almost simultaneously said, "Good morning, sleepyhead."
Harry smiled.
The smell of food filled the air.
"What's for lunch?"
"Barley soup."
Simple, yet precise.
His sister had gotten the recipe from an Iranian immigrant.
Iran… a country whose name these days was heard more than ever. Powerful, advanced, and far away.
After lunch, Harry threw himself onto the bed—not because he was very tired, but because pretending to be tired was always the best escape.
He had to go see Nik later that afternoon.
A few hours later, he woke up again with an unfamiliar feeling.
No nightmare, no sound. He had just… woken up.
The clock showed five in the evening. The air was cool.
Time for a walk.
He put on his black hooded overcoat, long enough to reach near his knees.
He stepped out and walked toward Himokto Street.
The street name had always felt strange to him.
They said the fifth king of his country had chosen it. No one knew why.
Halfway there, he realized he had left his money at home.
Carriage? Forget it.
Walking? Mandatory.
It was about a fifteen-minute walk from his house to Nik's workshop.
Nik worked at a shop repairing household iron items.
Important items, good pay, and a job he truly loved.
Unlike Harry, who was unemployed and spent most of his time at home.
The two had been friends since they were six.
One of those friendships that continued without explanation.
When he finally arrived at the workshop, he was out of breath.
"Finally… I made it."
He took three deep breaths to compose himself.
Nik smiled as soon as he saw him.
They hugged. They hadn't seen each other in nearly two months.
"I missed you, buddy. How are you?"
"Same here. I'm fine. How's your brother and sister?"
"They're fine. I'm not bad either."
Nik looked at him mischievously. "So, what's up? You don't come around for no reason."
Harry hesitated. "Actually… there's something."
"What is it?"
"About a woman."
Nik raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me… you're in love?"
"No!… It's just… suspicious."
"Suspicious? What do you mean?"
"I saw her on the street yesterday."
Nik laughed. "You saw her yesterday, and now she's suspicious? Did you take something?"
"No. Just… a paper fell from her pocket."
"And?"
"That paper… wasn't normal."
Nik got serious. "What was written on it?"
Harry exhaled slowly. "A lot of things."
"Okay… tell me."
To be continued…