Arsalan slammed the door shut, his hands clawing at his face, desperate to rip off the mask. For a moment, he felt a numbness spreading through his chest. His world spun around him, and he struggled to draw breath into his lungs. Collapsing onto the bed, his gaze landed on the bulky phone resting on the bedside drawer.
Without overthinking it, Arsalan grabbed the phone and dialled the number of the one person he needed most. The sun shone brightly outside, offering little assurance that this person would answer, but he had to try. When he heard that familiar deep voice at the end of the line, his heart clenched.
"He... Hello, Father."
"Son," Sharou recognised his voice immediately. The sob that followed caught him off guard, his heart aching for his youngest. "Talk to me, son," he urged
