(Nafas)
I pull my legs up against my chest, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil. It’s almost eleven at night. There aren’t many lights on in the house, and the place is half-dark.
I take a deep breath.
I rarely see Rasha.
He’s usually like a ghost.
I never know when he comes or when he leaves.
Whenever I happen to see him, I try to stay out of his way and avoid him.
But every time I see him… he somehow looks like he’s slowly dying under the pressure of work and sleepless nights.
I can’t understand him.
Why doesn’t he just rest for once?
Honestly… ever since I found out that he grew up in an orphanage and is one of its benefactors, my feelings toward him have become… I don’t know what to call them.
Maybe pity?
But I’m not in a position to pity anyone.
I’m the most pitif
