The light kept shining with hope;
while the bloodstained white flower
remained protected beneath its gentle wings.
The stream of light flowed endlessly,
washing away every trace of darkness.
Slowly, tenderly, the flower bloomed again—
regaining the pure white it once had.
On the 2nd day of the new year, 2013, Egemed walked to Jerelr's house.
He carried a worn suitcase filled with pens, sheets of paper, and the notebook with a quill pen—the one Jerelr had gifted him on the night he had nearly lost himself. That gift, small as it seemed, had become the thread that tied him back to life.
From that day on, Egemed visited Jerelr almost every morning. At 10 a.m., he left his home quietly, and by 7 p.m., he returned before his father arrived from work. He never broke that routine. He waited for his father every evening just like he always had, holding on to the small pieces of normalcy that kept him steady.
Each dawn, he woke early to help his mother with chores. And each night, after dinner, he stayed up until midnight—writing, reflecting, battling his thoughts, and trying to shape his pain into something meaningful.
During the day, he sat beside Jerelr, letting him correct his grammar, guide his ideas, fix the threads in his stories. He struggled—truly struggled. So many pages were thrown away, so many sentences rewritten, so many moments where he closed his eyes and whispered, "Maybe I can't do this."
But Jerelr never allowed him to sink back into the darkness.
He encouraged him, challenged him, believed in him when Egemed couldn't believe in himself.
Their friendship deepened as the months passed.
On weekends, they walked to The Valley of Breath, sitting beneath the quiet hills where their laughter and silence mingled with the wind. Their families noticed how inseparable they had become. If one of them was missing, the other was surely with him. Their bond felt less like friendship and more like a promise—one neither of them ever spoke aloud, yet both carried in their hearts.
A year slipped by, and Egemed's determination finally bore fruit.
In early 2014, he published his first book under the Mysterious Publisher—the same platform where Jerelr had shared his own beginnings.
At first, nothing happened. The book sat unnoticed, untouched.
But after a month, something changed. A few readers found him. Then more. And soon, his sales began to rise. Slowly at first, then steadily.
Egemed could hardly believe it.
A boy who once thought his life would end before it began…
had found a light again.
Seeing his success, his family changed too.
His father—once worried that his son might never recover—stood beside him, supporting him financially and emotionally until Egemed could stand on his own feet.
With their earnings, Egemed and Jerelr developed a habit.
Every month, they travelled—four or five days at a time—from country to country, not searching for luxury or entertainment, but searching for people in need.
In every place they visited, they spent their own savings on the poor, the hungry, the homeless. They knelt beside strangers on the streets, offering food, blankets, medicines. Many of the homeless prayed for them, praised them, and wished they would return again. But Egemed and Jerelr never made promises, knowing the world was too wide for them to stay in one place.
Egemed was grateful—deeply grateful—for Jerelr.
The lonely, painful years of his life had turned into warm mornings and bright afternoons, filled with purpose. His love for Jerelr grew quietly but powerfully. His trust was absolute. He had never allowed anyone into his heart the way he allowed Jerelr in. Every fear, every doubt, every shadow—he shared with him. And together they continued forward, shoulder to shoulder.
Then something unexpected happened.
Egemed's books began to gain even more popularity—sometimes more than Jerelr's. But not once did jealousy enter their friendship. If anything, Egemed felt guilty. He apologized to Jerelr many times, saying he didn't want to be above him. He even asked Jerelr if he could publish under the name J. Myers instead.
Jerelr refused immediately, scolding him gently for even thinking such a thing.
To Jerelr, Egemed wasn't just a friend—
he was someone whose voice deserved to be heard.
Whenever Egemed felt unsure, Jerelr guided him.
Whenever his writing lost clarity, Jerelr helped him sharpen it.
And in that single year, Egemed completed and published four books—all of which became bestsellers. Jerelr's writing also flourished, his own works reaching many hearts.
With their success, they never bought luxuries, never gave in to a comfortable life.
Instead, they continued helping others—visiting the homes of the poor, providing food, clothing, and medicine.
Every day, side by side, they walked the world with kindness in their hands.
——
During one of their trips to the city, Egemed and Jerelr walked along the crowded streets, looking for people in need. It was then that they encountered a quarrel that would test their patience and compassion in a way they had never expected.
Egemed and Jerelr came across two men in the middle of the road, shouting at each other. Both wore the robes of their faith, yet their words were sharp and filled with anger. They were quarreling over religion, each insisting that his own was right.
Egemed's heart trembled at the scene. The hatred and fury pressed on him like a heavy weight. Jerelr noticed his friend's unease and quickly stepped forward, grabbing one of the men by the shoulder.
Egemed was unable to speak as he watched Jerelr grab the man, but he silently followed his friend to where the man was guided to sit.
The four of them settled into the cramped tea stall, sitting in silence until Jerelr finally broke it with a question.
"Are you sure the God you worship is the only right one?" Jerelr asked, calm but firm.
The man's eyes blazed with anger. "Yes. Why not?"
Jerelr tilted his head. "Does your God ask you to fight with others?" Jerelr asked smiling softly
The man fell silent.
Egemed, with a soft and humble voice, addressed the other man. He bowed slightly, meeting his eyes. "Brother, I do not wish to judge you. But people are watching you quarrel, and my heart aches to see such pain. I cannot look away, even if I wanted to. May we speak?"
Something shifted in the man's expression—embarrassment, realization, the faintest flicker of understanding. Slowly, he nodded. Together, the four of them moved to a nearby tea stall. Even as they sat, their eyes burned with resentment; it was clear the anger had not faded entirely.
Egemed smiled gently. "Do you two know each other?"
Both men shook their heads.
"Then why quarrel?" Egemed asked softly.
The man on the left replied, "He says all religions are wrong except his own."
"And you?" Egemed asked.
"My religion is the only true path," the other said.
Egemed nodded, keeping his calm. "With respect, why not first become friends? Talk to each other, and understand. Only then can you decide where your path lies."
The man on the right sneered. "There is no way I could be friends with that idiot."
Jerelr chuckled quietly, glancing at Egemed.
Egemed leaned forward slightly, his hands moving gently as he spoke. "Look," he said, and as he gestured toward an imaginary field with open palms, "imagine two flowers in a field. One blooms in the morning, the other at night. They are different, yes, but when it rains, they both feel the rain. When the sun shines, they both receive the sunlight. Do you understand?"
The men exchanged puzzled looks. Jerelr remained silent, watching.
Egemed's smile was calm, warm, inviting. "What if I told you the flowers are like you two?" he continued, his hands sweeping slowly to emphasize his words. "The sun and the rain are the lessons life gives you. The day and night when they bloom… that is your practice, your understanding, your belief." He opened his arms wide, as if embracing the world itself. "You quarrel because one blooms at night, and one in the light. Neither has seen what the other has experienced."
He paused, letting his words sink in, hands resting gently on the table, eyes kind but steady. "We are all human. We see the world differently. To judge someone without knowing their journey is wrong. Imagine you killed someone without knowing why they act as they do… how would you feel if you discovered the truth afterward?"
The two men were silent, their anger giving way to thought.
"Would it not be better," Egemed asked gently, "to respect each other, to love each other, even if you disagree.
You will regret harm done in ignorance. Better to understand than to destroy."
The men looked at each other, and slowly, their hostility softened. Apologies were murmured, awkward at first, then more genuine.
They shared tea, conversation, and eventually departed on their separate ways, their eyes less clouded with hatred than before.
On the way home, Jerelr turned to Egemed. "I don't fully understand what you meant back there."
Egemed spoke calmly, "The sun and the rain are the lessons we each receive. Blooming is our thoughts and actions shaped by those lessons. When people meet without understanding, they fight. But if they understood the other's journey, they would not quarrel."
Jerelr frowned. "I still don't get it."
Egemed smiled softly. "Let's say I am a Christian and you are a Hindu. Even if I believe my path is right, I would never force it on you. Our viewpoints are different. You have lived your journey; I have lived mine. We cannot know all of each other's experiences, so there is no need to judge or fight. Respect and understanding are enough."
Jerelr hesitated. "But what if your religion is right? Will you let others go astray?"
Egemed looked at him with quiet certainty. "I am only human. I do not know. Even if I did, I would still choose to respect and pray for them. We have no power to judge." he smiled
After a moment he continued
"Pointing out others' mistakes only breeds hatred and pain. Love cannot force. True kindness understands and guides gently."
Jerelr nodded slowly, realization dawning. "You are right, brother. Love cannot coerce. Force is never kindness. Understanding is the only way."
Egemed simply nodded, calm and gentle as always.