Morning light seeped through the thin curtains, spilling across the wall.
Parsa blinked awake to the sound of crows and the smell of tea.
His head throbbed.
"Ugh… what a messed-up dream," he muttered.
He sat on the edge of the bed, fragments swirling through his mind — fog, light, a voice calling his name.
That same phrase kept repeating:
Arian… the return is near…
He rubbed his temples.
"Arian… who even is that? I don't know anyone by that name."
Everything looked normal. The same metal bed, the same desk cluttered with tools and books.
He exhaled slowly.
"It was just stress. Nothing more. No voices, no lights. Get a grip, Parsa."
He lifted his shirt.
His skin was clear — except for a faint red mark exactly where he remembered the light.
He stared at it for a moment, then sighed.
"Just a dream. End of story."
"Brother!" Sara's voice echoed from the kitchen.
"Mom says breakfast's ready!"
"Coming!" he answered.
In the kitchen, Nasrin sat by the table, her face tired yet gentle.
Sara grinned. "Morning, sleepyhead! Stayed up thinking again?"
Parsa smiled back weakly. "Yeah. Just had a weird dream."
Nasrin's eyes softened. "A dream? What did you see, my son?"
Parsa hesitated. "Nothing special… just fog. And… a voice. Calling someone's name."
The spoon in her hand clinked against the cup.
"Voices always carry meaning, dear. Maybe you just need time to understand it."
He forced a smile. "Sure, Mom. Maybe."
But the whisper lingered in his mind, louder now.
"Arian… the return is near…"
He gulped down his tea and stepped outside.
The morning air bit his skin. A thin veil of mist drifted over the streets — the same kind he remembered from that "dream."
"No," he told himself. "It's just fog. Ordinary fog."
At the corner, he spotted the newspaper boy again, talking to an old man.
Curious, Parsa slowed his pace.
"They say," the old man rasped, "a strange light appeared last night in the north.
Right when the fog lifted — a star, shining in daylight."
The boy laughed. "A star in the day? That's crazy, sir."
The old man shook his head. "You don't understand. That light didn't fall from the sky… it rose from the ground."
Parsa froze.
A light… during the day?
His hand drifted to his chest.
The mark still throbbed faintly beneath his shirt.
Inside his skull, the voice whispered again — closer than ever:
Arian… the return is near…
And softly, he muttered to himself,
"Arian… who the hell are you?"