A light-brown, wavy-haired boy with deep green, sparkling almond eyes and long lashes...

His eyes half-open, a pearl-like sweat drop resting on his sharp, pointy nose. Lost in a reverie, his long neck slightly tilted, sweat drops on his Adam's apple, and the veins of his neck shining like diamonds in the dark, deep, rainy weather.

He slightly moves his neck to the other side, looking outside. Rain is falling slowly on red roses. His heart-shaped, slightly pink lips utter:

“Is this peace?

Is this actually peace? Why can't I feel it then?”

Staring at the open window again, nobody knows what he is thinking...

A quiet beauty with long, shining hair and dark brown eyes is stuck in Milan's beauty, silently admiring him.

Alay thinks, *Why is he so ethereal?*

Milan suddenly looks at Alay.

“Hey, Alay, do you want any help?” he asks in his deep, husky voice.

“Ahh, no, no.”

Milan smiles.

“Okay.”

Then he starts looking at the window again, like he is trying to find something there. He has been sitting at this seat for three years of university.

“Alay?”

“Milan?”

“Haa, yes, Alay.”

“I was trying to ask you something for a long time. Ahmm... I don't think I should, but I really wanted to. I know you for three years.”

“Yeaa, what do you want to know?” Milan asks in his slow, slightly deep way that confuses Alay every time.

“Milan...”

“Yes, Alay. I am all ears.”

His deep, sparkly eyes look straight into Alay's eyes.

“Yea...”

“What's the thing you're curious about?”

Alay hesitates.

“Milan, we've known each other for three years.”

“Yea, we do.”

“I still feel like I know nothing about you. How can you—”

Milan looks at her.

“Hmmmmm... you know nothing?”

“Yea.”

“What is it you want to know?”

Alay looks at him.

“You... you are such a profoundly discerning soul.”

Milan laughs slightly.

“Wellll, thanksss, Alay. A great compliment.”

“No, no, it's not.”

“I... I—”

“Alay, don't hesitate,” Milan says in a slightly flirty way. “Hmmmm... what's bothering you?”

“I still don't understand... I... if I am actually your friend or not, or am I nothing? You... you make me feel like I... I am nothing.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do. You do that.”

“Nobody can make anyone feel nothing. It's yourself who is making you feel like that.”

“Ahhhh, whattt?!!! Me? How can I—”

“You are the one who thinks you are nothing, not me, Alay. It's definitely you. It's you.”

In his usual emotionless yet deeply affecting voice.

“Me... I... I am leaving.”

“Sure. Have a peaceful day. Yet peace is the hardest thing to get in this ephemeral realm.”

“Milan, why can't you feel it...? Are you... are you even a human? You damn monster!”

Alay leaves the classroom with misty eyes.

“Yea... a monster with no emotions.”

Milan walks back and sits on that chair again, looking out of the window.

“The skies are weeping heavier tears, like humans... hmmmm. But I'm a human too. Do I cry sometimes?”

Milan whispers to himself.

“Who am I? Milan? A name given by my parents... What makes me *me*? My name? Or me? Hmmm...”

Milan keeps thinking.

The boys look at him.

“A weirdo.”

“He is a perfect weirdo.”

They laugh.

“Do you know, guys? He can speak a lot of languages.”

“Yea, yea. Maybe Arabic, Spanish, something.”

“Yea, yea!”

“HAYYY, MILAN! MR. PERFECTO! Come play football with us!”

“Ohhh, yeaa, guysss, coming. But you know, playing with your grades is the best sport.”

Milan walks toward them. Everyone laughs.

“Hey, I heard you got 70 percent.”

“Yeaaa, I don't know howww. It just came like my pocket money.”

Everyone laughs.

“Let's go, buddies!”

“Where?! I don't want to wash my clothes today, so no football.”

Peter looks at him.

“Oowhhh, my Mr. Perfecto, I will wash it for you. Don't worry.”

“Hey, Milan... why didn't you help Vim? He is literally in the hospital,” another classmate, Park, says.

“Yea, I heard his condition was serious.”

“Help? He didn't ask me to help. How can I help?”

“He was not able to speak. How could he ask you to help?” Peter says.

“Yeaaa... help. How can I help?”

Milan thinks:

*How can I help? I don't know how to help. Help... help... help...*

The boys walk through the corridor and finally reach the green playground, glowing green and surrounded by many flowers.

Milan thinks:

*Why do I notice red roses only when flowers are of many kinds?*

“Let's go get the ball,” Peter says.

“Hey, stop. It's not a good idea to play here... someone can get hurt,” Park says.

“Thennnn let's go homeee!”

“Milan! Hey, Milan! Again, you're stuck in your head.”

All the boys shout:

“MILAN!”

“Yea, yea, I am here, weirdoosssss!”

“Stoppp!”

Park looks at him.

“Milan is a weird guy. Sometimes I feel threatened when I look into his eyes. I don't know... he's so scar—no. He is strange.”

Walking home with Alay and Alan, Alan says:

“Yea... strange. He feels so ethereal, yet strange sometimes.”

“Hmmm,” Alay says.

“Do you guys have any issue?” Alan asks Alay.

“No. I was just feeling angry toward him. I don't know why. Just leave it.”

“Okayy, okayy. Let's eat pizzaaa, guysss!”

“Yea, guys, weather is perfect,” Park says.

Milan and Peter are going home.

“Milan, buddy, I am starving soooooo—something... I ammm dyinnngggg!”

“Stop it, or I will throw you in this lakeee! STOPPPPPPPPP!”

Milan shouts.

“See? I can shout too, you drama queen.”

Peter bends down slightly, then looks up at Milan.

“Will you cook for me?” he asks in a slow, flirty way.

“Yea, I will.”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? What do I want? Ahhhhh!”

“How can I know?! Telllll meee!”

“Let's make pasta and—”

“Peter, let's buy ice cream on the way.”

“Ohhh yeaaa! Good. Do it.”

“Olieee, my Mr. Perfecto. Whatever you say, I obey.”

Both walk toward Milan's home. Green fields surround them, and after every small distance there are beautiful little food points, clothing stores, drink corners, and all.

People are running around with umbrellas as if a race is going to start. The weather is getting worse.

Uncle Sam shouts:

“Kidz! Runnnnn homeee! The weather is not good! Run! Don't walk like turtles! Hurry up!”

“Okayyyy, Uncle!” Milan says.

“Yesss, sirrrr! As you command!” Peter says.

Both start running.

“Myyy ice creammm!”

“Just runnnnn!” Milan shouts.

Then Milan sees a red rose in the middle of the road.

Milan blacks out for a second.

He picks up the rose.

Then starts running toward home again.

Peter arrives first.

“Milan!”

“Yes?”

“Keys! Keys!”

“Here they are.”

Peter opens the door.

“Ahhhhh, finally!”

“Milan, let's change clothes. I will get you my pajamas. Stay here.”

“Okay.”

Milan brings clothes for Peter. He has already changed himself.

“Milan, wash my dress while you take a shower, as you said.”

Peter throws his dirty clothes at him.

“My pajamas are hanging in the shower. Go get them.”

“Aowww... sad. Am I not a guest?”

“No, you are not.”

Peter looks sad.

“Don't be dramatic. Wash clothes while I cook.”

“Okayyyy. Now people are making guests do house chores. How sad.”

“Yea, yea, my respected guest.”

After twenty minutes, Peter comes out of the shower.

“Clothes are done,” Peter says.

“Nice job.”

Peter notices something.

“Is this the red rose you picked on the road?”

“Yeaaa, that one.”

“You like roses?”

Milan looks at him.

“Do I?”

Peter looks at the rose.

“They are beautiful, though. Who wouldn't like them?”

“Dinner is ready,” Milan says.

“Cominnn, my lord!”

The next day, the world awoke washed clean.

Rain-kissed blossoms were shining. It was serene and ethereal.

“Is this heaven?” Milan asks himself.

His deep eyes admire the verdant grace around him and fall for it. He looks like he died, but he is actually the most alive person on Earth at that moment.

“HAYYY, mate! Where is my breakfast?”

“Do I look like your wife or mother?” Milan shouts. “Makeeee it yourselffff, idiooottt!”

“Opsss. What do you like to eat, Sir Milan?”

“Omelet.”

“On my way!”

After breakfast, both come out for the football match.

“Sundayyyyyy! YEYYYYYY!”

“YOOOOOO!”

They start running toward the ground, passing through beautiful fields, flowers, fences, and scented meadows.

Milan suddenly stops in the middle of the way.

He closes his eyes, trying to feel where he is standing.

Peter looks at him.