Wings of Freedom

Everything changed when Samer, my childhood friend, began to ignore me after learning he would never walk again. We used to play and laugh without worries, but when something inside him broke, his silence became a wall separating us.

He spent his time staring out the window, his eyes following the birds as they soared across the sky. I watched him silently, realizing his heart was trapped in pain, yet he didn’t know how to express it.

I tried to get closer, to tell him I was there, but my words would vanish. In my imagination, I saw him flying with the birds, returning to me with a smile—but reality was different. Samer was retreating into himself, and I missed him more each day.

He loved reading, so I brought him many books, but he never paid attention, until he became like a fading shadow in his dark world.

“And in the heart of the beehive, the little bee realized that every effort bears fruit, and that life is nothing but a harmonious dance of work and love.”

I finished reading and set the book aside.

“Do you know, Samer, I love bees so much! They are passionate and work tirelessly every day.”

He didn’t answer, so I left quietly, as always.

I walked out of the center with heavy steps, feeling the weight of helplessness pressing on my chest. As I wandered aimlessly, I noticed an old man sitting on the sidewalk, folding colorful paper.

I approached and asked, “Is this a kite?”

He smiled. “Yes, a kite… it flies when the wind carries it.”

He watched me follow the kite with wide, amazed eyes, my breaths quickening as if something inside me wanted to soar with it. He smiled quietly, as if he saw a dream being born in my eyes.

“Sir, can you make one for me?”

He laughed. “Make your own kite. You’ll truly feel the joy of flying then.”

My disappointment didn’t last long; excitement flared in my eyes, and I rushed home determined to craft my own kite.

Days passed as I worked hard on my kite. Though I failed several times, I never gave up. I tried again and again until the day I finally succeeded, watching my kite soar, carrying my joy with it.

I hurried to the care center, holding my kite, my heart beating with eagerness to share my achievement with Samer. I gently opened his room door and saw him as usual, eyes fixed on the sky through the window.

“Samer, look what I made!” I called out excitedly, then released the kite into the air.

For the first time, I saw Samer amazed by something. He watched the kite carefully, his eyes following it as it floated—he didn’t care about anything else in the world at that moment. That kite represented all he wished to achieve, all he had lost when he learned he would never walk again.

“Let’s make one for you too. It would be wonderful if we could fly together!”

Silence fell for a moment. Samer looked at me for a long time, as if searching for words. Then he spoke softly:

“But I can’t fly, Leila.”

For the first time in months, I heard his voice, yet his words weighed heavily on my heart. I didn’t want his first words to me to carry such pain.

I watched Samer’s eyes, filled with a teary glimmer. He looked at me as if his words didn’t only express his pain but also everything he had lost, everything he had hoped for.

“I didn’t mean that, Samer,” I whispered, my voice trembling, trying to hide my hurt.

“You know I’ll never walk again. Why do you go through all this trouble?” he said, his voice heavy with surrender.

I held his hand, trying to reach him and explain my intention, but words failed me.

He turned his back, speaking coldly: “Please, leave.”

I felt the world collapse around me, as if the walls of the room had closed in.

I left his room with a heavy heart, knowing Samer was suffering, but his words pierced me deeply. Why did he push me away? Why didn’t he see that I was trying to be there for him?

I sat in my room, thoughts circling me between giving up and the fear of losing him forever.

Tears poured from my eyes as if cleansing my soul from sorrow.

I didn’t see him for a long time. Yet, our memories kept drawing me back. I didn’t want our bond to end this way.

After preparing everything, I borrowed a wheelchair and returned to him. I found him in his usual spot, but this time, he wasn’t staring out the window; he was looking toward the door, as if he had been waiting for me all along.

“Let’s go, Samer,” I said firmly, leaving no room for refusal.

He grumbled along the way, while I silently guided him to the top of the hill.

The wind was gentle, and tall grasses surrounded us, kites dancing in the breeze.

“This is the place, Samer. Here, we can fly together.”

I placed a kite in his hands. “Make it soar.”

Samer hesitated for a moment, then released it. It floated lightly, swaying with the wind as if carrying a part of his soul, transcending the boundaries he thought would forever confine him.

“Look, the wind carries it!”

I looked at him and saw tears streaming down his face. He approached, whispering softly: “Do you like this place?”

He lowered his head, as if all the feelings he had suppressed exploded at once. His eyes were full of tears, yet not of pain alone—but of gratitude.

“I’m sorry, Leila… I’ve been running away all this time.”

A mixture of pain and joy ran through him, as if his tears were a delayed message carrying both his sorrow and his hope. He was no longer alone. Leila was still here, extending a hand of support.

“When his dreams shattered, he fell into silent isolation… and when she thought she had lost him forever, she discovered that some doors only open in unexpected ways.”

Samer, the boy whose spirit had been broken after losing the ability to walk, had shut himself off and become a prisoner of silence. Leila, his devoted friend, tried with all her might to touch his broken heart and bring him back to life, facing a wall of silence that seemed impenetrable.