Inside, there was a deafening silence.

For the first time in his life, he felt no presence of his mother.

"Mama?" he called. Silence.

He stepped forward and called louder. But the only response was emptiness.

His heart clenched with a terrible premonition.

On trembling legs, he made his way to the bed, reached out his hands, and touched her hand…

Cold.

Just like his father’s on that fateful night.

Ruslan clung to his mother’s lifeless hand, refusing to believe what had happened.

"Mama… Mommy…," he whispered, shaking with sobs. "Mommy, don’t go…"

Soon, his strength left him, and a wild, piercing scream echoed through the house.

Neighbors rushed to the sound. Among them was Rimma. She froze at the doorstep, witnessing the heartbreaking scene—Ruslan, pressed against his mother’s body, crying silently.

Rimma was the first to approach him, gently stroking his hair.

"Ruslan, I’m here, I’m with you…," she whispered.

Ruslan barely turned his head toward her. His voice carried a childlike helplessness:

"Rimma… she left me. Now I’m completely alone…"

"No, don’t say that. You’re not alone. You have me, and I won’t leave you," Rimma said firmly, squeezing his hand.

He found it strange that her touch felt different—warmer, gentler.

She was no longer just a childhood friend.

In her, he felt something new, something familiar, something close.

By morning, exhausted from grief, Ruslan fell silent. The neighbors had long since left, but Rimma remained by his side.

By ten o’clock, the house filled with people—the preparations for the funeral had begun.

Ruslan said nothing. He did not utter a word during the farewell or afterward. It was as if he was now not only blind but also deaf.

He didn’t hear the whispers behind his back. The entire village was shaken by Maya’s sudden death.

Only Rimma never took her eyes off him. She never left his side, as if afraid that he might disappear.

At the memorial, Ruslan neither ate nor drank anything. In the evening, Ibrahim unexpectedly arrived.

"I stopped by your house, but they told me you were here. My condolences, Ruslan," he said, then immediately turned to Rimma. "You look exhausted. Maybe we could take a walk?"

"Sorry, Ibrahim, but I can’t leave Ruslan alone," she whispered.

"Go, it’s okay," Ruslan suddenly said.

Rimma turned to him in surprise and exclaimed with relief:

"You spoke! I was so worried about you! But if you think I’m going to leave you, you’re wrong."

Ruslan gave a faint smile.

"Thank you, Rimma. For everything you’ve done for me. But go, you need to rest. And so do I…"

"Alright," Rimma agreed, "but on one condition—you have to eat something."

Ruslan nodded. He was eager to be alone.

The three of them had dinner together, during which Ibrahim apologized to Ruslan and expressed his condolences. Afterward, Ruslan obediently drank the calming herbal tea Rimma had prepared. Then, saying his goodbyes, he went up to his bedroom.

He couldn’t sleep for a long time. Thoughts of his mother, his loss, and his own fate tormented him. The more he thought, the clearer it became—without his parents, his life had lost all meaning. Besides, he was blind, helpless. Who needed him? What was his purpose? Why was he given so many trials?

Midnight was approaching. Darkness thickened outside the window, and the house was silent, broken only by the steady ticking of the clock. Ruslan lay there, listening to the cold silence—cold, like his soul.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced his eyes. Ruslan screamed and collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. The pain was so unbearable that he couldn’t even cry out anymore—he could only roll on the floor, clutching his head. Then, abruptly, everything went still. He gasped for breath, and with difficulty, he opened his eyes.