🇬🇧 Where No Heroes Come — 10 —

CHAPTER 10 Decision The passing years do not erase what happened, but they do change the way others look at him, because the boy who survived the fire is no longer so small. Urame is now seventeen years old, with red hair that is slightly neater than it was during his childhood and pink eyes that hold a constant calm many interpret as maturity, although in reality it is a form of control he has continued perfecting over time until it has become part of him. Durim and Estamia’s house remains quiet, orderly, and silent much of the time, preserving the stability they both tried to give him from the moment he came to live with them. However, Urame understands the differences between them better than before, because Durim, with his light brown hair and warm eyes, usually approaches him naturally, using a kind tone even when discussing serious matters, while Estamia, whose dark hair is almost always tied back and whose attentive eyes are gray, shows her affection in a drier and more restrained way, as though she does not know how to express concern without turning it into a precise observation. That afternoon, the three of them are sitting around the dining table, with several papers spread out in front of them: information about universities, degree options, possible scholarships, and figures written in a notebook where Durim has carefully calculated the expenses, trying to make everything feel like a normal family conversation even though, deep down, they all know they are talking about Urame’s future. “So… marketing,” Durim says, looking at one of the brochures before raising his eyes toward him with a small smile. “Is that what interests you most?” Urame nods calmly as he looks at the documents on the table, keeping his hands near the notebook without touching it yet, as though he were allowing his aunt and uncle to take part in the decision, although in reality he has been thinking about it for a long time. “Yes. I think I would be good at it,” he replies calmly. Durim smiles a little more, as though the answer seems logical to him, because he has watched Urame grow into a diligent and responsible young man, capable of adapting to almost any situation without drawing too much attention, something Durim has always considered a sign of intelligence and composure. Estamia does not smile immediately, but she watches him carefully from the other side of the table, paying attention to his tone, the quiet confidence with which he speaks, and the way he looks at the papers as though he had already calculated every possibility before sitting down with them. “Marketing is not only about making advertisements,” she comments in a neutral tone, sounding neither critical nor accommodating. “It is about understanding people, selling ideas, and knowing what each person wants to hear.” Urame raises his gaze toward her and maintains a calm, almost friendly expression, although inside he understands perfectly what she has just said and knows that, in some way, Estamia has come closer to the truth than she realizes. “I know,” he replies. “That is why it interests me.” Durim places the pen on the table and looks between them, noticing the subtle tension that sometimes appears when Estamia tries to assess Urame and he responds with a calmness that never quite breaks. “I think it is a good choice,” Durim says, trying to soften the atmosphere. “Besides, if you later want to study public relations or complement it with another degree, we can look into it when the time comes.” Urame lowers his gaze toward the papers and slowly nods, considering those options with a seriousness he does not fully show, because he knows public relations would also be useful to him, just like any education that teaches him how an image is constructed, how a reputation is protected, and how people’s attention can be directed toward a specific place without making it seem too obvious. For years, he has understood that strength is not always the most effective way to change a situation, because a word placed at the right moment can move someone more than a blow ever could, and an image repeated enough times can make an entire city forgive the unforgivable. He learned that by watching the heroes. He learned that by watching the world. And now he wants to learn how to use it better. “You do not need to worry about the money right now,” Durim says while reviewing the figures in the notebook. “We can help you with part of it, and we can also apply for financial aid for university. It will not be easy, but we can do it.” Urame looks at him for a few seconds, feeling a brief discomfort that he does not allow to show, because Durim is speaking sincerely, with that simple affection that asks for nothing in return, and for an instant he understands that this conversation is the closest thing to a normal family he has had since that night. “Thank you,” he finally says in a calm voice. Durim nods, satisfied with that answer. Estamia, however, continues watching him, resting her fingers on the table while keeping her gaze fixed on him with that attention Urame knows far too well. “Is it only because you are good at it?” she asks after a few seconds. Durim glances at her from the corner of his eye, as though he thinks there may be no need to press him so much, but he says nothing. Urame does not look away. He knows Estamia is not asking about the degree. Not entirely. She is asking about his intentions. That is why he smiles faintly, just enough to appear calm, and answers with carefully selected honesty, the kind that is not a lie but does not reveal everything either. “I am good at observing people and understanding how they react,” he says calmly. “I think I can do something useful with that.” Estamia watches him for a few more seconds. Too many. As though she wants to find something hidden behind those words. But she cannot accuse him of anything. There is nothing strange about wanting to study marketing. There is nothing unusual about talking about the future. There is nothing wrong with wanting to find a path. And that is precisely why Urame maintains his serene expression, because he understands that the best decisions are those that appear normal even when they conceal something deeper. Durim turns his attention back to the papers and begins talking about deadlines, enrolment, applications, and possible financial aid, listing the specific steps they must take so everything can be completed in time. Urame listens carefully and answers when necessary, storing every detail, every date, and every possibility as part of a plan that does not yet have a complete form but is already beginning to unfold before him. During dinner, the conversation becomes lighter, with Durim talking about his own youth and how lost he felt when he had to choose a path, while Estamia occasionally adds a practical correction, reminding Urame not to become overconfident and that university will not be like school. Urame listens. Nods. Answers. Smiles when appropriate. From the outside, he looks like a calm young man talking with his aunt and uncle about his future, someone who has endured a tragedy and still managed to remain standing, someone who might perhaps have a normal life if he continues along that path. But inside, while he listens to Durim talk about scholarships and Estamia talk about effort, Urame is thinking about something else. He thinks about the heroes. Their advertisements. Their speeches. Their interviews. The way the world looks at them. He thinks about how a lie can become the truth if it is repeated carefully enough, how a clean image can cover blood, smoke, and ash, and how people prefer to believe something comforting rather than look at what is directly in front of them. And as he thinks about it, he understands that university will not only be a place to study. It will be a place to learn tools. Names. Techniques. Methods. The correct terms for things he began to understand long ago. When dinner ends, he helps clear the table as always, carrying the plates into the kitchen while Durim continues speaking with a certain excitement about the possibilities and Estamia remains silent, occasionally observing him with that gaze that never truly rests. Later, in his room, Urame sits at his desk and places the university brochures beside his notebooks, arranging them carefully while the light from the lamp illuminates his face and his reflection in the window shows him that serene image he has learned to maintain. Red hair. Pink eyes. Seventeen years old. An entire life ahead of him, as others would say. Urame places his fingers on one of the brochures bearing the word marketing and stares at it for a few seconds, feeling how that decision fits with everything he has silently learned since childhood. Fire can destroy a room. Strength can break a body. Levitation can move objects without touching them. But a well-placed idea can move thousands of people without any of them realizing it. Urame picks up a pen and writes several words on a separate sheet of paper, small and orderly, as though he were making an ordinary study list. Image. Trust. Fear. Need. Control. He stares at those words for a few seconds before calmly closing the notebook, leaving everything in its place as though he were only preparing himself for the future his aunt and uncle believe they understand. From the outside, his decision seems simple. Study. Enter university. Build a life. But to Urame, it means something more. It means learning the language of the world that chose to believe in heroes. And when the time comes… using that same language to break them.