Feroz stood still.
The lonely wooden door was far away.
It had no walls.
No house.
No road leading to it.
Just a single door standing in the empty white world.
Many eyes were carved into the wood.
Only one of them was open.
It was watching him.
Feroz looked at Mariam.
"Do I have to go?"
Mariam smiled.
"You already decided."
"I did?"
"You took your first step."
Feroz looked down.
She was right.
Without thinking, he had already moved toward the door.
He sighed.
"So I really don't get a choice."
"You always have a choice."
"You simply made it before asking."
Feroz smiled a little.
"I'm starting to notice that happens a lot."
"It happens to everyone."
They walked together.
The white world stayed silent.
No wind.
No sound.
Only their footsteps.
After a while, Feroz spoke.
"Why did you teach Rahim?"
Mariam kept walking.
"For the same reason I am teaching you."
"Because he chose the Learning Path?"
"Yes."
"Were you also Qadir's teacher?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I guided him."
"Was he like me?"
She smiled softly.
"No."
Feroz looked surprised.
"Not at all?"
"You ask because you want to know if your father was born special."
Feroz looked away.
"...Maybe."
Mariam stopped walking.
She looked straight at him.
"Qadir became special."
"He was not born that way."
Those words stayed in Feroz's mind.
His whole life, people had spoken about Qadir like he was a legend.
It was strange to imagine him as an ordinary man.
They reached the door.
Up close, it looked old.
Very old.
The wood was cracked.
The metal handle was covered with rust.
Hundreds of tiny eyes covered its surface.
Most were closed.
Only one remained open.
Watching him.
Feroz reached for the handle.
Before he touched it...
A voice spoke.
"What are you looking for?"
Feroz looked around.
Nobody was there.
Mariam said nothing.
The voice came again.
"What are you looking for?"
Feroz answered honestly.
"The truth."
Nothing happened.
The voice spoke again.
"No."
Feroz frowned.
"What?"
"Try again."
He became annoyed.
"I am looking for answers."
Silence.
Then—
"No."
Feroz rubbed his forehead.
"Seriously?"
He looked at Mariam.
She only smiled.
Of course.
No help.
Feroz took a deep breath.
He thought carefully.
Why was he really here?
Was it because of the Tree?
Because of Vaheen?
Because of Qadir?
Because of Rahim?
Or...
Because he was afraid?
Slowly...
He understood.
He looked at the door again.
"I'm looking for a way..."
"...to stop being afraid."
The white world became brighter.
One more eye on the door opened.
Feroz blinked.
"So that was the answer?"
Mariam shook her head.
"It was your answer."
The voice returned.
"What are you willing to lose?"
Feroz froze.
He remembered the crossroads.
Learning.
Change.
Loss.
This question felt connected.
He answered slowly.
"My fear."
Silence.
Then—
"No."
Feroz sighed loudly.
"I knew you were going to say that."
For the first time...
Mariam laughed.
A real laugh.
"You are learning."
"I don't feel like I am."
"You answered too quickly."
Feroz became quiet.
Rahim's warning came back.
Do not choose too quickly.
Even answers could be choices.
He closed his eyes.
This time...
He didn't rush.
He thought about Haroon.
Mrs. Aliya.
Yusuf.
Ayan.
Haya.
Even Zarqaan.
Then he thought about himself.
Finally, he spoke.
"I don't know."
The moment those words left his mouth...
Five more eyes opened.
Golden light spread across the old door.
Feroz stared in surprise.
"I was right?"
Mariam smiled.
"No."
"You were honest."
The rusty handle unlocked by itself.
Click.
The door slowly opened.
This time...
There was something behind it.
A long hallway.
The walls were covered with hundreds of paintings.
Every painting showed a different person.
Some were children.
Some were old.
Some were smiling.
Some were crying.
Some looked familiar.
Others did not.
Feroz stepped inside.
He looked at the first painting.
It showed a young boy standing beside a river.
At the bottom was a single sentence.
"He chose revenge."
The second painting showed an old woman.
"She chose fear."
The third showed a man carrying a sword.
"He chose pride."
Feroz slowly walked forward.
Every painting told the same kind of story.
Not who the person was.
But...
The choice that defined them.
His heartbeat became slower.
Then...
He stopped.
Near the end of the hallway...
He saw a familiar face.
Qadir Khan.
The painting was covered by a white cloth.
As if someone did not want anyone to see it.
Feroz whispered,
"...Father."
He slowly walked toward it.
Just before he reached the cloth—
A calm voice echoed through the hallway.
"You are not ready."
Feroz turned.
Suleiman stood at the other end of the hall.
He wasn't looking at Feroz.
He was looking at Qadir's covered painting.
Without taking his eyes off it, Suleiman spoke.
"Some truths become dangerous..."
"...when they arrive before understanding."
Feroz looked back at the covered painting.
For the first time...
He didn't try to pull the cloth away.
He simply stood there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Learning.