Prologue
Some journeys begin with a glance.
Some – with a question you’ve carried too long.
And some, like this one, begin in silence.
A silence so deep, it hums beneath your skin.
Efendi had crossed mountains for love.
He had built a family not from tradition,
but from tenderness, risk, and soul.
He had laughed with Jenny in Berlin,
watched Cindy sleep under foreign stars.
And now —
he stood in a land of heat, glass towers, and ancient winds: Kuwait.
He came not searching for someone —
but for something he couldn’t yet name.
A truth, perhaps. A wound that hadn’t healed.
A question about who he was now —
as a man, a father, a witness.
Kuwait didn’t greet him with answers.
It offered stories.
Stories of justice and cruelty.
Of women whose voices echoed behind closed doors.
Of children who knew too much too soon.
Of laughter in the shadow of fear.
And Efendi listened.
As he always had.
But this time, his heart didn't just listen —
it remembered.
Because sometimes, to find peace,
you must face the stories
you once turned away from.
Chapter 1. Kuwait’s Story. Said’s Birthday
The house was full of life from early morning. Bright and spacious, overlooking the garden and a fountain made of volcanic stone, Efendi’s home was preparing to welcome dear guests. The occasion was special – the birthday of little Said, the son of Efendi and Cindy.
By evening, friends gathered in the courtyard. Jovial Ivan arrived, along with energetic Natasha, eccentric Jenny, elegant Doha, and Mr. Kuwait – an old comrade of Efendi’s from their student days.
The scent of pilaf and grilled kebabs filled the air. Music played, children ran around clowns and inflatable balloons. At the festively set table adorned with golden fruits and fresh flowers, there was a lighthearted nostalgia and the promise of unexpected revelations.
Jenny and the Song
After a few glasses of fermented mare’s milk, Jenny went to take a shower. Soon, the whole party heard her voice, singing from behind the door with mock passion:
“She wanted to live in Manhattan-a-a, In one bed with Tom Cruise-e-e, Columbia Pictures does not prese-e-ent…” Everyone laughed. Except Efendi – who suddenly froze. A thought struck him: Her son… he looks too much like me. Could he be mine? He lowered his eyes, lost in thought. But the idea slipped away like a shadow. He didn’t want to darken the evening with doubt.
Kuwait’s Story
As dessert was served, Cindy turned respectfully to Mr. Kuwait:
– Mr. Kuwait, tell us – what have you been doing all these years? What has life brought you?
Kuwait, a stern man in a crisp white shirt, smoothed his mustache and began:
– Efendi and I studied together. I later went to military school and became a pilot. Eventually, I transferred to the military prosecutor’s office. My first case was the murder of a female soldier. It still haunts me.
– Tell us! – Natasha leaned forward.
Kuwait nodded:
– She was found dead in her apartment. Her mother grew alarmed – she’d tried calling all day, no answer. She came over, used her spare key, and found her daughter in the bedroom. No signs of a struggle, no forced entry. The autopsy said it was strangulation. Estimated time of death – several days earlier.
He paused. The courtyard grew quiet.
– She was strong, physically trained – not someone who’d give up easily. A necklace, a notebook, and a phone were missing. But cash was left untouched – strange. No fingerprints. Only a transit card – our only clue.
– Was she seeing someone? – Jenny returned to the table, wrapped in a robe.
– Yes. A friend revealed she’d been dating a military man – someone on a temporary posting. And she had a neighbor named Mars.
