The second year of Euclid's life arrived not with celebration, but with scars. His heart still carried the heaviness of a breakup that had left him trembling in silence. He thought the world had taken everything from him—first his father, then his trust, and now even the love he had held onto like a lifeline.
But fate has a strange way of sending people when you need them most.
That person was Ahmad Hassan Farid—known to everyone as AHF.
Euclid still remembers the first night after his heartbreak, when the weight was too much to bear. His tears had blurred the walls of his room, and his chest ached with a pain that words could never describe. In that fragile state, he went to AHF's house. His feet carried him without thought, only desperation. When AHF opened the door and saw him, broken and shivering with grief, he didn't ask for explanations. He didn't need to.
He simply pulled Euclid into his space and gave him the comfort he had been searching for.
"You'll be fine," AHF had said, his voice steady, the kind of voice that could stabilize a storm. And somehow, Euclid believed him.
From that night, AHF became more than just a school friend. He became the anchor Euclid never knew he needed.
For one whole month, every night, AHF showed up for him. He would arrive on his bike, headlights cutting through the sleepy streets, and call out to Euclid like a brother waking his sibling. Together they would ride into the night—sometimes toward the edge of town, sometimes down empty roads where the air was cold and free. The speed of the bike, the noise of the engine, the wind striking their faces—it felt like medicine.
In those rides, Euclid found moments of peace. His mind would stop replaying the heartbreak, and his heart would remember what it meant to be alive. He looked at AHF and thought, This boy is not a friend—he's a diamond, a treasure in human form.
But AHF was not only a friend. He was also an artist.
Music lived inside him. His voice carried power, emotion, and a raw beauty that no professional stage had yet discovered. He wasn't trained, but when he sang, even the silence leaned closer to listen.
And then there was the guitar—his companion. The way his fingers danced across the strings made Euclid wonder how someone so young could hold so much soul in his art. The chords seemed to carry hidden emotions, as if every note carried a secret confession.
Whenever AHF sang, Euclid forgot the world. The pain dimmed, the past felt lighter, and hope stretched out its hand again.
In that dark season, AHF was both the light and the song that held Euclid together.
But Euclid was not someone who drowned himself in sorrow for too long. His second year was also a turning point. After the heartbreak, after the endless nights of feeling lost, he made a promise to himself:
If I can't control the storms of the heart, I can at least control how hard I fight for my future.
So he worked. Harder than before. Days were consumed by books, nights by revision. He studied not only with his mind but with his heart, trying to stitch himself back together through discipline. Every page of his textbooks became a silent witness to his determination.
It wasn't easy—pain has a way of distracting you, pulling you back into memories you want to escape—but Euclid kept fighting.
Two months passed like this.
And then… she appeared.
She wasn't just a girl. To Euclid, she was beauty shaped in human form, a charm that couldn't be explained with words alone. She came like spring after a harsh winter—unexpected, refreshing, and impossible to ignore.
The first time they spoke, Euclid found himself telling her about the breakup. He had no intention of sharing, but her presence made it easy, like she was someone who was born to listen.
She didn't judge. She didn't say empty words. Instead, she looked at him with eyes that carried understanding and told him her own story. She spoke of her struggles, her strength, and the way she had survived her own storms.
In that exchange, something unspoken passed between them. It wasn't love at first sight. It wasn't a sudden fire. It was a slow warmth, a careful trust that grew day by day.
Euclid didn't know who fell first—whether it was her heart leaning toward him, or his heart reaching out to her. But what he did know was simple: they were falling, together.
And yet, there were limits. They were young, aware of the lines that should not be crossed. Their love was not reckless but respectful, deep yet disciplined. In that boundary, they found something rare—an affection that was pure, honest, and strong.
When Euclid looked back at his second year, he realized it was not defined by heartbreak alone. It was a year of discovery—of diamonds like AHF, of new strength within himself, and of a love that reminded him that even after storms, hearts can bloom again.
💎 AHF had given him brotherhood.📚 Hard work had given him focus.❤️ And she had given him hope.
The second year was no longer just about loss. It was about rising again, one step, one song, one heartbeat at a time.