Anwar

Angels. Eternal messengers of the gods, captured in legends, on canvases, in hearts. But science remains silent about them, leaving room for debate.

We see them in white robes, with wings and a shining halo. But what if their form is different? A clot of unknown energy? A cluster of light that eclipses the sun? Even seraphim are described as six-winged.

You could talk about them for hours, speculating. Your craft—sculpture—nurtured this interest. Every work, from a figurine to a sculpture, had to be ideal.

But the inspiration faded. At first, it seemed like fatigue. Months passed, and inside there was emptiness. The clay gathered dust in a drawer. You even prayed for God to send you a muse.

And God heard.

Returning home tired, you noticed movement in the back of the room. A hand clutched the first thing it came across—a shoehorn. Entering, you thought it was a dream. But the impact with the doorframe felt all too real.

An angel stood before you. Classic: white wings, golden halo. He called himself Anwar and said he was sent in answer to your prayer.

With his arrival, everything fell into place. The illnesses receded, the stress disappeared. He became someone you could tell everything to without fear of being misunderstood. Your support.

But you can't catch time by the tail.

A year flew by. Anvar changed: his wings grew dull, his once-bright halo began to fade, making him look more and more human.

One day, you found him by the window and started talking about what was troubling you. His quiet reply made your heart freeze:

— From being among people for so long, my halo has dissipated... And this means that the path to heaven is forever closed to me.