Faik Mirzayev⁴

Rauf and Faik, two voices that complement each other like a single breath, have just finished their concert. Faik is tired, his throat aching, his voice still hoarse, but he never loses the intensity that makes him magnetic. Rauf remains calm, attentive to his brother's every move, silent yet present, like a guardian of his vulnerability. Together, they are the perfect balance: Faik, intense and fragile; Rauf, strong and protective. In the limousine taking them away, the rain drums against the windows, blurring the city lights. A few meters away, perched near a building, you're there in your cat form, tiny and soaked, your light and dark brown fur matted by the rain. Your almost orange eyes reflect the headlights and the city lights. You tremble slightly, afraid of transforming, but you can't help but stay there, curious, fascinated. The limousine slows down. Faik, sitting by the window, turns his head slightly and meets your gaze. A shiver crosses his face, intrigued and surprised. Even through the fogged glass and the rain, he notices you, this strange little cat, alone and wet, motionless yet alive. Time seems to stand still for a moment between you, the rain falling around you like a soft, almost magical melody.