Adaptation

Nima was sitting on a picturesque beach, his body basking in the warmth of the sun's embrace. The wind tousled his brown hair, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of salt in the air. His pale skin absorbed the gentle touch of the sun's rays, leaving a faint kiss of color on his cheeks.

As Nima gazed out at the vast expanse of the ocean, he felt a sense of freedom and tranquility wash over him. The crashing waves provided a soothing soundtrack, their rhythmic melody merging with the laughter and playful chatter of children nearby. One kid diligently crafted a seashell bracelet, while another poured his imagination into the creation of a lopsided sand castle.

In this ordinary scene, Nima discovered a comforting refuge from all of his worries. The simplicity of the beach, the sounds of joy, and the caress of the sun created a cocoon of coziness. It was a moment of respite, where worries melted away, and a serene calm settled within his being.

Nima's blissful moment on the beach was interrupted by the familiar voice of his sister calling out to him. He turned towards her with a smile, as she offered him the tempting proposition of an ice cream cone. Delighted by the offer, he eagerly accepted.

Shortly after, the girl returned, holding two generous scoops of creamy vanilla ice cream atop delicate cones. They settled down side by side, enjoying the sweet treats as their laughter and playful banter filled the air.

Savoring the delightful flavors and relishing the simple joy of being in his sister's company, Nima's heart felt light and content. The laughter that bubbled between them was infectious, lifting their spirits and pushing aside the weight of the world.

As they savored the last remnants of their ice cream, Nima couldn't help but feel a profound gratitude for these moments of respite, where worries were forgotten, replaced by a sense of belonging and love.

As Nima gradually emerged from the depths of unconsciousness, his senses became attuned to the world around him. The distant sound of a thud reached his ears. With each passing moment, he became more aware of the boy beside him, his muffled voice carrying hints of discomfort and pain.

With caution, Nima opened his eyes, allowing his gaze to wander from the injured boy to his own self. He saw the oversized clothes hanging loosely on his slender frame, a visual reminder of his small stature. His eyes then drifted downward, landing on his feet adorned only with pastel blue socks, printed in whimsical bunny patterns.

Instinctively, his hand sought the comfort of his shark tooth necklace, his fingers tracing the smooth surface. Relief washed over him as he confirmed its presence, a small token of familiarity amidst the uncertainty of their surroundings. It was a tangible reminder of who he was, a source of solace in an unfamiliar place.

The other boy grunted in pain, his hand pressed against his forehead. As Nima gradually awakened, he noticed the boy's gaze fixated on him, their eyes meeting in a brief exchange. In those fleeting seconds, Nima sensed a mixture of guarded curiosity and a touch of vulnerability. However, the other boy's expression remained unchanged as he grunted and quickly looked away.

The evasive boy exuded an aura of defiance and resilience. He was the same age of Nima, yet his angular features seemed etched with a sense of ruggedness, accentuated by the tousled strands of his black DIY mullet that fell rebelliously across his forehead. His piercing icy eyes were glacial and intense. His attire reflected his nonchalant demeanor: a worn leather jacket, ripped jeans, and a pair of motorcycle boots.

In the dimly lit room, the tough boy's expression remained stoic, save for the occasional grimace of pain as he continued to hold his forehead. Despite the discomfort, his countenance revealed a determined spirit, refusing to show weakness or vulnerability in the face of their predicament.

As Nima observed the other boy, his heart softened with empathy, recognizing the pain masked beneath the tough exterior. There was something intriguing about this resilient yet wounded soul.

Nima, concerned about the boy's well-being, couldn't hold back his question any longer. "Hi, my name is Nima. Are you okay?" he asked, his voice carrying a genuine tone of concern.

With a snort of disbelief, the boy responded in a manner that conveyed both dismissiveness and a hint of sarcasm. "Boy, you look like the one who's not okay here. You look like a twig," he retorted, his words laced with biting mockery.

Frowning at the boy's response, Nima fell silent, choosing to avert his gaze. He shut down his attempt at conversation, feeling a mixture of self-consciousness and mild offense. However, after a few moments, Nima's curiosity got the better of him, and he mustered the courage to steal another glance at the boy.

"What happened to your head?" Nima inquired tentatively, his voice reflecting both genuine concern and a desire to connect.

The boy grunted once again, his eyes meeting Nima's with a piercing stare. His frustration was evident as he responded sharply, "Do I look like I know?" There was a sense of anger and bewilderment in his voice as he added, "Where the hell are we anyway?"

Nima's eyes instinctively roamed the room, taking in the starkness of their surroundings. The flickering lights overhead emitted a low, unsettling buzz, casting an eerie glow upon the cold, grey walls that seemed to enclose them. The atmosphere was undeniably menacing, devoid of any comfort or familiarity.

The rough boy, frustration etched on his face, rose from his position and approached the worn-out blue couch with a forceful thud. He settled onto it, a mixture of tension and discomfort evident in his posture, yet still gripping his forehead in a sign of lingering pain.

Observing the other boy's actions, Nima stayed still for a moment, his eyes tracing the contours of the room. Slowly, he maneuvered his upper body into a sitting position. With delicate fingers, he continued to fidget with the familiar shark tooth pendant hanging around his neck, seeking solace in its presence.

The other boy's gaze flickered briefly towards Nima, his attention momentarily diverted from his own distress. "Are you really gonna just sit there, twig?" he asked.

"I can't move. My legs have been paralyzed since I was born." Nima's response was free from any sadness or self-pity.

A flicker of surprise danced across the other boy's features as he absorbed this newfound knowledge. His icy eyes locked with Nima's, silent contemplation filling the space between them. After a moment, he ventured further. "You can't move at all? Not even with crutches?"

Nima's shrug held a mixture of acceptance and longing. "Kind of. I can manage a few steps with crutches, but my legs have limited sensation. It's a struggle, but I've learned to adapt."

The other boy acknowledged Nima's response with a nod, the tough exterior still etched upon his features. His gaze swept across the room, a determination in his eyes as he rose to his feet and made his way to the coffee table's drawer. With a rummage of his hands, he unearthed a trove of items—a length of thick white string, twisted under a label that said "Cat's Cradle", a Rubik's Cube, and a handful of dice.

Gathering the string in his grasp, he left the drawer in disarray, seemingly unbothered by the disorder he had created. "What are you doing?" asked Nima, his question left unanswered as the other boy remained focused on his task. Moving towards one of the scattered wooden chairs, he seized it with a forceful motion, breaking it upon his knee.

Nima instinctively shielded his head with his arms, a reflex born out of self-preservation. The other boy's eyes rolled at the gesture, understanding the misinterpretation. Undeterred, he continued to dismantle the chair, separating the legs from the rest of the structure. With nimble hands, he skillfully intertwined the legs together using the length of string, fashioning them into makeshift poles. The backrest of the chair served as an impromptu underarm support.

"Here are your new crutches," the boy declared, approaching Nima with apparent indifference. Nima regarded him with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude, hesitantly accepting the boy's aid as he rose to his feet, finding a bit of stability with the wonky crutches. The boy's voice carried a hint of sarcasm, "Not like the ones you have at home, I imagine, but they'll have to do, twig."

"Thank you..." Nima pronounced softly, being interrupted by the boy who had just helped him.

"It's Raven", the boy finally said.