It had been almost two years since Adrian had seen anything beyond the depression of the slums.

  The air here was different. Not just the smell, though it didn’t reek of piss, rust, and recycled breath like back in the slums. No, this air felt different. Lighter. Like it hadn’t been filtered through misery a thousand times before reaching his lungs.

  They sat on the bench a while longer, just listening, taking it all in.

  A mother was walking with her children, yelling after them to be careful. One of them dashed ahead, laughing as he chased a falling leaf that danced just out of reach. The other crouched by the path, piling dry leaves into a mound as if it were the most significant thing in the world.

  The mother sighed, clearly exhausted, but there was no real anger in her voice.

  Adrian couldn’t look away.

  It was such a simple scene. So normal. So impossible.

  He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen anything like it. Maybe it was before the slums. Before the hospital. Before everything fell apart. His memories of that time had blurred into noise, faces without names, voices without words. But watching that family now brought something back. Not clearly, but enough to sting.

  Behind the woman and her children, a man walked with two dogs on a leash. Adrian didn’t know much about dogs, but they looked medium-sized, at least, that’s what he thought.

  They walked calmly beside the man, tongues out, tails swaying with every step. One of them barked once, playfully, and one of the kids turned and waved at it.

  There were dogs in the slums, too, but just like the people, they were different. The lack of food, the atmosphere, and the energy affected them as well. So looking at normal dogs, happy dogs by the looks of it... It just felt strange.

  He felt like he could sit here all day, just soaking in the atmosphere. It lifted his mood in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Something light brushed the top of his head.

  He flinched slightly, then reached up and pulled down a dry yellow leaf.

  “Really?” he muttered, staring at it like it had done it on purpose.

  He gave a slight shake of his head, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

  Maybe the city wasn’t so bad after all.

  He felt a minor pressure on his shoulder. Turning his head, he saw Alex pressing his hand there, trying to get his attention.

  “Let’s go. We need to feed you something decent,” Alex said, still pressing a hand to his shoulder.

  Adrian gave a slight nod, his stomach agreeing before his mouth did.

  They stood up and left the tranquility of the park behind, stepping into the heart of the city. Walking towards the street filled with food stands.

  The street was only a few blocks away, tucked just beyond the quiet edge of the park. The roads leading there were nearly empty, save for the occasional pedestrian and the hum of a car in the distance. Midday lull. Most people were at work or in school, leaving the city with an odd stillness.

  With each step, the scent of sizzling meat and aromatic spices thickened, wrapping around them like a warm breeze.

  The street opened up before them, lined on both sides with colorful stalls and makeshift grills. Smoke curled into the air, carrying the sound of crackling oil and shouting vendors.

  Some stood behind carts stacked with skewers and foil-wrapped trays, others flipped meat over open flames, calling out their specials with the practiced rhythm of someone who’d done it countless times.

  His mouth watered before he even noticed, and his stomach answered with a loud, desperate growl.

  Alex glanced sideways at him and smirked. "Smell hit you hard, huh?"

  Adrian swallowed, mouth slightly agape."Yeah, sick of stale bread and expired cans."

  Alex chuckled. “Relax, I know a guy. First one’s on me.”

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  The smell of spices and grilled meat grew stronger as they stepped deeper into the street.

  Alex caught Adrian’s eye.

  “This,” Alex said, spreading his arms like he was presenting a miracle, “is the Sizzles.”

  Adrian raised an eyebrow. “The what?”

  “The Sizzles,” Alex repeated, grinning. “They call it the Sizzles. Hear it?”

  Adrian tilted his head. Oil cracked, flames popped. He smirked.

  “Okay, fair.”

  “Told you,” Alex said, clearly pleased with himself.

  They started down the crowded street, weaving between the food stands that seemed to stretch on forever. The heat from the grills hit Adrian’s face, mixing with the smoky haze drifting lazily above the stalls.

  The first few stalls they passed were filled with skewers: meat skewers sizzling over open flames, vegetable skewers glistening with oil and spices, and even some fruit skewers, pineapple and mango slices caramelizing slowly on the grill.

  As they moved further down the street, the stalls shifted from skewers to piles of crispy fried foods. Past the fried food vendors came bubbling pots of hearty soups and stews. Then there were more vendors, their stalls brimming with dishes Adrian didn’t even recognize, strange shapes, unfamiliar colors, and scents that teased his senses in ways he couldn’t place.

  He took everything in, his eyes glistening with a mix of awe and hunger.

  This was a new experience for him; street vendors like these weren’t really a concept in the richer neighborhoods where he grew up. Most of the time, he ate at restaurants, takeaways, or whatever his mom made. The closest he’d come to this was the fast food joints he used to go to.

  After that, there were the slums, where good food was rare, and what you got were scraps or expired cans from the food bank. Donations that were pulled out of dumpsters in the city.

  Then he saw the prices, and his appetite almost vanished. It was a slap in the face, like the city was mocking him. The cheapest thing he saw was a vegetable skewer for 3 dinars. Most of the good stuff started around 5 or even 6, and full meals climbed into the double digits. His stomach growled, but his pocket whispered a warning.

  Alex noticed the flicker of doubt in Adrian’s eyes and gave him a reassuring nod. “It's my treat, remember?”

  Adrian muttered, “Thanks.”

  Alex waved him off. “Don’t start.”

  Alex seemed to feel like he owed him, even if it wasn’t said aloud. Being in a position where Alex had to cover for him was something Adrian hated. Knowing Alex was trying to escape the slums only made the weight of it heavier, making Adrian feel like he was making things harder for his friend.

  Alex led the way through the crowd, weaving between people chatting and vendors. They stopped in front of a modest stall with a battered sign reading “Old Miro’s Stews.” A thick, savory steam curled up from a large pot bubbling over an open flame.

  “This place has the best beef stew,” Alex said with a grin. “And it won’t break the bank.”

  Alex stepped up to the stall and called out, “Two beef stews, Old Miro.”

  Old Miro, a gruff man with streaks of gray in his beard, scooped a hearty portion into a metal bowl and passed it over.

  Alex reached into his pocket and tossed a 20 dinar bill onto the counter. “Keep the change, Miro.”

  The stew was the cheapest Adrian had seen, at least compared to the other vendors whose prices didn't start below ten.

  They grabbed their food and settled at a small table right beside Old Miro’s stall.

  The stew was steaming hot, with a rich aroma wrapping around them like a warm blanket. Adrian took his first spoonful cautiously, the flavors exploding softly on his tongue: Tender beef, a hint of garlic, and just enough spice to make it comforting without overwhelming.

  For a moment, the weight of hunger lifted, replaced by a rare sense of satisfaction. He glanced at Alex, who was already halfway through his bowl, smirking like he knew a secret.

  “This... this is worth every dinar,” Adrian muttered, savoring the taste.

  As they ate, a group of police officers strolled past the table. Adrian felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. Instinctively, both he and Alex lowered their heads, eyes fixed on their bowls, trying to look as small and invisible as possible. The officers glanced their way but moved on without a word.

  They passed a few stalls, then stopped at one a bit further down. A middle-aged man was working it, wiping sweat from his brow as he tried to look calm.

  The officers started shouting at him. Adrian couldn’t make out the words, but their tone said enough.

  The once lively street quieted. The chatter and laughter faded. Vendors looked away. Customers pretended not to see.

  Adrian kept his eyes on his stew, jaw tight.

  Then came the sound of something heavy hitting the counter. A loud thud that made Adrian flinch.

  A pause.

  Then, shouting again. Harsher now. One of the officers reached over the stall and grabbed the vendor by the collar, dragging him partially across the counter. Pots rattled. A bowl fell and shattered.

  “Illegal tank, huh? Skipping inspection again?”

  The man stammered something, his voice trembling. Adrian couldn’t hear the words, but the pleading was unmistakable.

  One of the officers slammed a baton down beside the man’s hand, just missing it. “You think you can just pocket coin and not pay your dues?”

  The vendor raised both hands in apology, voice cracking. He reached into his pocket, pulling and counting a dozen bills before putting them next to the beton. The officer scoffed, picked them up, and slapped the man across the face.

  Nobody moved. Nobody said a word.

  Adrian's knuckles were white around the spoon. Alex kept eating like nothing was happening, but his jaw was tight.

  "This is normal," Alex muttered low, barely moving his lips. "Welcome to the city."

  The officers finally moved on. The vendor slumped down behind his stall, rubbing his cheek. No one helped him. No one dared.

  Adrian looked around. People were already pretending it didn’t happen.

  The laughter returned slowly, awkwardly. Like a record skipping back into play.

  He went back to his stew, but it didn’t taste the same anymore.

  A low wail cut through the street, rising fast. Adrian froze, spoon in hand.

  The siren screamed louder. A voice crackled through distant speakers:

  “Warning: aerial threat detected. Seek immediate shelter. This is not a drill.”

  People around them stopped.

  A few exchanged uneasy looks. Others didn’t wait.

  Alex shot up. “Shit. Air raid.”