It had been over a year. The journal was nearly full now. Each page held pieces of a man who once thought he was cursed. He had learned to live with his chaos.

Yahya no longer feared the panic. He understood it. It still came some nights. A racing pulse. A hint of dread. It was not a monster. It was a messenger. He had learned how to listen.

His family had softened too. His mother was once skeptical and now asked him “Did you meditate today?” His uncle once mocked him and now shared the MindCovez website.

And Yahya had learned that healing was not only about being fine. It was about being free. Free to feel. Free to rest. Free to not explain himself to every doubter. Free to grow without shame.

One evening the sun set behind the balcony. The air held the scent of cardamom tea. Yahya sat outside and wrote again. Not out of desperation. Out of peace.

“I used to scream in silence… now I breathe in clarity.
I used to fear my mind… now I call it home.”

And for once he did not write “The End.” Because healing is a story still unfolding.