The World They Left Behind

Then, slowly, other stories began to emerge.

From the corner of the table, a man with messy hair and an awkward smile raised his hand and started speaking. "My name is Dery. This is Claire," he said, pointing to a young woman beside him who offered a small smile. "And these are some of our other friends. We all have one thing in common, which is "

His words were cut off by another voice that suddenly chimed in. "Ah, isn't she a celebrity? You're that famous singer, aren't you?"

All eyes turned to Claire. Arga, sitting across from her, raised an eyebrow. "Are you really... that singer?" he asked in disbelief.

Claire only gave a faint smile, neither agreeing nor denying it. A small laugh rippled around the table, breaking the tension.

"You just can't control yourself around beautiful women, can you?" Dery teased, laughing freely.

Arga tried to hide his awkwardness with a small smile, then turned his attention back to Dery, signaling him to continue.

Dery took a deep breath before speaking again. "As I said earlier, all of us in this village have one thing in common. We suffer from severe anxiety disorder... Anxiety Disorder."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The laughter that had just broken the silence was now replaced by a heavy stillness. Some people lowered their heads, while others looked at Dery with sympathetic eyes.

"In our past lives, everything felt wrong," Dery continued, his voice trembling slightly. "Our days were filled with anxiety and fear. Our careers stalled. We couldn't start anything, couldn't build anything. Life felt like a vicious cycle that was slowly killing us from the inside."

Arga listened intently; every word Dery spoke weighed heavily in the air. The story felt like a dark shadow that could be sensed even through mere words.

"My parents eventually decided to send me to an Anxiety Disorder rehabilitation center," Dery said, his eyes distant, as if he was reliving the past. "There, I met these people. The place was safe—our privacy was well-protected. But honestly, the rehabilitation didn't really help. Some of us remained the same, others got even worse."

The crackling of the bonfire served as a constant backdrop, welcoming the long pause after Dery's story. Claire finally spoke, her voice soft yet laden with emotion. "I've tried everything to overcome this. I've tried therapy, medication, even meditation. But still, the anxiety follows me like a shadow wherever I go."

Arga nodded slowly, his eyes meeting Claire's for a brief moment before he looked down at his wooden cup. Thoughts raced through his mind, trying to piece together their stories into something meaningful.

"We all have our own wounds," he finally said, his voice low but clear. "But maybe, here in this place, we can find something we've never had before. Maybe... we can start over."

His words hung in the air, met with a meaningful silence. For a moment, they all just sat there, letting the soft glow of the bonfire bear witness to their conversation.

Claire lowered her head, sinking into the shadows of her dark past. Meanwhile, Dery continued, his voice low but firm, "There was a friend of ours—someone who could no longer bear the shadow of wanting to die. It was as if that feeling constantly haunted him, whispering that life was no longer worth living." He swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. "That's why the place was designed to prevent suicide. No ropes, no knives, not even a needle was allowed. We were isolated, but in reality, it only made things worse."

Dery glanced at Claire, who finally spoke softly. "Even I, a celebrity, couldn't entertain them. I couldn't erase our own anxiety, let alone anyone else's."

A small laugh echoed from the group, more as an attempt to lighten the mood than a genuine joke. Arga observed them, his gaze reflecting a deep understanding of the wounds hidden behind their faint smiles.

"We were injected," Dery continued, the pauses in his words allowing space to breathe between painful memories. "They said it was to calm us, to help us get through therapy. But... a year ago, we all woke up in this place. A place completely unfamiliar, without any memory of how we got here."

The people around him nodded slowly, like a gentle wave washing ashore, confirming the truth of his words.

"Then, Mrs. Ningning found us," he continued, shifting his gaze to the middle-aged woman sitting at the end of the table. "She welcomed us, gave us this place as a home, and offered a new life we never imagined before."

Dery ended his story with a small smile, though his eyes still held an unspoken gratitude. Arga scanned the room, letting the story he had just heard sink into his mind. Strange, yet somehow it made sense in all its oddity.

"So, you all came from that rehabilitation center?" he finally asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Dery nodded. "Yes, and somehow, we all ended up here."

He picked up the hoe leaning against his chair, patting its handle as if it were an old friend. "As you know, we farm here," he said with a small smile. "Who would have thought that such a simple job could heal our deepest wounds? No more anxiety crushing our chests, no burdens shackling our minds. Our bodies feel lighter, and our lives finally have a peaceful rhythm."

Before Dery could finish speaking, Claire her usual teasing tone returning added, "And no fans constantly frustrating me."

Laughter erupted instantly, filling the room with cheerful voices mingling with the sound of wind blowing through the distant cornfields. The once-silent atmosphere turned relaxed and lively.

"However, there's something you all need to know," Dery said when the laughter subsided. "Here, even though we feel at peace, there's one thing we can't have..."

Arga furrowed his brows, sensing a shift in Dery's tone. "What is it?"

"Family," he replied shortly, almost like a whisper carrying deep sadness.

A bearded man at the corner of the table interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "Why not?"