The late afternoon sun, a hazy orange, spills across a dusty courtyard. Two boys, perhaps ten or eleven, are meticulously building a miniature village out of mud and pebbles. One, slightly smaller and with perpetually scraped knees, carefully places a tiny twig roof on a hut. The other, a little taller and more confident, is carving a winding path through the mud with a stick. They work in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging a quick, knowing glance. A worn, patched kite lies forgotten nearby, its string tangled. The air smells of dry earth and woodsmoke from a distant kitchen. As the light begins to fade, casting long shadows, the boy with the scraped knees looks up at his friend, a genuine, unguarded smile spreading across his face. He doesn’t say anything, but the unspoken promise of tomorrow – of more building, more adventures, more shared moments – hangs heavy in the air.