Len came home from school, tossing his backpack onto the floor of their shared room. "Hey, Ray," he called out, his voice echoing through the apartment.

Ray didn't respond immediately, his attention focused on the book in his lap, tears streaming down his cheeks. The soft rustle of pages was the only sound in the room. His glasses were slightly askew. The book's title was obscured by his fingers, but the way he gripped it suggested it was something that had moved him deeply.

Len froze, his heart skipping a beat. He had never seen Ray like this, not in all their years of friendship. Quietly, he approached, taking care not to disturb the fragile moment. He sat on the edge of the bed, studying his best friend's profile. The setting sun casts a warm glow across Ray's features, highlighting the stark contrast between the shadows of sadness and the light of the room.

"What's wrong?" Len finally asked, his voice a gentle whisper.

Ray took a deep, shuddering breath and closed the book with a soft thump. He didn't look at Len, keeping his gaze on the floor as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's the stupid book," he replied, his voice hoarse. "It got to me, that's all."

"Which one?" Len asked, curiosity piqued. He knew Ray read a wide variety of genres, but he'd never seen him so affected by a book before.

With a sniffle, Ray turned the book over to reveal the cover. It was a well-worn copy of ' Man's Search for Meaning' by Viktor Frankl. The edges were frayed, the pages yellowed with age, and it looked as if it had been read countless times. "This one," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Len recognized the title immediately. It was a book they'd discussed in a class last year, a philosophical memoir about surviving the horrors of the Holocaust. He reached out and took the book, trying to find the part that had affected Ray so profoundly. His eyes scanned the words, trying to understand what could have brought his friend to tears.

"What part of it got to you?" His eyes searched the book, looking for any sign of the profound revelation that had left Ray in such a state.

Ray took a deep, trembling breath. "The Otto part" He finally looked up at Len, his eyes red-rimmed and wet.

Len's brow furrowed. "Otto?" He flipped through the pages, trying to recall the significance of the name.

"Yeah," Ray managed, his voice cracking. "Frankl breaks the narration and directly asks Otto where he is and if he is still alive."

Len found the passage and read it aloud, his voice steady despite the heaviness in the room. "Otto, where are you now? Are you still alive?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then Ray spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think I can finish it" He took the book back from Len, his hands trembling slightly as he held it close to his chest.

Len felt a pang of understanding. He knew that the book was difficult to read, filled with tales of unspeakable suffering and the search for meaning in the darkest of places. But he had never seen his friend so visibly affected by a book.

"It's okay," he said, placing a comforting hand on Ray's shoulder. "You don't have to finish it if you don't want to. It's not a race."

Ray nodded, his eyes never leaving the book. "It's just...I've read so many books. And this may be the first I don't want to read anymore. And this is only page 48!"

Len leaned in closer, his eyes searching Ray's face. "Is it too much for you?"

Ray nodded, his lower lip quivering. "Yeah. I cried so much already. Don't get me started on the nightmare scene."

Len felt a squeeze in his chest. He knew that look; it was the same one Ray had when they were kids when he'd got scared by a horror movie. He gently took the book from Ray's grasp. "How about we take a break from it?"

Ray looked at him with a mix of relief and guilt. "But I don't think I will get myself to continue if I stop," he murmured, his eyes flickering to the book and back to Len.

Len nodded solemnly. "I get it. But sometimes, you need to step away from things that are too intense." He placed the book on the bedside table, the cover now facing away from them. "Let's do something else. Watch a movie, play some games?"

Ray took a shaky breath and nodded. "Okay." He didn't look convinced, but he allowed Len to guide him to the living room. The room was a testament to their shared interests, with posters of their favorite movies and band merch scattered across the walls. It was a safe space, a place where they had spent countless hours laughing and escaping from the world outside.

They settled onto the couch, and Len grabbed the TV remote, scrolling through the options. "What do you feel like watching?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Ray shrugged, still lost in thought. "Something... happy," he murmured. "I need a good laugh. Something dumb."

Len nodded, understanding his friend's need for a mental reprieve. He found a classic comedy sitcom that they both loved and hit play. The opening credits rolled, and the familiar laugh track filled the room. For the first few minutes, Ray remained silent, staring at the screen without really watching. But as the scenes progressed, the occasional chuckle escaped his lips, and gradually, he began to lean into the cushions, his body language relaxing.

The laughter grew more genuine as the minutes ticked by, and soon, they were both lost in the ridiculous antics of the show's characters. The jokes weren't the most sophisticated, but they served their purpose—distraction.

Len kept a careful eye on Ray, noticing how the tension in his shoulders eased with every giggle.

Len frankly never read the book, he just searched for a summary a year ago when it was assigned. He knew the gist of it but the emotional depth that Ray was feeling was something he could not relate to. He felt a strange mix of sadness and curiosity, wondering what was so powerful about those pages that could stir such a reaction from his best friend.

Len couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at Ray's ability to be so deeply affected by literature. He had always enjoyed reading, but nothing had ever moved him to tears. He watched his best friend, who was now laughing freely at the sitcom, and wondered if he was missing out on something profound.

After a while, Ray's laughter began to subside, and he leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. "Thanks, Len," he murmured. "I needed that."

Len nodded, his own smile fading as the show's laugh track played on. He turned the volume down a notch, not wanting to overwhelm Ray with noise. "No problem," he said softly.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound the faint hum of the TV. Then, without opening his eyes, Ray spoke again. "How was your day?"

It was an attempt to change the subject, and Len knew it. But he didn't mind. He filled Ray in on his day at school, the usual mix of boring classes and gossip. He talked about their friend group, the upcoming sports tournament, and the new cafe that had opened up near the school.

Ray listened with half an ear, his mind still processing the emotional turmoil from the book. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he was supposed to be doing, something important that the book had brought to the forefront of his thoughts.

"Ray?" Len's voice broke through the silence as the show went to commercial. "You okay?"

Ray opened his eyes and looked at Len. "Yeah," he said, his voice a little stronger now. " I was listening you don't worry."

Len studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Want me to get us some snacks?"

Ray nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sure, thanks."

Len disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and closing providing a comforting backdrop to the quiet living room. Ray took a deep breath, trying to push the weight of the book out of his mind. He knew that the laughter was a temporary escape, but it was one he was grateful for.

When Len returned with a bowl of popcorn and two sodas, Ray took them with a nod of thanks. He picked at the popcorn, the salty scent mixing with the sweetness of soda. The TV played on, but the laughter had subsided into a gentle buzz of conversation between the sitcom characters.

"So," Len began, his tone tentative. "The book...you want to talk about it?"

Ray sighed. He picked up the bowl of popcorn, popping a few kernels into his mouth before speaking. "I think it scared you seeing me cry."

Len shrugged, his eyes never leaving the TV. "I've seen you cry before," he said with a small smile. "Remember when we watched 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind'?"

Ray chuckled, a hint of colour appearing on his cheeks. "Yeah, I was a mess that day."

Len nodded a gentle smile on his face. "You were. But that was a movie, and this is a book. It's different." He took a sip of his soda, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "What scared you about it?"

Ray was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the side. "The details"

"What details?" Len prompted, his eyes still on the TV, but his mind fully with his friend.

Ray took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "The part where someone had a nightmare, and Frankl paused, he wanted to wake the person Up, but how could he? He would just wake him back to reality. And nothing could be worse." He paused, his eyes misting over again. "How he found a strong man crying like a kid because he lost his shoes and he didn't want to walk in snow barefoot"

Len felt his heart twist at the pain in Ray's voice. He knew his friend was an empathetic soul, but this was something more. "Those are just stories, Ray," he said gently. "You know that, right?"

Ray nodded, his eyes still fixed on the TV screen. "Yeah, I know. But they're true stories. People actually went through that. Do you think I would...survive that?"

Len's eyes met his friend's, seeing the genuine fear in his gaze. He set the soda down and placed a reassuring hand on Ray's knee. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Ray. If anyone could find meaning in the face of that kind of suffering, it's you."

Ray gave a small, sad smile. "Thanks, but I think I would not."

"You're too hard on yourself," Len said, squeezing his knee. "You've gotten through a lot already. And we're not in the middle of a war, we're just in our living room, okay?"

Ray nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. "Yeah, I know," he murmured. "It's just...it's making me think."

Len leaned back into the couch, his hand still on Ray's knee.

" I will read it" Ray finally spoke up. "But I need to read it in small doses."

Len nodded. "That sounds like a good plan."

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a while longer, on the couch.

Len was playing a video game, the sounds of swords clashing and spells being cast echoing through the apartment. Ray sat in the armchair beside him, his eyes on the book page in his hands. The TV was off, and the room was bathed in the soft glow of the floor lamp. The silence was comfortable, a stark contrast to the chaos of the game.

Ray took a deep breath and turned the page. His eyes scanned the words, his mind racing. He couldn't shake the feeling of insignificance that the book had stirred in him. How could anyone find meaning in a world so cruel and indifferent? He continued to read, each page revealing more of the human spirit's resilience, and his curiosity grew.

Len noticed the change in his friend's posture, the tension seeping back into his body as he read. He paused the game and looked over. "You okay?"

Ray nodded without looking up. "I think so," he said, his voice distant. "It is somehow getting worse."

Len frowned. "Worse? You want me to take it away?"

Ray shook his head. "No, I need to understand." His eyes searched the pages, looking for something.

Len leaned over to see what had captured Ray's attention so intensely. It was a passage about Death in Tehran, a stark contrast to their cosy living room.

"You don't have to read it all at once," Len reminded him.

"I know," Ray replied, his eyes still on the book. "But I feel like...I can't stop until I get to the end."

Len watched his friend for a moment, the concern etched on his face. He knew that once Ray set his mind to something, he rarely backed down. But he also knew that pushing himself too hard could be detrimental. "Why don't we make it a mission?" he suggested, his voice tentative. "We can take it page by page, day by day. That way, it's not so overwhelming."

Ray looked up, his eyes meeting Len's with a glimmer of hope. "Yeah," he said slowly. " But my exam is this Monday. And I won't read this a second time."

Len nodded, understanding the urgency. "Okay, we'll take small breaks"

A few minutes later, Ray's eyes were full of tears again, his mind lost in the harrowing narratives of the book.

"Ray," Len called softly, pausing his game. "Take a break, you need to rest."

Ray nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He carefully marked his place with a scrap of paper and set the book aside. "Yeah."

They both went to bed early that night, the weight of the book's content hanging heavily in the air. The next day, the routine was almost back to normal, with both of them preparing for work. But as Ray packed his bag, the book remained on the bedside table, a silent sentinel to the emotional storm it had stirred.

In between shifts, Ray found himself relaxing.

The book was left untouched for the day, a silent agreement between them.

Monday came around with the usual flurry of activity. Ray woke early, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep. He picked up 'Man's Search for Meaning' with a heavy sigh, today was a test day and he didnt read the book beyond page 55.

"You can do this," Len murmured, patting him on the back as he made breakfast.

Ray nodded. "Thanks," he murmured. " It is just a test though"

Len nodded, flipping a pancake. "But it's important to you," he said. "And that's what matters."

Ray smiled. "Yeah." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment as if bracing himself. Then, with a determined look, he went to face the day.

The exam was tougher than he had expected, with questions that seemed to probe at the very core of his beliefs and values. But as he sat there, pencil in hand, he found himself questioning the relevance of the book's message.

Ray didn't write much on the test but it didn't bother him. He knew he hadn't studied much and the book had taken over his weekend. He walked out of the exam hall feeling both drained and strangely light. As if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

The rest of the week was a blur of work and study.

When the test results came, Ray scored only 35% out of 100%. But the look on his face was one of relief rather than disappointment. He had passed, and the book was no longer a looming deadline.

He laughed weakly as he showed Len the score sheet. "Well, I passed,"

Len's face fell. "Oh, Ray. I'm sorry." He knew how much that book had gotten to his friend, and how much he had wanted to do well on the exam.

Ray shrugged, his smile sad but genuine. "It's okay. I've learned more from that book than I ever could in a classroom."