> "The road to justice is long—not because the path is winding, but because you carry the weight of everyone who stopped walking."—Sheikh Nour

  We entered the Balkans with blistered soles and full stomachs, the taste of kebab still lingering somewhere behind our canines. The land stretched before us like a war hymn—beautiful, unpredictable, and not at all interested in our safety.

  I kept replaying Sheikh Nour’s quote in my head, his words echoing in rhythm with every step. And then we reached it.

  Bosnia.

  The soil looked innocent—green, sloped, alive—but I knew better.

  One wrong step, and boom—I’d never kick the FIFA president’s smug face again.

  I looked at Gary. He looked at me.

  I picked him up and started hopping.

  Left. Right. Left. BOOM—one mine launched sand skyward, missing by a whisper. Another exploded behind us like a firecracker from hell. I didn’t flinch. Gary screamed a little. Not out of fear—more like pure adrenaline.

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  We danced over death like it was a game show challenge. Until finally—after a last Olympic-tier hop—we reached solid ground.

  A city. A smell. A hunger.

  We found a corner shack selling ?evapi, the Bosnian holy meat. Fat sausages wrapped in warm flatbread, sprinkled with onions and red pepper paste that could cleanse your soul.

  I devoured mine in six bites. Gary made his last the whole block.

  Then we were moving again.

  Croatia. Slovenia. Blink and you miss it.

  We sped through them like wind over maps, the momentum of vengeance pushing us forward. But when we reached Austria, the pace slowed. Not by force. By nature.

  Green hills. Clean air. Rivers like glass. A place that didn't feel real—like it was designed by someone who loved peace but knew it wouldn’t last.

  We walked through a meadow, silence between us.

  Gary suddenly spoke. “Why did you even decide to go for this long walk?”

  I paused.

  The memory hit hard. The rejection. Bebo's voice. The FIFA president’s name, uttered like a curse.

  I clenched my fists. Then stood up, cracking my neck.

  “To let off some steam.”

  Gary blinked. “That’s one hell of a way to do it.”

  I started walking again. “It’s not about the walk anymore.”

  We reached the Swiss border as the sky turned orange.

  I could see the horizon bending.

  We were close.