He had spent his life fighting—against expectations, against himself, against a world that never felt like his own. Freedom was supposed to mean escape, but the more he ran, the more lost he became.

At first, he resisted the binds. But as the struggle faded, so did the weight on his shoulders. The leather around his wrists, the blindfold, the stillness—they didn’t imprison him. They freed him.

In surrender, he found peace. No more choices, no more battles—just the quiet comfort of letting go. And for the first time, he felt truly safe.