Zoran sat at a corner table, his fingers tracing the rim of a glass he had long since emptied. In the background, the orchestra began the slow, haunting intro of a familiar melody. It was that song—the one that felt like a trial and a verdict all at once.
The lyrics cut through his thoughts: “Kao niko, kao niko nikada...” (Like no one, like no one ever before). jasar_ahmedovski_ta_je_zena_volela_me
The neon sign of the "Stari Most" kafana flickered, casting a tired red glow over the wet pavement of the Sarajevo street. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted coffee and the lingering haze of tobacco. Zoran sat at a corner table, his fingers