Bendro naudojimo garsas

n a dusty village where dreams often faded with the sunset, lived a boy named Arman. His clothes were worn, and his shoes had long since given up, but his eyes carried a quiet determination. Every morning, he watched other children walk to school, their laughter echoing through the narrow streets, while he stood by, holding a bundle of firewood he had gathered to help his mother earn a few coins. Arman longed to study. At night, under a flickering streetlamp, he would trace letters he had seen