The lights flickered and then died, plunging the elevator into darkness. A sudden, collective intake of breath echoed in the small space. The hum of the machinery, once a soft background noise, had gone silent. The faint glow from the emergency button cast eerie shadows on the walls, but nothing else moved.

For a moment, there was only the sound of everyone’s breathing, unsure whether to panic or remain still. Then, a voice broke the silence.

“Well,” a woman’s voice said, steady despite the situation. “This is certainly not how I planned to spend my afternoon.”

She chuckled lightly, and after a beat, a few others joined in. Slowly, the tension began to lift, replaced by the quiet, lingering discomfort of being stuck with strangers.

“Do you think they’ll fix it soon?” another voice asked, a young man with a tired tone.

“Maybe it’s a power outage,” the woman replied. “This city has its fair share of those. I’m more concerned about the heat. Do any of you know what’s causing it?”

“It’s the heat of Shiraz in the summer,” a middle-aged man spoke up, his voice deep and warm. “But I’ve lived here long enough to know it’s not just the weather that causes heat.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” the man said, his voice taking on a reflective tone, “sometimes it’s the heat of our own hearts. The stress of life, the disappointments we carry with us. That’s what really weighs us down.”

A heavy silence settled again. The man’s words hung in the air, oddly familiar, like they were echoing from something far older than this moment.

“I think I know what you mean,” said a woman near the corner. “It reminds me of a story my father once told me. It’s about a man who had everything—wealth, power, and influence. But no matter how much he gathered, he was always consumed by his own desires, never satisfied, always searching for more.”

Another pause. The young man spoke again, as if compelled by some unseen force. “I’ve heard a similar story. A traveler who stopped at a village, and the people there told him that all his troubles would be solved if he could only find the perfect stone. He searched for days, walked the entire city, but when he returned to the village with empty hands, the villagers laughed and told him the stone he had been looking for was already in his heart. He had to learn to live with what he already had.”

The middle-aged man smiled softly, as though the story was a familiar old friend. “Ah, yes. Like the tale in Gulistan, where Saadi speaks of the merchant who wished for eternal life, only to find that the life he had been given was the one that mattered most. The more he sought, the more he lost.”

Everyone fell quiet again, and the stories—familiar, ancient, full of wisdom—seemed to stitch themselves together in the confined space of the elevator. It was as if the words of Saadi himself were alive among them, woven into the fabric of their lives in ways they hadn’t fully realized until now.

The woman with the tired voice spoke again. “It’s funny how we all think we’re so different, but really… our lives are full of the same lessons.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I used to think happiness was about achieving my goals, making the right decisions, avoiding mistakes. But now... I wonder if it's about letting go, like the traveler with the stone. Maybe what I need is not to chase more, but to accept what I have.”

A soft murmur of agreement followed. The man who had started the conversation spoke again. “You know, in one of Saadi’s stories, a king asked a wise man to describe happiness in one sentence. The man said, ‘Happiness is not in possession, but in the contentment of the soul.’”

The air seemed to grow lighter, despite the confined space. For a moment, the world outside the elevator faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of their shared understanding.

Suddenly, the lights flickered back on with a soft buzz, the elevator jolting as it resumed its journey upward. The hum of the machine returned, and the stillness of the moment was broken. They were no longer trapped by the dark, but somehow, it felt like they were all a little less trapped by their own thoughts, too.

As the elevator doors opened, the middle-aged man gave a small, knowing smile. “It seems the power has returned. Perhaps it’s time for all of us to remember what we already have.”

The young man nodded, and the woman with the tired voice added softly, “Yes. Maybe that's the real lesson, after all.”

And with that, they parted ways—four strangers whose lives had briefly intertwined, each carrying a quiet reminder that the wisdom of Saadi's Gulistan still lived, even in the most unlikely of places.