Saturday mornings had a different kind of peace.
Sunlight poured through the glass windows in warm golden lines as our family gathered in the sitting room for prayers. Everyone stood in a circle, heads bowed, voices soft.
Everyone except Sammy, who looked as though patience was physically painful.
He hated family gatherings.
He believed they were moments where everyone acted kinder than usual and pretended to enjoy things they secretly wanted to end.
I understood him.
Still, I loved moments like that.
At home, there were no strangers.
No forced conversations.
No eyes studying me.
Just familiar voices, familiar walls, familiar chaos.
Safety.
Even so, I waited impatiently for the final Amen.
It was Saturday.
And Saturdays belonged to adventure.
The moment prayers ended, the five of us boys rushed toward the basement like treasure hunters.
Our weekend tradition was simple. we searched through old storage boxes, broken furniture, forgotten shelves, and abandoned belongings for anything worth keeping.
Sometimes it was an old toy.
Sometimes coins.
Sometimes absolutely nothing.
"Move!" Sammy shouted from the front. "First person to find something useful wins!"
Of course he turned it into a competition.
He turned breathing into competition if given enough time.
The basement smelled of dust and old wood. Light barely reached the corners, leaving half the room in shadow.
We searched for nearly an hour.
Daniel found marbles.
One of my younger brothers found a cracked toy car.
Sammy found nothing and refused to accept it.
When ideas ran dry, he clapped his hands.
"Hide and seek."
Everyone cheered.
I did not.
"I'll count first!" Daniel announced proudly.
The others scattered immediately.
"One… two… three…"
I stood frozen for a second.
Where would I hide?
Then I spotted an old wooden shelf lying sideways near the wall. Several compartments were empty and wide enough to fit inside.
Without thinking further, I slipped into one of them just as Daniel shouted
"…nineteen… twenty!"
His footsteps raced away.
I exhaled slowly.
Victory might actually be possible.
From inside the shelf, I listened to the game unfolding.
Shouts.
Running feet.
Laughter.
Someone accusing someone else of cheating.
Normal brotherhood.
Then my hand brushed against something tucked deep in the back of the shelf.
Not a book this time.
A small rectangular object wrapped in faded cloth.
Curiosity took over.
I pulled it closer and unwrapped it carefully.
Inside was an old photo album.
Its leather cover was cracked with age.
I opened it.
Black-and-white photographs filled the first pages—faces of relatives I barely recognized, weddings, birthdays, family gatherings from years before I was born.
Then I turned another page.
And paused.
A young woman stood smiling beside a gate, flowers in her hair.
She was beautiful in a soft, timeless way.
Next to her stood a young man trying and failing to look serious.
His eyes gave him away.
He was in love with her.
I stared harder.
The man looked familiar.
Very familiar.
Then realization struck me.
It was Father.
Young.
Thin.
Hair full and rebellious.
I nearly laughed aloud.
I turned more pages.
There were dozens of photos of them together.
At markets.
At bus stops.
Standing beneath trees.
Sitting on benches.
Sometimes close.
Sometimes not touching at all.
But in every photo, they were looking at each other like no one else existed.
I had never seen my parents that way.
To me, they were rules and routines.
Warnings and responsibilities.
Mother shouting from the kitchen.
Father reading newspapers in silence.
But here,
They had once been young.
Nervous.
Beautiful.
In love.
A folded letter slipped from between the pages and landed on my lap.
I hesitated.
Then opened it.
The handwriting was neat and careful.
If your father says no again, meet me behind the church after evening service.
I will wait as long as it takes.
—A.
I blinked.
My mother had been sneaking out to meet Father?
Another letter followed.
You looked at me only once today, but I thought about it all night.
Then another.
One day I will marry you, even if everyone says I am too stubborn.
I sat in stunned silence.
My parents had once written love letters.
My parents had once risked things for each other.
My parents had once been… romantic.
"Found you!"
I nearly died.
Daniel yanked the shelf door open and laughed as I jumped.
The others rushed over.
Sammy appeared moments later wearing the grin of a man who had already won.
Again.
"What's that?" he asked, noticing the album.
"Nothing."
He grabbed it instantly.
"Hey!"
The boys crowded around as he flipped pages.
Then his face changed.
"No way," he said, bursting into laughter. "Is that Dad?"
Everyone screamed with delight.
We had discovered treasure after all.
"Boys!" Mother called from upstairs. "Food is ready!"
Sacred words.
The others ran for the stairs, still laughing.
I took the album from Sammy and held it carefully.
For some reason, I didn't want to leave it behind.
Monday morning, I slipped the photo album into my school bag.
I told myself it was because I wanted to keep looking through it.
That was only half true.
During break, Ryan noticed me staring into my bag instead of eating.
"What are you hiding today?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"You always say that before showing me something interesting."
I rolled my eyes and handed him the album.
He opened it slowly.
His teasing smile faded page by page.
Then he looked at me.
"Your parents?"
I nodded.
"They look… happy."
"They do."
Ryan traced one of the photos lightly.
"My parents never looked at each other like this."
Something in his voice made me glance at him.
For once, he wasn't joking.
He was serious.
Quiet.
Vulnerable.
I didn't know what to say.
So I said the truth.
"Maybe people forget how to love when life becomes hard."
Ryan looked at me for a long moment.
Then closed the album gently.
"I hope I never forget."
My heartbeat stumbled.
He leaned closer, voice low enough that only I could hear.
"Especially if I find someone worth remembering."
And just like that…
I forgot how to breathe again.