Sira looked at him, her tears now just a shimmering sparkle in her eyes.
In that moment, her gaze seemed to see her entire world in one person. Her eyes shone with the sparkle of love, that sparkle an enamored soul could never mistake. Slowly, she placed her small hand over his, still warm from wiping her tears moments before, and pressed it gently, as if clutching onto safety itself.
She brought her head close to his face, until her small nose touched Aiden's, and her cherry lips trembled lightly, holding a deep yearning.
Aiden, meanwhile, fixed his gaze on her features... on her sparkling eyes, on the locks of hair that fell across her forehead, and on the way she stared at him, as if intending to say everything in silence.
Then, without a word, Sira pressed a light kiss on his lips, a hesitant but sincere kiss.
Aiden felt his heart pound strongly, as if time had stopped at that touch. He closed his eyes and returned her kiss, not violently, but with a silent passion, as if there was a language between them that only they spoke.
And suddenly…
The man's phone rang. The man looked at the screen quickly, then immediately hung up. But he didn't take his eyes off them; they remained fixed on Sira.
In another corner of this world…
Luna walked out of prison.
The summer air touched her face. She pulled a dark cap over her hair, covering her features.
At Aaren's house,
The mother said, her voice trembling as if trying to cling to the remnants of a mother's love:
"I went… to that orphanage."
The mother slowly extended her hand towards him, wanting to pull aside his shirt to see the wound. Her fingers trembled, as if afraid to touch his past more than his body.
But he caught her hand before she could touch him, gripping it gently, not with violence, but with enough decisiveness to freeze the air between them.
He said in a hushed voice, a voice that was not just a tone but a bleeding wound from within him:
"Did it change anything… when you went to that orphanage?"
She looked at him, her eyes widening in heavy silence.
His words were a sorrowful, muffled slap, not just heard, but felt.
She pulled her hand away from his, but then hesitantly brought it back, placing it over her chest this time, not with force but with an appeal, as if pleading for a warmth she had never known.
She didn't speak… but her tears fell without permission, streaming down her cheeks as if a belated confession that needed no words.
He looked into her eyes for a long time, with eyes that carried more than a heart could bear, then he whispered in a composed tone, but filled with a deep brokenness:
"Will these tears change anything… now?"
And before she could answer, he reached out his arms and hugged her.
He hugged her as if trying to embrace what remained of his childhood, of a shattered past, of a "brother" still waiting for him in an unknown place.
"Mother…"
His voice came out a whisper, warm, broken:
"Let's bring our brother back…"
That night was not just time passing.
It was a night filled with incomplete whispers, disjointed melodies, a shattered chessboard… and madness yet to be declared.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, warm and lazy, making its way into the house.
Sira was about to leave, closing her bag in a hurry.
She stood at the door, turned to her mother, her eyes still sparkling from the night before.
She said calmly, in a voice that held a tone of irreversible decision:
"Mother… you know about that debt. It's because of my studies. Let's try to pay it off this year."
Rina raised her head from the sink, her eyes narrowed as usual when she tried to uncover what lay beneath the words.
"Why? Are you planning to quit working after a year?"
Sira furrowed her brows slightly, then answered with quiet confidence:
"Yes. I will. There are limits to everything… even to work, Rina."
She left and closed the door quietly, but the sound of her footsteps was different this time, like the flutter of a wing breaking free from a cage.
Outside the house, Aiden stood beside his black motorcycle, two helmets dangling from his hand, his police uniform gleaming in the sunlight.
When he saw her, he raised a helmet towards her and smiled lightly:
"Do you want to try the motorcycle today?"
But Sira didn't take the helmet; instead, she approached him quietly, step by step, until she reached him, then she lifted her head to him, her eyes saturated with something deeper than longing.
"I want something else…"
She whispered it, in a voice as if from her heart, not her mouth.
"What is it?" he said, raising an eyebrow lightly, his smile warm.
Suddenly, without preamble, she hugged him.
She pressed her head into his neck, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply as if inhaling life itself.
"I want to drown in your scent… to be filled with you…
I want to take my energy from you… from you alone."
He remained silent for a moment, then smiled as he returned her embrace, holding her as if she were something precious not to be let go.
When she finally pulled away, she looked at him and laughed lightly:
"The police uniform suits you… Now, shall we go?"
He laughed too, and handed her the helmet. She climbed on behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
He started the motorcycle engine, and it roared like a beast awakening from its slumber. Then they took off, cutting through the summer morning breeze, passing through the alleys like heroes from a novel, or a beautiful dream.
When the motorcycle stopped in front of the pharmacy, Sira took off her helmet and gave it to him.
He looked at her, with a gaze that hid much worry behind his smile, and said in a serious but tender voice:
"I'll come later… Just, I don't want to see you cry.
I am your impenetrable wall, Sira."
His words were like a fortress he built around her without her seeing it.
She smiled, and went to her work… while he watched her until she disappeared from his sight.
The adoptive father (leaning slowly on the edge of the sofa, breathing heavily as he adjusts his shirt collar):
"Aiden… you know he suffers from PTSD, don't you?"
The adoptive mother (pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, her gaze empty):
"Yes… that's what the report said the first day we adopted him. He was silent… his eyes were screaming."
(She loses herself in memory for a moment, then continues in a hushed voice)
"He wasn't a child, but a walking wound."
The father (laughing bitterly as he gets up to fill a glass of whiskey):
"But isn't it strange that he became a policeman? A man of law… and he suffers from borderline personality disorder, schizoaffective disorder, in addition to PTSD? That's a recipe for an upcoming explosion."
The mother (sharply, looking at him with eyes gleaming with reproach):
"Rather, he became like this because of you… because of your damned basement and your chains."
The father (takes a gulp from the glass, then places it firmly on the table):
"That's why he's going to give me his chain of cafes… otherwise he'll be permanently dismissed from the police."
The office light was dim, report papers piled on a worn wooden desk. The computer screen flickered with a cold glow.
Aiden sat alone, staring at the files without blinking, as if his eyes were delving into the lines of ink searching for something more than just information… searching for a memory, or a confession.
Knock knock.
Aiden (in a low but sharp voice, without raising his head):
"Enter."
A young police officer enters, holding a file in his hand.
Officer:
"Sir… when do we raid the (A.M) Canned Food Company?"
Aiden (removes his glasses and places them on the table, then presses his fingers against his temples):
"Prepare one patrol, and remain on standby. I will set the departure time for you later."
The officer nods and leaves, and the place sinks into silence once more.
Aiden slowly takes his phone, opening it as if holding a knife. He presses a name saved in his contacts: "Father." The phone rings.
— In the father's villa, a phone call
Father (with a short laugh devoid of warmth):
"Look, it's Aiden… Hello, my dear son!"
Aiden (laughs hysterically, then raises his hand and runs his fingers through his hair quickly, as if trying to suppress an attack within him):
"Have I started playing with the threads of my madness?"
Father (scoffs):
"Oh, what is this? You've started weaving a coat of madness?"
In a moment, Aiden stops laughing. His gaze freezes. Everything in him stills, even his breath.
Aiden (in a cold voice):
"Threads of my madness? Nonsense… My question is: Are you currently at the (A.M) Canned Food Company?"
Father (confused):
"No… I haven't gone yet. Why do you ask?"
Aiden (begins to twirl a pen between his fingers lightly, while his eyes stare at an invisible point):
"Because I'm coming… and I will expose your conspiracies, like money laundering."
Father (explodes in anger, his pupils widening, and the whites of his eyes turning a disturbing red):
"You fool… If you do that, it will be your end!"
Aiden (in a very low, deep voice, as if his depths were speaking, not his mouth):
"Did you think I forgot?... Those chains… that basement… those nights that made me stumble between reality and delirium?"
His voice changes, becoming calmer but saturated with indescribable danger. An invisible aura began to hover around him, as if shadows were shrinking towards him.
Aiden (continues):
"I am a police officer now. I stand on the edge of the line between law and chaos… I try to keep that part of me suppressed. Don't push me to unleash it… because if you do… there will be nothing left for you to regret."