The night was warm.
The kind of silence that fell over the city felt like it was holding the entire world's breath.
Leaves danced lazily along the sidewalk, nudged by a gentle breeze.
The sky was a blend of deep blue and gray — dawn approached slowly, as if it didn't want to interrupt the moment.
Under the yellow glow of the streetlamp, Thomas stood still.
Motionless.
The shadow cast beside the door quivered in the wind, just like he did inside.
He wore a worn-out denim jacket over a simple black T-shirt.
Dark twill pants and brown boots weren't just a fashion choice — they were armor.
Preparation for what came next.
Beside him, his gray backpack rested on the ground.
Heavy.
Not just with clothes and belongings.
Heavy with doubt.
With goodbyes.
He had always been strong, decisive, straightforward.
But that night… he felt in pieces.
He turned slightly.
The house looked more alive than ever.
Bathed in the soft light spilling from the living room, it seemed to embrace him even from a distance.
His mother was there, sitting on the couch in a navy blue robe over her pajamas.
A cup trembled in her hands.
Her brown eyes, fixed on him, didn't blink — as if blinking meant losing a second too precious.
At the table, his father pretended to read some papers.
His glasses slipped down his nose.
His hands fidgeted nervously. From time to time, he looked at Thomas. Always discreetly.
But Thomas knew.
They all knew.
This moment… wasn't just any farewell.
"It'll all be alright, son."
His mother's voice broke the silence like a sad and gentle song.
She stood up slowly, walking toward him with bare feet on the wooden floor.
Her eyes were wet, yet still filled with pride.
"You've always had your reasons. But if you need to come back… we'll be here. Always."
Thomas tried to smile. It didn't fully come.
He knew what she meant.
But he also knew this journey could change everything.
It wasn't a pause. It was a crossing.
"I know, Mom… but I need to do this."
His voice came out low, hoarse with the emotion caught in his throat.
She placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Take care of yourself."
"I will…" he whispered.
"And never forget: you'll always have a home here."
He nodded. Almost cried.
He slung the backpack over his shoulder.
Looked at the house one last time.
The smell of coffee.
The creak of the floorboards.
The warmth of their presence.
He imprinted it all in his memory.
He turned to the door.
He was ready.
Or thought he was.
"No matter what happens… you'll always be in our hearts," his mother said, almost in a whisper.
Thomas closed his eyes.
Took a deep breath.
And took the first step.