Heroca had always remembered the ocean breeze differently — soft, warm, and full of life. But now, as the boat glided steadily toward the island he had once called home, the breeze felt colder… heavier. The sea stretched endlessly in every direction, quiet and undisturbed, almost as if even the waves were holding their breath.
It had been eleven years since he last saw the island. He was only five when his parents vanished — gone without a trace during a short trip to the sea, leaving Heroca home alone. The boat they took never returned. For a year, he waited with hope, but as time passed, that hope faded. Eventually, they were declared dead. His aunt took him in after that, raising him far away in a distant city. But the island — and his parents — never left his thoughts.
Now, at sixteen, Heroca sat on the wooden bench of a ferry boat with four strangers. The boat was small, swaying slightly with the rhythm of the sea. The owner of the boat — an elderly man with a sun-worn face and deep lines carved by years on the water — stood at the helm. He had mentioned that he was visiting the island to see his grandchild. He didn't seem to know much about what had happened there in recent years.
The other passengers were a group of three friends — two girls and a guy, all in their early twenties. They had introduced themselves briefly before boarding. From what Heroca gathered, they were just curious tourists — here for a remote getaway, or maybe just an adventure. They talked in low voices, their words blurred by the wind, snapping occasional pictures of the sea with their phones.
Heroca said little. His gaze remained fixed on the outline of the island coming into view in the distance — a shape he once knew better than anything.
As they neared, the mood began to shift. The closer they got, the quieter everything became. No birds flying overhead. No sea life near the shore. Even the boat's engine seemed to quiet down, as though afraid to disturb whatever lay ahead. The island's dock was old and creaky but intact. Beyond it, a dense jungle framed the path inward.
The boatman helped them off and told them to be careful — though his voice lacked urgency, as if it was a habit more than a warning. The three tourists wandered ahead, talking and laughing, while Heroca stood still for a moment, taking it all in.
The jungle was thick and overgrown, but there was a narrow concrete path leading through it. As they walked forward, the sunlight dimmed under the canopy of leaves. Still — no sounds. No birds, no insects. Nothing.
But after the jungle ended, the village appeared, and with it, the silence broke slightly. Houses stood just as he remembered — old wooden structures with tiled roofs and stone paths between them. Some buildings were newer, freshly painted, but most held the same worn-out charm from his childhood. And then — he saw her.
Chiko.
She stood frozen on the porch of a neighboring house, her eyes wide in disbelief. Heroca recognized her instantly, despite the years. She hadn't changed much — the same short brown hair and curious eyes. He gave a small wave, unsure if she remembered him, but Chiko ran straight toward him with a gasp.
"Heroca?! Is it really you?!"
He smiled faintly. "Yeah… it's me."
Without waiting for another word, she hugged him tightly. "I can't believe this! You actually came back!"
Heroca chuckled awkwardly, a bit overwhelmed. "I had to. I needed to see it all again."
Chiko pulled back and grinned. "Come on. You must be tired — come home. Everyone will be so happy to see you."
His home stood just next to hers, a two-story house with light brown wooden siding and a blue tin roof. It looked old but cared for. Chiko explained that it had been maintained all these years, just in case someone from his family ever returned.
Inside, the house was just as he remembered it. The ground floor held a cozy living room with a small TV, a kitchen tucked into the corner, and a little garden visible through the back door. Upstairs were three bedrooms — one of which used to be his — and a balcony that looked out over the town. The scent of wood, dust, and something warm filled the air. It was strangely comforting.
As soon as Chiko's family heard Heroca had arrived, they rushed over. His grandmother wept silently when she saw him, her frail hands trembling as she touched his face. Chiko's parents greeted him warmly, like welcoming back a lost son. That night, they had a small party — simple food, laughter, stories. For a while, it felt like nothing had changed.
But beneath all the smiles, Heroca sensed something strange. Everyone seemed overly careful with their words. Their laughter was just a little too forced. Their eyes held something unspoken. But he ignored it for now.
That night, in his old room, Heroca sat on his bed and stared out the window. The moon hung low over the ocean. The town was silent, but this time… it didn't feel peaceful.
It felt like the silence was waiting for something.