It began with a call.
Not a message. Not an email. Not another envelope.
Just a simple phone call.
Leo had just returned from the campus library, arms full of borrowed art books Rin had requested for her latest short story research. He was trying to balance them on one arm while awkwardly unlocking the dorm room door with the other.
The phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.
Unknown Number.
He almost didn't answer.
But something in his chest fluttered—a tiny, persistent pressure, like the echo of a voice he hadn't heard in far too long.
He let the books slip onto his bed, pressed the answer button, and raised the phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
There was silence.
Then:
"…Leo?"
He froze.
He hadn't heard her voice in over a year.
It was softer than he remembered. Tired, but careful.
"…Mom?"
A small sound—half-laugh, half-sigh.
"Yes. It's me."
The room felt suddenly too quiet.
He sat down slowly on the edge of his bed.
"I got your letters," he said.
"I know. I asked them to notify me if the package was signed for. I didn't want to… intrude. But I wanted you to know. Everything."
Leo gripped the edge of the blanket. "Why now?"
"Because I've spent too long running away. And because you answered."
He blinked. "The letter?"
"Yes. You wrote to me, Leo. You don't know what that meant. I didn't expect you to. I didn't even know if you would open the box. But you did. And then you wrote."
She paused. Leo could hear her breathing.
"I read your letter four times," she said. "I cried every time."
He pressed the phone tighter to his ear.
"I didn't know what to say," he admitted.
"But you said it anyway," she replied.
They were quiet again.
Then she asked softly, "Can I tell you something?"
Leo nodded, then realized she couldn't see him.
"Yeah."
"I wasn't strong, Leo. After your dad passed, I pretended I was. I buried myself in my lectures and papers and academic journals. I told myself I had to be your anchor. But I wasn't. I was drifting, same as you."
She paused, voice catching.
"When you left, I thought maybe you'd do better without me hovering. But I didn't give you a choice. And I think… that was selfish."
Leo stared at the ceiling.
"I didn't hate you," he whispered. "I just didn't know how to talk anymore."
"I know."
Another pause.
"Do you remember the astronomy museum?" she asked.
Leo smiled faintly. "The one with the moving star dome?"
"You got scared when they turned off the lights. You grabbed my hand and didn't let go for the entire show."
"I was seven."
"You were also very brave. Because you didn't cry. You just held on."
Leo exhaled. The image came back to him so vividly, it almost hurt.
"I miss Dad," he said finally.
"I do too," she said. "Every day."
"I don't know how to forgive you yet."
"You don't have to. Not now. Maybe not ever."
"I think I want to try."
"…Then I'll be here. Whenever you're ready."
They sat in silence. But this time, it didn't feel empty. It felt like the first stone placed after a long ruin—small, but real.
After a while, she said:
"I'd like to see you. Maybe during the break?"
Leo hesitated. Then nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Let's… try."
---
After the call ended, Leo didn't move for a long time.
His phone rested beside him, screen dimmed, reflecting faint light from the setting sun outside.
A knock came.
Then Rin peeked in, holding two takeaway cups.
"You okay?"
He looked up.
And then, for the first time in a long time, he smiled—not out of politeness, not because someone expected it—but because something inside him felt lighter.
He stood up and walked to her.
"I think I'm going to be," he said.
She handed him one of the cups. "Then we celebrate with too much caffeine."
Leo laughed.
"Deal."