The phone buzzed softly on the low table. Lior stretched his hand to grab it, still half-leaning against the couch. The screen glowed with a new notification—one that carried an odd weight in its simplicity.
"Aldrene High School 2015–2017 Batch Reunion — Three days later. Venue: Hillcrest Banquet Hall. All invited."
For a moment, his thumb hovered over the words. He hadn't seen that group light up in years, not since graduation, not since everyone scattered into their own directions of life. The air seemed to still as he read it twice, as if trying to confirm it was real.
Kaein noticed the sudden pause. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
Lior shook his head slightly, then turned the screen toward him. "Look. An invitation. Our high school reunion."
Kaein leaned closer, squinting at the bright glow. "Three days later?" His lips curved into a small smile. "That's soon. Are you thinking of going?"
There was a beat of silence. Lior lowered the phone onto the table, running his fingers once over its edges as if weighing his answer. "I… don't know. Part of me wants to go. Another part…" His voice trailed, heavy with things unspoken.
Kaein studied him, then asked softly, "Do you want me to go with you?"
Lior looked up, surprised at the straightforward offer. He let out a faint laugh, a little awkward but genuine. "Yes. If you're willing. I think… if you're there, it'll feel less heavy."
Kaein leaned back with a nod. "Then it's settled. We'll go together."
---
That night, as they lingered at the dining table, the conversation drifted toward old memories—unbidden, yet natural.
"You know," Lior began, his gaze unfocused, "back then… school wasn't just classrooms for me. It was like another battlefield." He tapped the table lightly, almost rhythmically. "Friends were fine. Some even good. But the teachers… I don't think they ever liked me."
Kaein tilted his head. "Why?"
"Because I was always ranking high." Lior's laugh was quiet, bitter. "You'd think that would make them proud, but it only made them push harder. They'd mock me, say things like, 'Even if you're a topper, you'll never get into university,' or 'Marks don't make you smart.' Every achievement I had, they found a way to cut it down. I guess they thought humiliation would make me tougher."
Kaein's brow furrowed. "And did it?"
Lior looked at him, eyes unreadable. "…It made me quieter."
The room hushed with his words. Then, slowly, a memory unspooled in his mind—pulling both of them backward.
---
The evening meal was a quiet affair. The inn's lamps glowed with a soft amber light, the flickering flames brushing warmth against the wooden walls. The clatter of bowls and the gentle hum of distant chatter drifted across the hall, but at their table, a certain silence lingered—comfortable, familiar, yet heavy with unspoken things.
Kaein sat across from him, his hands resting around a simple cup of tea. Lior lowered his gaze, stirring his bowl absentmindedly, though he hadn't yet taken a bite.
"Eat," Kaein said gently, his tone halfway between command and care. "You'll need strength for tomorrow."
Lior nodded, though the spoon lingered in his hand. The food tasted distant when he finally brought it to his lips, as though his mind had slipped elsewhere.
It was Kaein who spoke first again, quietly, as though easing the silence open. "I used to walk past that river too, you know. Every morning on my way to school."
Lior looked up, startled at the sudden familiarity of the words. Kaein's eyes were far away, as if tracing something only he could see.
---
The mornings were always cool in Aldrene. Lior remembered pedaling his bicycle along the narrow road that cut through the fields, the river running alongside like a silver thread. The air smelled of damp earth, and his bag bumped lightly against his back with every turn of the wheels.
Lior remembered mornings when he and Kaein used to meet at the small crossroads near their neighborhood, both on bicycles. Kaein would always be half-awake, hair sticking up at odd angles, pedaling lazily while Lior rode ahead, calling back, "Come on, you'll be late again!"
Sometimes they'd race down the slope that curved past the old riverbank.
"Don't fall into the river," Lior would tease.
Kaein, his mouth full, would mumble, "If I do, you're jumping in after me."
"Only if you promise not to drag me down with you."
They'd laugh, voices carrying over the water.
The wind in their faces, laughter spilling into the air, the small stones rattling under their wheels—those were the rare moments when the world felt simple. Lior could still picture the way the sunlight scattered on the rippling water, how they would sometimes stop there to skip stones before rushing the last few minutes to school.
And on rainy days, they'd walk instead, umbrellas tilted too far, shoes splashing through puddles. Kaein would grumble about mud on his uniform, while Lior secretly enjoyed the slow pace, the rhythm of raindrops against the fabric above them. Once, Kaein had slipped on the wet stones near the river, and Lior had laughed so hard he nearly dropped his bag—until he noticed Kaein's scraped knee. Without thinking, he had torn a piece from his handkerchief and tied it clumsily around the cut. "Stop laughing," Kaein had muttered, cheeks red. But Lior never forgot the look in his friend's eyes then, the unspoken gratitude hidden beneath the embarrassment.
By the time they reached the school gate, their laughter would fade into the clamor of uniforms, bells, and chatter. Aldrene High had tall walls and an even taller reputation, but inside, it was just like any other school—rows of desks, hurried lunches, whispered jokes during lessons.
At school, they were always side by side. During lunch breaks, Kaein would pull out an extra sandwich—egg, tomato, and sometimes cheese—because Lior always seemed to 'forget' his own. "Do you remember," Lior said now, voice low but steady, "how you'd always bring an extra sandwich because you knew I'd forget breakfast?"
Kaein smirked. "I don't think you ever forgot. You just liked mine better."
Lior let out a quiet laugh. "Maybe. Or maybe I just liked… having someone who looked out for me."
Kaein wasn't the best at studies, not at first. He'd scratch his head over math problems, frown at grammar exercises, and sigh dramatically whenever history tests came around. But he never gave up. He stayed back after class, sometimes dragging Lior along to explain things.
"You make it sound too easy," Kaein would complain, watching Lior scribble equations in neat lines.
"Because it is easy," Lior would reply, then pause and soften. "Here, let's try it together."
The memories spiraled further. He could see the two of them lingering after classes, sometimes walking home slowly under the soft glow of streetlamps. They'd stop at the small bookstore near the main road, flipping through magazines they never bought. Kaein would lean against the counter, bored, while Lior devoured pages of novels until the shopkeeper scolded them to leave.
And yet, even in those quiet moments, the weight of the teachers' words lingered. Lior could still hear one of them sneer: "Top marks won't hide the fact you lack real talent. You'll learn that the hard way."
There were other moments too—those late afternoons when the class was empty and quiet, the chalk dust still hanging in the air. Lior would sit by the window, scribbling in his notebook, while Kaein tossed a ball lazily against the wall. The silence between them was never heavy; it felt like a place of safety, as though the noise of the world couldn't touch them there.
But not all memories were warm. Some were sharp, painful. The classrooms where teachers shook their heads at him. The whispers from classmates: "Top of the class or not, it won't matter. He's too quiet, too soft. University will eat him alive."
There was one day that stood out vividly. He had scored highest in a math exam, and while most students congratulated him, one of the teachers had sighed and said in front of everyone, "Marks don't mean confidence, Lior. Knowledge without presence is useless." The room had laughed, some snickering, some whispering. Lior had lowered his gaze, clutching his paper so tightly it nearly tore.
He never told Kaein the full sting of those remarks, but Kaein seemed to sense it anyway. On days when Lior went unusually quiet, Kaein would nudge his shoulder, saying, "Don't let them get in your head. You're more than their words."
But when the others left, Kaein had walked up, grabbed the paper from his hands, and said flatly, "You did better than all of them. Don't you dare believe otherwise." He had pinned the paper back onto Lior's chest and added with a grin, "And besides, you still beat me. I'll get you next time."
That moment had stuck with him, brighter than all the jeers. Because even when the world doubted him, Kaein hadn't.
---
Back in the present, Lior blinked slowly, pulling himself from the memory. The taste of those days was still vivid, bitter yet sweet.
He exhaled. "I guess I want to go, not just for the friends… but for myself. To stand there and show that I've grown past what they tried to bury me under. I want to face them. Not out of anger, but… resolution."
Kaein's gaze softened, steady and calm. "Then that's exactly what we'll do."
The night stretched comfortably around them. Dishes were cleared, cups of warm tea sipped in quiet. Outside, the city's hum was faint, but in the small house, it felt like another world—two men sharing food, memories, and the slow stitching of wounds long left untended.
When the conversation dwindled into silence, Lior found himself staring at the faint reflection in the window. The man who looked back at him wasn't the boy who once pedaled to school with tired eyes.
And yet… beneath it all, that boy still lingered. Waiting, perhaps, for closure.
He whispered, almost to himself, "Three days later… I'll finally know."