Evening descended gently over a small town nestled a few miles from the city. The horizon was painted in hues of rose-red and molten gold, the colors blending like strokes on a divine canvas. The glow touched rooftops, windows, and cobblestone streets, making the town appear as though it belonged to another world entirely.
By this time of day, the streets were lively yet peaceful. Families had returned from work and school, and the air carried the warmth of togetherness. From nearly every home drifted the sounds of conversation and laughter. Parents listened to their children recount small triumphs and mischiefs; couples exchanged lighthearted banter about the day; the smell of dinner cooking filled the air.
In this harmony, two streets stood quietly illuminated by the hum and flicker of streetlamps awakening for the night. Their soft, rhythmic buzz echoed faintly, pushing back the twilight shadows. Upon those streets walked a tall figure, his silhouette stretched long across the ground. His steps were measured, silent, almost blending with the rhythm of the town.
The lamplight revealed his face—handsome and sharp, yet calm with an air of detachment. His lean frame bore the marks of strength; not the rugged weight of a brawler, but the refined athleticism of one disciplined and focused. His name was Eric Nova.
Eric's pace quickened as his destination came into view: a simple but elegant house at the far end of the lane. Modest in size yet carefully kept, the home carried a quiet dignity. Its neat garden, well-swept porch, and gently glowing windows gave it an aura of peace, one that could soothe even the weariest traveler.
At the door, Eric pressed the bell. The chime had hardly finished before hurried footsteps raced toward him from within.
"Mom, Dad! Big bro is back!" two voices exclaimed in perfect unison, their excitement bubbling over. "Heheh!"
The door swung wide, revealing twin girls, no older than eleven. They stood shoulder to shoulder, identical in their bright eyes and mischievous grins. Their joy seemed to fill the doorway itself.
Eric, who so often wore an expression of calm indifference, found the corners of his lips betraying him. A smile spread across his face, rare and tender, softening the sharpness of his features. He reached out and ruffled their hair, and immediately both girls puffed their cheeks, pouting dramatically.
"Meanie big bro!" they chorused, though their giggles gave away their delight.
Eric chuckled, the sound deep and unguarded. "Come now," he said, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret, "I've got something for you."
The twins' eyes sparkled with anticipation, but before they could press him further, Eric stepped inside.
Warmth wrapped around him instantly—the kind of warmth that didn't come from a fireplace, but from the essence of family. The sweet aroma of food drifted from the kitchen: the savory notes of roasted meat, the gentle spice of stewing vegetables, and the faint sweetness of bread just pulled from the oven. His stomach, long empty, growled like distant thunder.
The twins burst into laughter again, pointing at him. "Big bro's tummy is louder than ours!"
Shaking his head, Eric smiled faintly, removing his shoes before setting down the small bag slung over his shoulder.
From the kitchen, a familiar voice called out, firm yet filled with affection. "Eric, is that you? Wash your hands before you even think of touching the food!"
"Yes, Mom," Eric answered, his voice carrying a warmth reserved only for this house.
He moved to the washbasin near the kitchen entrance, the twins clinging to his sleeves and whispering excitedly about what his "surprise" might be. Their chatter was ceaseless, a welcome noise compared to the silence he often carried with him outside.
When he finally entered the dining room, his father was setting down the last dish on the table—a man whose broad shoulders and weathered hands spoke of years of labor, yet whose eyes softened the moment he saw his son.
"You're back earlier than I thought," his father said, nodding with quiet pride.
"Work finished sooner today," Eric replied, slipping into a chair.
The table was soon alive with voices. The twins fought playfully over the best pieces of food, his mother scolded them gently while sneaking extra portions onto Eric's plate, and his father asked about his day with a steady, probing tone that suggested he noticed far more than he said.
For a while, it was easy to forget the weight Eric carried outside these walls—the silent burdens of his own path, the unspoken distance in his heart. Within this home, he was not the aloof young man the town knew, nor the disciplined figure shaped by unseen struggles. Here, he was simply "big bro," son, and family.
Yet, even as laughter filled the room, Eric's gaze drifted to the window. Beyond the warm light of his home, the night deepened. The world outside remained vast, uncertain, and filled with challenges waiting to stir.
A flicker of thought passed through him: how long could such peace truly last?
His mother's voice pulled him back. "Eric, don't just stare out the window. Eat while it's hot."
"Yes, Mom," he answered softly, forcing a small smile as he picked up his chopsticks.
The twins leaned across the table, eyes gleaming. "So, big bro… what did you bring us?"
Eric reached into his bag and pulled out two small packages wrapped neatly. He placed them before his sisters, who gasped in delight before tearing them open with all the carelessness of children. Their laughter echoed, and the room brightened further.
For tonight, at least, the world outside could wait.