Roy had taken three steps away before Graham spoke again.
"Roy."
He stopped.
For a second, Roy thought Graham was going to say something practical. A reminder. A warning. Some dry comment to round off the conversation so it didn't linger longer than it had to.
Instead, Graham asked, "Do you believe in God?"
The question landed strangely. Huh? not heavy, not light. Just… unexpected. Roy turned back slowly.
"What…where did that come from?" he asked.
Graham shrugged, hands still in his coat pockets. "You looked like you were about to disappear again. Figured I'd ask something that makes people stay put."
Roy let out a quiet breath through his nose. He stared at the pavement between them, at a crack running through the concrete like a fault line.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I've never been sure."
Graham nodded, as if that was exactly the answer he'd expected.
"That's probably the most accurate one," he said. "Most people just say yes or no because uncertainty makes them uncomfortable."
They stood there, the night pressing in around them. A streetlight flickered once overhead before steadying.
"You know," Graham continued, "there's no actual proof God exists. Not in the way people like proof, anyway. No equations. No reproducible experiments. Just stories, interpretations, faith." He paused. "But there's also no proof He doesn't."
Roy glanced up at him. "Why are you getting philosophical with me?"
Graham smiled faintly. "I walked at night too. Comes with the territory."
He shifted his weight slightly. "There's this old argument. You've probably heard some version of it. The watchmaker theory."
Roy nodded. "If you find a watch on the ground, you assume someone made it."
"Right," Graham said. "Because complexity implies intention. Gears don't arrange themselves into something that measures time by accident."
"And the universe is the watch," Roy said.
"And God is the watchmaker," Graham finished. "Or at least… that's the idea."
Roy looked up at the sky again, instinctively. The stars were dimmer here, dulled by city light, but they were still there. Unmoved. Indifferent.
"There's another angle," Graham said. "One I like more."
Roy waited.
"The universe is absurdly precise," Graham went on. "Not poetically precise. Mathematically. The fundamental constants, like gravity, electromagnetism, and the strong and weak nuclear forces; if any one of them were off by even a fraction of a fraction… nothing would work as we know it to be. No stars. No planets. No chemistry. No life."
He held up his fingers, pinching the air. "We're talking differences so small they don't even feel real. Zero-point-something percent. Adjust one value, and the universe collapses into chaos or never forms at all."
"So it's either design," Roy said, "or impossible luck."
"Exactly," Graham replied. "Some people see that and call it God. Some people call it chance. Some people say there are infinite universes and we just happen to be standing in the one where the numbers worked out."
Roy thought about that. Infinite failures surrounding a single success.
"And you?" Roy asked. "What do you call it?"
Graham was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I call it fragile."
Roy frowned slightly, since he was expecting a proper answer.
"Everything we are," Graham continued, "exists on a knife's edge. Not just humanity. Reality itself. And somehow, against every ridiculous odd, it didn't fall."
He took a breath, cold fogging in front of him.
"But here's the part people don't talk about," Graham said. "Even if the universe was set up perfectly… even if everything was aligned from the start… it still wasn't finished when you were born."
Roy looked at him.
"Just by existing", Graham said, "you changed everything."
Roy opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"When you were born," Graham continued, voice steady, "the universe stopped being the version it would have been without you. Every breath you've taken, every step, every choice, no matter how small, altered the arrangement of matter permanently."
He gestured vaguely at the city, the sky, and everything beyond it. "Fast-forward to the end of everything. Heat death. No stars. No motion. Just the same temperature everywhere. Total equilibrium."
Roy swallowed.
"When the universe reaches that state," Graham said, "the position of every single atom will be what it is… because you lived."
Not in spite of it.
Because of it.
"If you hadn't existed," Graham went on, "those atoms would be arranged differently. Infinitesimally, sure. But irreversibly. The universe remembers everything, even when nothing is left to remember it."
"You don't have to believe in God," Graham said quietly. "But don't make the mistake of thinking your existence is negligible. The universe already bent itself around you once. That's not nothing."
Roy stared at the street ahead. At the split in the road. At the direction that led home.
The emptiness didn't vanish. The questions didn't resolve themselves. He didn't suddenly feel certain, or chosen, or saved.
But something shifted. The path didn't feel imaginary anymore.
Roy exhaled slowly. "That's a lot to put on a guy who just went for a walk."
Graham smiled. "You asked better questions than most."
Roy nodded once. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For reminding me I'm… here."
Graham gave him a brief look, something unreadable but not unkind. "Anytime."
This time, when Roy turned away, Graham didn't stop him.
As he walked, the emptiness didn't disappear. The doubts stayed. The weight stayed.
But the ground under his feet felt solid.
But one thing was flying around in Roy's mind.
How did Graham Rose know he was at the park? He never brought it up, not even once, and also, why was he near the park anyway? Kieran's house was not even in this direction?
As Roy turned to look back at Graham, he didn't see him walking back. It was as if he just disappeared into thin air.
"Hmm."