The transition from sleep to reality was often a jagged one for Haya, but today it felt particularly heavy. He had escaped the dream of the girl on the beach, but the phantom weight of her gaze seemed to cling to his shoulders like a damp cloak.
"Ooooh—"
Haya let out a long, bone-deep yawn as he stepped through the wide-open front door. The wood was cool beneath his bare feet, a sharp contrast to the humid air waiting outside. He squinted, his eyes slowly adjusting to the brilliance of the afternoon sun that hung like a golden coin over the village.
The first thing he saw was his mother. She stood alone in the center of the front garden, framed by the hibiscus and bougainvillea that lined their property. She looked like a seasoned farmer, a stark departure from the business-focused woman who had been so busy lately. She wore a wide straw hat that cast a deep shadow over her eyes, thick gardening gloves, and a stained canvas apron. In her hands, she clutched a hand fork and a hoe as if they were scepters of her own private kingdom.
"Eh? Awake already?" she said, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her glove. "I was just about to ask your sister to wake you up again."
Haya stretched his arms toward the sky, feeling the satisfying pop of his joints. "Thankfully, I got here before she could. The others are just washing their faces now." He looked around the quiet front yard. "Where are the other two?"
"They're coming," she smiled, and the warmth in her expression was more rejuvenating than the nap he'd just had. "You came just at the right time, Haya."
"So… what should I do?" Haya asked, trying to shake off the last remnants of lethargy.
His mother hummed thoughtfully, her eyes scanning the greenery. "Hmm? I think it's about time to prune this tree." She gestured to the pedestal near the entrance. "Can you prune it for me? You have the touch for it."
"Ah… talk about coincidence," Haya muttered. He felt a strange sense of relief; he needed a task that required focus, something to drown out the noise in his head.
"Boys!" his mother called out toward the house. "Can you help me move those heavy vases near the porch?"
"Okay, right away, ma'am!"
Danish and Zul's voices rang out in unison from the hallway. They burst through the front door a second later, energized by the prospect of physical labor. The front yard quickly became a hive of activity.
The peace of the afternoon was a fragile thing. Haya had just begun to inspect his tools when a loud, hollow thud echoed from the side of the house. It was followed immediately by the sharp, sickening crack of ceramic meeting concrete.
Thud! Smash!
"Kyaa!"
"Hanna!"
Inari and Annis's voices rose in a panicked chorus. The sound acted like an alarm. Everyone at the front of the house dropped what they were doing and rushed toward the side yard.
When they arrived, they saw a large ornamental vase—one of their mother's favorites—toppled over. It was cracked down the middle, leaning precariously against a small sapling. Hanna was on the ground, having tripped in the confusion, while Annis and Inari were frantically trying to help her up.
"What happened?" Haya's mother asked, her voice tight with worry. "Are you all right, girls?"
Haya stood at the back of the group, his face a mask of flat indifference. He looked at Inari, who was looking flustered and guilty.
"Oi, Inari," Haya said, his voice cold and scolding. "Stop joking around."
He didn't wait for her to defend herself. He stepped forward, pushing past the group to grab the half-broken vase. It was incredibly heavy and unstable; he could feel the jagged edges of the crack biting into his palms through his sleeves. He hurried to move it to a safe corner before it could shatter completely or hurt anyone else.
"I'm not playing around!" Inari's voice trembled. Her eyes were glassy, shimmering on the verge of tears as she faced her brother's blunt accusation. She looked small, her usual bravado evaporated by the accident.
"Hey, hey… Haya," Zul whispered, stepping closer to his friend and nudging him with an elbow. "It's not like it was her fault. Don't blame her so harshly, okay?"
"It's not like I'm angry or anything," Haya replied, though the sharp, annoyed look on his face told a different story. He hated chaos, and he hated when things broke—it felt like a metaphor for his own restless mind.
"Alright, that's enough," Danish interrupted, his voice calm and mature, acting as the group's mediator. "You girls should rest for a bit. Let's just move the rest of these and then we can relax. Haya, go back to your tree."
With the tension simmering down, the group drifted back to their work. The boys helped realign the heavy pots, and their mother returned to her flower beds. Haya, however, returned to his post by the front door.
Before him sat the Japanese Juniper (Juniperus chinensis).
To most, it was just a small, twisted tree in a pot. To Haya, it was an art form. It was the art of shaping and bending nature itself, of forcing a grand, ancient landscape into a tiny, manageable space. It was the only thing in his life he felt he could truly control.
He picked up the shears. Snip. Clip.
He worked with a surgeon's patience. Each branch he removed was a calculated decision. He guided the tree back toward its intended form, his mind narrowing until the rest of the world began to fade into a blur. The voices of his friends, the heat of the sun, and the stinging words of the earlier argument became nothing more than white noise.
He was completely absorbed—alone in a world of green needles and brown bark. At the edge of his vision, the others were moving shadows, quietly continuing their work, but Haya remained anchored to the juniper.
As time passed, the others began preparing to rest. They decided to have a small picnic beneath the large, sprawling shade tree in the front yard. Danish and Zul arranged the mats, while the girls carried out cold drinks and snacks.
"Big brother!" Inari called out from the picnic spot.
"…"
"Hey, brother! Are you listening?"
"…"
"I'm calling you! Can you stop for a bit and help us carry the water? It's heavy!"
Inari huffed, her face red from the heat. She stepped toward the front door, intent on tapping her brother on the shoulder and dragging him back to reality—
"Hey, Inari. Long time no see."
The new voice was deep, steady, and carried a resonant authority that stopped Inari in her tracks. She froze, her eyes widening as a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared on the front porch, seemingly out of nowhere.
He looked to be in his early twenties, his presence calm and masculine. He wore a simple shirt and trousers, but there was a confidence in his stance that marked him as someone who had seen more of the world than the rest of them.
"Eh… why—how?" Inari stammered, her shock quickly melting into a radiant smile. She ran forward and jumped into his arms. "Brother Ammar!"
"I'm on semester break too," Ammar said, smiling awkwardly as he patted her head. "That's why I came home. It's good to see you're as lively as ever."
"Hehe, I've grown up a lot, you know!" Inari replied proudly, pulling back to show off her height. "Mom's inside washing up... and Haya is over there."
She pointed toward the front door. Ammar looked over at Haya, who was still meticulously trimming a single, tiny leaf from the bonsai.
"Hey, brother Haya! Big brother Ammar is here!" Inari called out at the top of her lungs.
"..."
"This guy!" she snapped, her frustration returning. "He's in his own world again."
"Well, well… it's okay, Inari," Ammar said gently, an amused glint in his eyes. "Let him be. A craftsman needs his silence."
It was only when Haya felt the tree was "right" that he finally lowered his tools. He took a long, shaky breath and stepped back. As his vision cleared, he noticed the group gathered under the shade tree.
"You're done?" Ammar asked, standing at the edge of the picnic mat.
Haya blinked, his mouth falling open slightly. "Big brother? How come you're here?"
"I'm on semester break," Ammar laughed.
"Huh?" Inari crossed her arms, sticking her tongue out. "Then why are you here? Go back and marry that bonsai tree already since you love it so much!"
"Inari, stop it," Ammar said, though he was smiling. "Your brother was just focused. It's a rare trait."
Haya tilted his head, genuinely confused. "You really called me?"
"YES, I DID!" Inari yelled, which caused the entire group to burst into laughter. Even Hanna, who had been quiet since her fall, let out a soft giggle.
Soon, they all settled down beneath the tree. A wooden swing hung quietly from the thickest branch, creaking softly in the breeze. The sunlight had softened now, turning from a harsh white to a mellow, buttery gold as the day prepared to fade.
As the laughter faded into quiet conversation, Ammar caught Haya's eye. "Walk with me for a bit?"
Haya nodded. They left the others and walked toward the side of the house, where the garden fence met a narrow dirt path. Beyond it stretched the paddy fields—wide, open, and glowing under the sinking sun. The water between the rows reflected the sky like pieces of a broken mirror.
"You've grown taller," Ammar said, looking out at the horizon. "And quieter."
Haya shrugged. "I thought I'd become more talkative." He paused, looking at his brother. "Am I really that quiet?"
"Yes," Ammar replied. "You used to ask so many questions. Now, you seem to be searching for the answers entirely on your own."
Haya looked down at the dirt path. "I still have them. The questions. I just… I don't say them out loud anymore."
Ammar stopped walking. "That's not always a good thing, Haya. Keeping everything inside makes your world smaller than it has to be. If you don't speak, the world will eventually forget to listen."
Haya looked at the ripples moving through the rice plants. "I used to like small worlds. But now… somehow, they make me feel imprisoned."
"You've been thinking deeply, haven't you?" Ammar asked, studying him.
Haya gave a quiet nod. They continued walking, the air smelling of wet soil and growing things. It was a sacred, peaceful moment between brothers.
"So," Ammar asked, "how have you been, really? Lately."
Haya thought about the long nights of study, the stress of the exams, and the way he liked sitting alone in the dark before the house woke up. "I guess… it's the same. Confused sometimes. But calm. I just hope my exam results will be good."
Ammar laughed and tapped his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. You've done your part. Now you can relax. Don't let a piece of paper define your peace."
"How about you?" Haya asked. "Your college life?"
Ammar sighed, but it was a happy sound. "Busy. Loud. Sometimes exhausting. You meet people from everywhere, Haya. Everyone has these massive plans. Sometimes I feel like I have to keep running just to stay in the same place."
"Do you like it?"
"I like the freedom. But I miss this. The way time feels wider here."
They reached a bend in the path. The sun was touching the horizon now, turning the clouds into soft, burning flames.
"Have you thought about where you want to study?" Ammar asked. "What you want to take?"
Haya's steps slowed. "I don't know. I see people my age deciding on engineering, medicine, business… they talk like their future is a finished book. But I feel like my page is still blank."
"That's not a bad thing," Ammar said easily. "A blank page just means you have more space to write. And don't be afraid to write the wrong thing. Everyone does. The important part is that you keep the pen moving."
He looked at Haya with a serious expression. "Maybe, before university, you could find a job. A simple one. It'll help you see more of the world. Meet people who aren't just your childhood friends."
Haya imagined it. Working in a shop, or a café, or even a nursery. The thought was terrifying, but also… a little exciting. "Wouldn't that make me late for college?"
"Late for what?" Ammar replied. "Life isn't a race with a single finish line."
They started walking back toward the house. The sky was now painted in deep orange and soft purple. Back at the big tree, Inari was on the swing, pumping her legs to go higher and higher.
"She hasn't changed," Ammar noted.
"She's louder," Haya added dryly.
Inari spotted them. "Big brother Ammar! Push me!"
Ammar laughed and went behind the swing, giving her a powerful shove. The swing flew forward, and Inari screamed with delight. Haya watched them, a steady, quiet warmth settling in his chest. It wasn't the loud joy Inari felt, but it was real.
As the sky began to darken, their mother came out to the porch with a towel over her shoulder. "Alright, everyone. It's almost dinner time!"
Groans of "five more minutes!" answered her. She smiled and gave them their five minutes.
The light turned a deep, royal purple. The first crickets began to sing in the tall grass. Haya looked up at the sky. Soon, the stars would appear, one by one. Tomorrow would come, bringing another quiet morning, another tree to prune, and another memory to shape.
He thought about the paddy fields, the blank pages of his future, and the idea of a job. And maybe… just maybe… he'd finally start asking those questions out loud again.
As he turned to follow the others inside, the front door felt less like a barrier and more like an entrance to something new.
And after that—another day.
Another quiet morning.
Another memory to shape.
And maybe…
Another question he'd finally ask out loud.
.