The afternoon sun had begun to warm the yard when everyone finally went back inside the house.
The laughter and chatter from outside slowly moved into the living room as the group settled down. The wooden door creaked softly when Ammar pushed it open, letting the cooler air of the house greet them.
One by one they stepped in.
"Ahhhh… I'm full," Zul groaned dramatically, holding his stomach as he walked straight toward the couch.
He practically collapsed onto it as if he had just run a marathon instead of eating twice in a single morning.
"You always say that after eating," Danish said, chuckling.
Zul waved his hand lazily. "Because it's always true."
Haya and Danish followed him and sat on the three-seater couch. Zul had already taken the far end, stretching his legs like a lazy cat claiming its territory.
Across from them, Ammar quietly sat on the single-seater chair near the window.
Their mother lowered herself onto the two-seater couch beside the table, smiling as she watched the boys settle down.
From the kitchen, the sound of clinking plates and running water could be heard.
Inari was standing at the sink, washing the dishes left from their second round of breakfast.
"Why am I the only one doing this?" she complained loudly.
"Because you ran away earlier," their mother answered calmly from the living room.
"That's unfair!," Inari muttered.
Just then, Hanna walked into the kitchen and rolled up her sleeves.
"Here, I'll help," she said.
Behind her, Annis followed with a small laugh.
"Me too. If we leave her alone she might break all the plates."
"Hey!" Inari protested.
Their voices blended with the sound of water and dishes, filling the house with a comfortable kind of noise.
Meanwhile in the living room, the boys continued talking.
Zul leaned deeper into the couch.
"I swear your mom cooks too well," he said. "If I stay here for a week I'll gain five kilos."
"That's your own fault," Haya replied. "You're the one who keeps eating."
Danish laughed quietly.
"Well, he did eat breakfast twice and the portion too..."
Zul pointed at him.
"Hey, you ate too!"
"Not as much as you."
Their mother shook her head gently, amused by the boys' bickering.
"You boys haven't changed since you were all just a kid ," she said.
"That's because we're still young, Auntie," Zul replied proudly.
From the kitchen, Annis peeked out for a moment.
"More like still childish."
Everyone laughed.
The warm, easy atmosphere filled the living room. It felt like time had slowed down, letting them rest in the comfort of familiar company.
For a moment, no one felt the pressure of the future, responsibilities, or the paths waiting ahead of them.
It was just a quiet afternoon.
And the soft sound of dishes being washed in the background.
After resting for a while in the living room, the lively atmosphere slowly began to calm.
The conversation drifted from one topic to another before finally fading into small, scattered remarks. The boys sat comfortably on the couches, some leaning back, others stretching their legs as if they had no intention of moving again.
From the kitchen, the sound of dishes finally stopped.
A moment later, Inari walked out while wiping her hands with a towel. Behind her came Hana and Annis.
"All done," Inari announced.
"Finally," Zul said lazily. "Now you can sit and suffer the same food coma as us."
"Food coma?" Inari scoffed. "You're the only one dying over there."
Annis and Hanna sat down near the edge of the room, joining the group again.
For a while, they all talked together like before—laughing at small jokes, recalling random memories from school, and teasing one another.
But slowly, the time to leave approached.
Danish checked his phone.
"Ah… it's already afternoon," he said.
Zul groaned dramatically again. "Don't tell me that."
"We should probably head back soon," Danish continued.
Zul sat up slightly, rubbing his neck.
"Yeah… my mom will start calling if I disappear too long."
Their mother nodded gently.
"You boys should get going now , you too girls ."
The atmosphere shifted slightly.
Not sad.
But quieter.
Everyone slowly stood up.
Chairs moved. Slippers scraped softly across the floor.
Outside the house, the warm afternoon light had grown brighter.
"Alright then," Zul stretched his arms. "Thanks for the food, Auntie."
"You're always welcome here," she replied with a smile.
Danish bowed his head slightly in thanks.
" Thanks for having us , Auntie." Hana and Annis continue.
Meanwhile, Haya stood a little apart from the group.
Hana was standing near the doorway.
For a brief moment, the two of them found themselves facing each other.
Neither of them spoke.
One by one, the friends prepared to leave. Zul and Danish walked toward their motorcycles. Haya found himself standing near the doorway, facing Hanna.
The noise of the others seemed to drop away. Haya scratched the back of his head. "Uh... thanks for helping in the kitchen."
Hanna smiled softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I wanted to help. It was nice."
A small, awkward silence stretched between them—the kind that held a weight of its own. "I guess... I'll see you around?" Hanna said.
"Yeah," Haya replied. "Yeah, definitely."
The thought left a faint heaviness in his chest.
"Hey! Haya!"
Zul's voice broke the quiet moment.
"Not gonna say anything before we leave?"
Haya turned slightly.
"Hope you all doing well..?"
Before stepping away, he looked back at Hana once more.
She gave him a small wave.
He nodded and wave back.
But as they rode away, the dust settling on the road, Haya felt a pang of uncertainty. Will we? Everyone was moving toward a future that seemed to have no space for quiet mornings like this.
The thought left a faint heaviness in his chest.
But behind them, Haya felt a strange feeling lingering in his chest.
Not exactly sadness.
Not exactly happiness either.
Just the quiet awareness that moments like this… didn't last forever.
After seeing his friends off at the gate, the house slowly returned to its quieter rhythm.
The sound of their laughter faded down the road as they road their motorcycle away, leaving behind only the warm afternoon breeze and the occasional chirping of birds.
Haya stood by the there for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Amar had already stepped back inside.
"Oi, how long are you planning to stood there?" Amar called from the doorway.
Haya blinked and shook his head lightly.
"Okay… i'll move "
He walked back into the house.
Inside, the living room had already changed its atmosphere.
Their mother and Inari had taken control of the television.
"Come here, come here," their mother said excitedly while patting the couch. "It's starting already."
"What's starting?" Amar asked.
"My drama!"
Inari grabbed the remote like it was something precious.
"You two better not change the channel."
Amar sighed but sat down anyway.
Haya also sat beside him, leaning back against the couch.
The television screen lit up with dramatic music.
It was a Korean drama.
On the screen, a man in a suit was shown working late at an office. Papers were scattered everywhere. His eyes looked tired and empty.
Their mother leaned forward slightly, already absorbed.
"So This is the main character," trying to understand.
Inari nodded eagerly.
"Do adult really live like that ?."
On screen, the man was shown arguing with his boss, rushing through endless work, and eating instant noodles alone in a dim apartment.
"Whats wrong with that bald boss of him ," Inari continued. "I it were me i already punch his wrinkled cheeks."
Their mother sighed.
"Poor thing."
The scene changed.
The man collapsed at his desk, exhausted.
Closing his eyes.
Then everything faded to darkness.
Mom clasped her hands together.
"Huh? What happened !"
The next scene showed the man suddenly waking up in a classroom.
He looked younger.
Much younger.
A teacher was writing something on the blackboard.
Students filled the room.
The man stared at his hands in disbelief.
"What ? He went back in time," Inari said surprised.
Their mother nodded.
"Now now what he is going to do ."
The drama continued.
The man slowly realized what had happened.
Instead of wasting his youth again, he began making different choices.
Studying smarter.
Helping his friends.
Avoiding the mistakes that ruined his future before.
Meanwhile, on the couch, Amar watched with mild interest.
"Hmm… not bad."
But beside him, Haya wasn't as relaxed.
His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
The words from earlier that day echoed faintly in his mind.
There is no story for me to tell.
On the television, the character was given another chance.
Another life.
Another opportunity.
To fix things.
To live better.
Haya shifted slightly in his seat.
Something about the story made his chest feel uncomfortable.
Not painful.
But unsettled.
As if something inside him had been lightly poked.
The drama reached the end of the episode.
The main character stood in front of his school gate, looking determined.
The music swelled.
Then the screen faded to black.
"Ahhh!" their mother said happily. "So good!"
Inari nodded enthusiastically.
"Cant wait for the Next episode right , Mom !."
Amar stretched his arms.
"Well, that was interesting."
Haya stood up abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping softly against the floor.
"I'm going to my room," he said, his voice flat.
He turned to leave, but before he could take a single step, a voice anchored him in place.
"Haya."
Haya stopped in the middle of the living room. Amar was standing now, watching him with an unreadable expression.
"You free for a bit?" Amar asked.
Haya turned his head slightly, his hand hovering near the doorframe. "Why?"
Instead of answering immediately, Amar walked toward the small table near the entrance. He reached out and grabbed his motorcycle keys; the faint, rhythmic jingle of metal echoed sharply in the quiet room.
"I want to go somewhere," Amar said. He looked back at his younger brother, his gaze steady. "Come with me."
Haya hesitated. Outside the window, the afternoon sun had begun its slow lean toward the west. The light entering the house had shifted, turning softer, heavier, and stained with gold.
"…Okay," Haya finally replied.
Amar raised a hand slightly, a silent gesture of pause. "You should go and pray first."
Haya nodded quietly and retreated.
A little while later, the two brothers stepped out of the house together. The air outside had cooled, carrying the scent of damp earth and evening jasmine. The village road was a sanctuary of peace—just the distant murmur of neighbors chatting and the occasional hum of a passing bike.
Amar kicked the engine to life. "Get on."
Haya climbed onto the back seat without a word. The motorcycle rolled forward, leaving the house behind as they wound through the familiar geography of their childhood—small houses, tilting coconut trees, and narrow paths Haya had walked a thousand times. Yet today, through the lens of his current heaviness, everything felt slightly foreign.
Eventually, Amar slowed down as they reached the banks of the river.
The water widened greatly here, stretching toward a small, silent island in the center. A long wooden bridge connected the two worlds. Amar parked the bike near the grassy edge.
"Let's walk a bit."
They stepped onto the bridge. The wooden planks creaked faintly, a rhythmic protest beneath their footsteps. Below them, the river moved with a sluggish grace, its surface reflecting the bruised purple and gold of the late afternoon sky. They walked until they reached the center, then sat, letting their feet hang over the edge, dangling above the slow-moving current.
"You know," Amar began casually, resting his arms on the weathered railing, "when I first left for college… I thought everything would be easy."
Haya leaned back, looking at his brother's profile.
"I thought I'd meet new people, study hard, get good grades… and that would be it," Amar continued. He let out a short, quiet chuckle. "But life doesn't really work like that."
Haya listened, the sound of the river filling the gaps between his brother's words.
"At first, I struggled a lot," Amar admitted. "The assignments, the pressure, the weight of everyone's expectations… sometimes it felt like everything was piling up so high it was going to bury me. It made me want to give up. Every single day."
He looked out toward the horizon. "There were nights I couldn't even sleep. My mind just wouldn't stop."
Haya glanced at him, surprised to see the cracks in his "perfect" older brother. Amar smiled faintly.
"But eventually, I did learn something."
"What?" Haya asked quietly.
"That everyone is struggling in their own way. You just can't see the weights they're carrying."
The two brothers sat in silence for a long moment, the wind tugging at their shirts. Then, Amar straightened up, his tone shifting.
"Do you have anywhere you want to go?"
Haya looked at the water, then answered gently. "There is a place…"
"Where?"
"The sea."
"To the beach we go, then," Amar replied, a spark of excitement returning to his voice.
The ride toward the coast felt faster, as if time itself were accelerating to meet the sunset. The sky was a burning canvas of orange and deep gold, with soft purple clouds drifting like smoke in the distance.
When they arrived, the beach was a ghost town. Only the rhythmic, mournful roar of the waves greeted them. They walked across the cooling sand until they stood at the water's edge, where the sea stretched endlessly into the dark.
Amar stood quietly beside him for a long time. Then, he spoke, his voice barely rising above the tide.
"So."
Haya didn't look at him. He kept his eyes on the foam retreating from his shoes.
"Is there anything that you've been holding?" Amar asked.
Haya's fingers slowly clenched into fists. He tried to force the silence to stay, to keep the dam from breaking, but the pressure in his chest was agonizing. His throat felt dry, burning, as if something sharp had been lodged there for years.
"…I don't know what's wrong with me," Haya finally said. His voice was a low, jagged rasp. "I feel like… I'm stuck."
The words began to leak out, then they came in a flood.
"I look back at everything and… there's nothing. Nothing feels real. It doesn't feel like I was actually there. It's like I didn't even exist." His voice trembled, the frustration finally surfacing. "And now everyone is moving forward, and I don't even know what I'm supposed to do."
Haya looked down at the sand, his chest heaving. "I tried to ignore it. I tried to pretend everything was fine. But the more I remember, the more I wish I wasn't even there." His voice cracked. "…Even though that's what I wanted."
He took a shaky, broken breath. "And there's also that dream… that girl… I don't even know if she's real. I don't know who she is."
The words poured out of him, years of suppressed isolation breaking through the barrier. When he finally stopped, the silence that returned was heavy and profound. The sky had deepened into a bruised, dark orange.
Amar didn't interrupt. He didn't offer advice or platitudes. He simply stepped closer and placed a heavy, grounding hand on Haya's shoulder.
Haya kept his head down, his eyes blurring.
The sound of the waves felt like it was washing over Haya's words, cleaning the air between them. Amar didn't pull his hand away from Haya's shoulder; instead, he squeezed it, grounding him.
"Even so," Amar whispered, his voice steady as an anchor. "You tried your best, Haya. And your 'best' didn't have to be a loud, shining trophy. You stayed when things felt empty. You looked for the beauty in the small things—the way a leaf turns, the way the light hits the porch—while you were waiting for your real life to start. That takes a different kind of courage. Most people would have just turned bitter. You just stayed quiet and kind."
Haya's breath hitched, but Amar continued.
"Listen to me. You feel like a ghost because you're comparing your 'behind-the-scenes' footage to everyone else's 'highlight reel.' You think we're all moving forward, but half of us are just running because we're afraid to stand still like you do. Being 'stuck' isn't a failure, Haya. It's just a pause. The world isn't going to leave you behind. It's just waiting for you to be ready."
He turned Haya toward him, forcing him to see the sincerity in his eyes.
"You did well. You survived the silence of the last few years, and you did it without losing your soul. That girl in the dream, this weight in your chest... they aren't here to break you. They're just pieces of a puzzle you haven't solved yet. But you don't have to solve it tonight. For now, just breathe. I'm right here. You aren't alone in this 'nothingness' anymore."
A single tear fell, disappearing into the dark sand.
"I'm sorry I didn't realize how hard it was for you," Amar said.
"You did great."
Haya covered his face with his hand, his breathing fracturing into sobs.
And as the final light of the sun dipped below the water, Haya felt the weight shift—not disappearing, but finally becoming something he could carry.
The sun touched the horizon, disappearing slowly. By the time Haya's breathing leveled out, the world had gone dark.
"Feel better?" Amar asked gently.
Haya wiped his eyes, nodding slightly. "…Yeah."
They walked back to the motorcycle in a comfortable, shared silence. As they began the ride home, the last sliver of the sun vanished behind the waves. Haya glanced back one last time toward the shoreline.
His eyes suddenly widened.
"What the…"
There, near the water's edge, standing perfectly still in the distance, was a silhouette.
A girl.
She wore a summer one-piece dress that caught the last of the fading light. A straw hat rested on her head, its long ribbon fluttering quietly behind her. Her long hair moved softly in the salt wind, appearing like a shadow etched against the glowing embers of the sunset.
"…Were you still there?" Haya whispered under his breath.
For a heartbeat, it felt as though she turned her head toward him—a silent acknowledgment across the sand. But before he could be sure, the motorcycle curved behind the hill, and her silhouette vanished into the encroaching night