The next morning, Egemed woke early.
He sat up and slid the curtain aside just enough to let the pale light slip in. As he gazed outside, a familiar name surfaced in his mind—Jerelr. He hadn't visited him in a long while. The realization stirred something restless in his chest. He rose at once, tidied his room, and smoothed the sheets as though preparing himself rather than the space.
Before leaving, he checked his brother's bed. It was already empty. The blankets were neatly folded, and the curtain by the window swayed gently in the morning breeze.
In the kitchen, he found his brother sharing tea with their mother. The quiet domestic scene softened him instantly. Watching them together, Egemed felt his heart loosen, warmed by the simple, enduring shape of a mother's love. Just as his father had loved him without condition, so did she. Smiling, he slipped between them and accepted a cup of tea.
When the sun climbed higher, Egemed stepped out into the back yard. He picked flowers from the old pots his mother kept there, gathering blooms large enough to clasp with both hands. Mud stained his fingers, but he only smiled at the sight.
I hope she won't mind, he thought. They grew in such ragged pots.
He washed his hands, then slipped quietly through the gate, careful not to make a sound—as if the house itself might stop him if it knew where he was going.
His pace slowed as he walked, the flowers pressed gently against his stomach. Church bells rang somewhere in the distance. Children ran past him, laughing and shouting that they would be late for Sunday school.
At the cementary, he paused. The flowers left there before had spoiled, white petals darkened and curling inward. He carefully removed them and laid them aside, then placed the fresh blooms in their stead.
Standing straight, he bowed his head.
"It's been a while, Jerelr," he said softly, a small smile touching his lips.
"These are the only flowers I could bring today. Since it's Sunday, I couldn't buy white tulips—the shop is closed." He let out a quiet chuckle. "I hope you don't mind. My mother planted these."
After a moment, he sat down and leaned against the tombstone.
"I have so many things to tell you," he whispered.
"One beautiful thing is that my brother came home. He apologized for who he used to be. He wants us to live together again… like when we were kids."
He smiled faintly. "I'm really happy he's changed. We're human beings—we always make mistakes, don't we?"
His gaze lowered. "This morning, I saw him having tea with our mother."
He paused.
"If you were still here, you'd see what he looks like now." His lips curved. "But you're still more handsome than him."
He laughed softly at his own joke, but the sound faded quickly. Memories surged—those early days, Jerelr smiling as he told his mother, "Your son is quite handsome".
Egemed swallowed and continued, "Your death anniversary is coming soon. I still can't reach your parents, and… the building is almost finished too."
His phone buzzed.
The sound shattered the stillness. He glanced at the screen and froze. A transfer notification glowed back at him. The sender was unknown. At the end of the message were the words:
Best regards — J. Myers.
His hands trembled as he scrolled. He tried to copy the number, but it wasn't a number at all—only letters.
The phone slipped from his fingers.
He ran a hand through his hair, head bowed, disbelief weighing heavily on him.
Where are Jerelr's parents?
Are they coming back before the anniversary?
Why did they leave without a word?
His thoughts spiraled.
After months of grief and searching—after waiting so long for even a sign—this was the first thing he received. And it was money. Just as Jerelr had promised.
From the day Jerelr died, silence had followed. No calls. No messages. Jerelr had once said that half his share would go toward the building every month, but nearly a year had passed with nothing.
Until now.
"It's June fourth," Egemed murmured, counting on his fingers. "Eight months…?"
He hadn't expected anything anymore. He could survive on his own. Everything he had now existed because Jerelr had been beside him—and that alone had been enough to make him happy.
After a long while, he picked up his phone and slipped it into his pocket. Rising, he bowed once more.
"Your parents might return soon," he said quietly.
Tears blurred his vision, but he smiled through them.
"I'm fine without your share. You should have given it all to them so they could survive."
His voice faltered. "It hurts that you're gone, and yet you still take care of me. But since you promised… and asked me to accept it—thank you."
He inhaled slowly. "See you again soon, Jerelr."
Then he turned and left.
Still lost in thought, Egemed was about to pass through the gate when a knock startled him. His brother stood by the window, watching.
"Where did you go?" his brother asked gently. "I've been looking for you."
Egemed smiled and traced a small circle in the air with his hand, a silent sign that he had only gone for a walk.
Before sunset, he sat alone on the veranda, his thoughts returning again and again to Jerelr's parents. Why hadn't they contacted him? Why the sudden transfer? Nothing made sense.
A sudden presence behind him made him jump.
"Ah—!"
Egemed jolted as someone suddenly appeared behind him.
"You don't seem to be in a good mood," his brother said, settling beside him. "Are you alright?"
Egemed said nothing.
"Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help." His brother nudged Egemed's shoulder gently with his own.
Egemed stood up without a word.
His brother looked up at him, puzzled. He had only just sat down, hoping to talk, and now Egemed was already on his feet. Before he could ask why, Egemed reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him up.
"Follow me brother," Egemed said. "Let's go watch the sunset together. I know a place," He smiled.
His brother's eyes widened, then softened into a grin. Without hesitation, he followed.
And ...together, they went to the Valley of Breath.
"I'm going to die, Egemed," Rada panted, hands braced against his knees.
Egemed, who was used to climbing the hill, wasn't even short of breath.
"Do you want me to piggyback you, brother?" he asked innocently.
Rada laughed between gasps. "Ha—too old for that, Ege…med."
"Why not?" Egemed chuckled. "You used to piggyback me when I was young."
"Are you serious?" Rada laughed again, straightening up.
The wind brushed gently through their hair as they stood side by side, watching the sun sink toward the horizon. The sky spilled into shades of yellow and red, glowing gold—vast and breathtaking. Rada was struck speechless, his gaze fixed on the horizon, awe written plainly on his face.
Egemed lowered himself onto the grass and tugged lightly at his brother's pants.
"Sit," he said.
After a moment of silence, Rada finally spoke.
"Egemed… I might not be very close to you."
Egemed glanced at him, surprised.
"But," Rada continued, "could you trust me? Just once?"
Egemed smiled softly and nodded.
"You haven't looked well since yesterday," Rada said. "Are you really okay?"
"Yes. I… am."
"If there's anything you want to tell me, I'm listening."
Silence fell between them again, heavier this time.
"It's just…" Egemed began, his voice quiet. "I haven't been able to contact my friend's parents since the day he passed."
Rada turned toward him. "Do you mind telling me more?"
Egemed smiled faintly. For so long, he had waited for this—his brother sitting beside him, listening. At last, it was happening.
"Three days after Jerelr died, I went to visit his parents," he said. "But they were gone. The house was empty. After that… they cut off all contact with me. Completely."
He paused, then continued. "It's been almost a year. Today, I received a message. Money was transferred into my account—from an unknown sender. But at the end, it said '—J. Myers.'"
"What was the money for?" Rada asked. "And who is J—"
"Jerelr promised that fifty percent of his share would go toward the building we started together," Egemed said quietly.
"What building?" Rada asked, curiosity flickering across his face.
"I'll take you there tomorrow," Egemed said. "You'll see."
Rada hesitated, then asked softly, "Egemed… do you miss your friend?"
Egemed didn't answer.
"Then why did your face turn pale yesterday?" Rada pressed. "Why did your voice shake when I asked about that… gun thing?"
Egemed couldn't speak. He didn't want to worry his brother. Seeing his silence, Rada moved closer and wrapped an arm around him, gently pulling Egemed's head to rest on his shoulder.
"Did it hurt that much?" Rada murmured, patting his head. "I'm sorry."
"When Jerelr was alive," Egemed said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, "I promised I would always be there for him—no matter what. And now, brother, to fulfill that promise… I still have to be there for him. Even if he's no longer here."
"But he's dead, Egemed," Rada said carefully. "What do you mean?"
Egemed understood then—his brother couldn't see promises the way he did. To others, a promise ended with death. To Egemed, it didn't. As long as he remembered Jerelr, it felt as though Jerelr was still waiting—for him, for that vow.
"He died of sickness," Egemed said, his voice trembling. "A sickness I didn't even notice for six years. He was still young—just like me. Sometimes I wonder… what if his soul is still waiting for that promise I made?"
Rada froze.
His eyes widened, unblinking. For a moment, fear crept into his expression, as though he were seeing a stranger instead of his brother.
"You're insane, Egemed," he said with a nervous chuckle, thinking it must be a joke.
Egemed laughed softly too, though his heart ached. He knew he didn't think the way others did. He tried—tried to fit in, to see the world as they did. The "gun" metaphor he had mentioned before probably sounded light, meaningless, to Rada. But to Egemed, it was heavy with consequence.
"A gun is a promise, brother," he said quietly. "The trigger pulls every time you fail it. When it fires, it doesn't wound the body—it disturbs the mind. That's the price of guilt. Of unfulfilled duty. It haunts your soul…"
Rada didn't answer. He simply held Egemed tighter, unsure of what the future held. To him, a promise was just words. But his brother had shown him another meaning entirely.
At last, Rada stood and pulled Egemed up with him.
"Let's go home," he said with a forced chuckle. "It's time to sleep."
"Yeah," Egemed laughed softly. "The rooster will crow in five minutes."
And so they walked home together.
Night had fully fallen. Birds chirped as they returned to their nests. The path was dark, and they moved slowly, unhurried, careful not to stumble—side by side, saying nothing, yet no longer alone.