The memories refused to fade. They stayed anchored in my chest.
And somewhere in the middle of that heavy nostalgia, something inside me shifted. It felt as if a pilot light had finally been reignited after years of lying dormant. A quiet fire. Heavy, but undeniably warm.
Inside the house, Haroku was wide awake, too.
He had tried to sleep, tossing from one side of the mattress to the other, but his mind simply refused to shut down. The lingering energy of the estate left him feeling restless and unsettled.
After a while, he sat up with a heavy sigh.
"Maybe some fresh air will help," he muttered into the dark.
He threw off the covers, stepped out of his room, and navigated the quiet hallways toward the terrace.
As Haroku pushed the terrace door open, his eyes immediately found me. I was sitting near the ledge, completely still, lost somewhere far outside of the present moment.
He stopped in his tracks, just watching my outline against the night. He didn't call out to break the silence right away. Instead, he turned around and quietly headed back downstairs.
A few minutes later, he returned, the soft click of the door announcing his presence. This time, he had something in his hand.
A chilled soft drink. My usual brand.
He walked closer, but before he spoke, his gaze dropped to my hands. He noticed the photograph. Leaning in just slightly, he caught a glimpse of the faded image.
It was me and my grandfather. Both of us smiling. A perfect, untainted moment frozen in time.
I hadn't even realized how long I had been staring at it.
"Symen," his voice was calm and soft.
I turned my head, genuinely surprised. I hadn't expected to share the terrace tonight.
"Do you need something?" I asked. My voice sounded level, but even I could hear the raw exhaustion bleeding through it.
He shook his head and closed the distance between us, extending his hand to offer me the can.
"I saw you out here," he said simply. "You looked a little off. Thought this might help ground you."
I looked at the cold aluminum for a second, then up at him. A small, genuine smile broke across my face.
"Thanks, bro."
I popped the tab. The sharp crack and hiss of carbonation briefly cut through the absolute silence of the estate. I took a slow sip, letting the cold settle my nerves, before looking back at him.
"You know..." I started slowly, staring out at the dark village. "You've been doing this with me for a long time now."
He didn't interrupt. He just stood there, listening.
"Helping me. Sticking by me through the absolute worst of it." I paused, swirling the liquid in the can. "Honestly, I was just thinking about that."
I took another sip. Then—
"Thank you, bro. Really."
He took a seat on the stone ledge beside me. Not crowding my space, but close enough to bridge the gap.
"I'm not riding with you out of some selfish obligation, man," he said quietly.
I glanced sideways at him.
He kept his eyes on the horizon as he continued. "From the very first time I saw you back in university... I just found you interesting."
I raised an eyebrow at the admission.
He offered a faint, nostalgic smile. "There was just something fundamentally different about you."
He paused, leaning his elbows on his knees.
"I wanted to be your friend right from the beginning."
That surprised me far more than I expected it to.
"But you already had your own circle back then," he added with a small shrug. "So I didn't push it. I didn't say anything."
I stayed quiet, letting him talk.
He looked up at the sprawling canopy of stars for a moment before dropping his gaze back to the village.
"Then, one day... I saw you in that park."
I knew exactly which moment he was talking about.
"You were sitting by yourself on that bench," he said, his tone softening. "And you did not look okay. It wasn't just sadness. It was something heavier. Something hollow."
He turned to look at me, meeting my eyes.
"And that's when I felt it."
A pause as the memory clearly replayed in his head.
"I felt like I had to do something about it." He shrugged lightly, a dismissive gesture for a massive turning point. "I didn't have a logical reason. I just... wanted to help."
A warm, steadfast smile broke across his face.
"That was the exact moment I made the decision. I wanted you as my friend."
He held my gaze, his voice perfectly clear.
"Not because I needed a partner. Not because I needed anything from you." A brief silence stretched between us. "But because I genuinely wanted to be there."
The wind swept over the terrace again, a steady, cool rush of air.
But the silence between us had entirely changed. The unspoken weight of the past hour had evaporated.
I looked at him for a few long seconds. There wasn't much left to say. Not really. Some bonds don't require any more words to validate them.
I lifted my can slightly, offering a quiet toast to the empty night.
"Thanks, bro," I said softly. "For everything."
This time, the smile on my face stayed.
And for a brief, perfect moment—that was more than enough.