Since that day, time had passed, and the memories slowly softened at their edges — not forgotten, just quieter.
But even as they faded, my feet kept leading me to the place where our eyes had met for the first time.
I didn't know why. Was it curiosity? A habit? Or something deeper I didn't dare name?
I sat on the old swing and watched the sky. Autumn was giving way to winter — the air sharp, the wind cold enough to freeze the metal beneath my fingers.
The once-yellow leaves had turned crisp and colorless, clinging to the fences like they were afraid to fall.
Each day, I came back to that place. Each day, I left disappointed.
I told myself I was foolish — that there was no reason to keep hoping he'd appear again.
But still, something about him had rooted itself inside me. His silence? His angry eyes? The bruises on his hands?
I didn't know.
Lost in thought, the sharp scream of a little girl cut through the stillness like glass shattering.
I stood up from the swing. It creaked behind me, then fell quiet as I followed the sound.
It came from the road beyond the park — a quiet street lined with tall trees on either side like dark sentinels.
There, on the pavement, sat a girl — maybe seven years old — with dark curly hair and warm brown skin.
She leaned against the cold asphalt, clutching her ankle, her small body shaking.
I hesitated. My mouth dried up, but my legs moved forward on their own.
"Hey," I said softly. "A-Are you okay?"
That's when I noticed the small creature beside her — something like a raccoon or maybe a stray dog.
She must've been startled by it and tripped.
I shooed the animal away and reached out my hand to help her stand.
She didn't say anything at first, but her eyes were full of tears. I gently helped her up, brushing the dust from her coat.
That's when I felt it — a presence behind me.
I turned around and froze.
There he was.
The same boy from before — the one who never spoke, whose eyes held too many unspoken things.
He stared at me with a mix of fury and confusion, his gaze sharp enough to slice through silence.
Before I could say anything, his hand gripped the collar of my shirt and yanked me back.
My words tangled in my throat as I stammered, trying to explain.
But he wasn't listening — not to me, not to anything.
The girl tugged at his sleeve, crying now.
"It was my fault," she said between sobs. "You told me not to go alone, but I saw a bug and followed it, and he saved me."
The boy's expression shifted. His grip loosened.
He sighed, not out of relief, but frustration.
"Why didn't you say that from the start, dummy?" he muttered to the girl.
She apologized, wiping her eyes.
And just like that, without another word, the two of them turned and began to walk away.
The street darkened around me.
Evening had crept in quietly, the forest shadows stretching long across the pavement.
I walked home in silence, the cold biting into my fingers, my thoughts louder than any voice.
When I reached the house, I slammed the door behind me, about to head upstairs.
But my mother's voice called from the kitchen, pulling me toward the warmth.
"Kai, dinner's ready!"
The clink of plates and the smell of food filled the space.
I sat down at the table, the ticking of the clock counting down the quiet.
"How was your day?" my father asked, chewing slowly. "Did you make any friends?"
I didn't know what to say. The truth was complicated, and I was too tired to unravel it.
"It was fine," I said simply.
My mother smiled gently. "I know it's hard to adjust to a new city. But I heard some relatives might be moving here soon — they have a son your age. I'm sure you'll get along."
Her words faded into the clatter of silverware, and before long, dinner was over.
I climbed the stairs and opened the door to my room.
The brown door creaked slightly, as if it had been waiting for me.
I turned on the small lamp beside the bed and sank into the mattress, the old frame groaning beneath me.
Outside the window, the world had turned black — only the faintest glow of distant streetlamps pressed against the glass.
My eyes grew heavy. Sleep came slowly, and the moment I stopped resisting it, it pulled me under.
The next morning, sunlight spilled like warm tea across the floor.
I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and dragged myself to the bathroom sink.
After brushing my teeth and fixing my hair, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself for a moment longer than usual.
Then I left the room, tiptoeing down the stairs. The house was still wrapped in silence.
Mom and Dad were probably still asleep — worn out from the move.
I didn't feel like eating alone, so I slipped on my coat and stepped outside.
There was no one to talk to. No one to wait for.
So I watched the bugs crawl across the sidewalk, dragging tiny leaves behind them like forgotten memories.
Then I heard it.
"Hey, loser!"
The voice was familiar — sharp, impatient.
But it quickly changed.
"I mean… uh, I just wanted to say," the boy muttered awkwardly, avoiding my eyes. "About yesterday. I wasn't gonna actually hit you. It was a mistake."
I blinked. He was speaking. For the first time.
And before I could reply, the girl beside him added brightly, "We never told you our names, huh?"
She smiled. "I'm Sia. And this is Souh. We're going to get ice cream. Wanna come?"
Souh. So that was his name.
A name like a closed door I had finally found the key to.
I nodded. I didn't have anything better to do.
And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to understand him.
Sia grinned. "Come on, before he changes his mind."
At first, we walked with a quiet distance between us.
But step by step, glance by glance, that space grew smaller — until it almost felt like it had never been there at all.،