Simon stood still.
The afternoon sunlight pressed against his frame, carving a long shadow behind him. The grass moved in soft waves, brushing against his shoes.
The grave lay in front of him. A plain stone.
A name he had spent years trying not to remember.His hands stayed at his sides.He looked like someone whose strings had finally loosened.
A breath left from him slowly. He closed his eyes.
The memories he buried did not walk back.
They crashed. A tide hitting him with full force, swallowing any space left inside his chest.
His hand moved to his coat pocket.
The pendant. Cold metal against his fingers.
And something else.
Another shape, more heavier and colder. He pulled it out.
The watch.
Black metal. Glass cracked along the surface like a thin scar.
He brushed it with his thumb. The needles shifted slightly.
The larger dial read 23:11.
The smaller one read 6:12.
His throat tightened. He took out his phone. He dialed the number he had not used in a long time.
Two rings. The wind picked up around him, pushing the grass sideways.
Then the line clicked.
A familiar voice came through, lazy and sharp at the same time.
"Sup, my friend. I thought you would not call until I delivered one more message. But this works too. Let's meet."
The call ended.
Simon lowered the phone slowly. The wind moved again, and for a moment, he felt like he was the only living thing in the entire field.
…
The mall wasn't crowded.
Afternoon timing. Students were still stuck in school. Office workers were not out yet.
A soft hum of people walking, talking, not paying attention to anyone in particular.
Sara walked a little ahead at first, keys in hand, still annoyed but forcing herself to act neutral. Paul followed behind her. Hands in pockets. Eyes drifting across the shops like he was scanning a crime scene.
"So what are you looking for?" she asked, without turning around.
"Clothes," Paul replied.
"Yeah, no shit. What kind of clothes?"
Paul stared at her blankly. "…clothes," he repeated.
Sara closed her eyes. "Okay. God. Fine. Just follow me before I lose brain cells."
She grabbed his wrist lightly and pulled him toward the men's section. Paul followed quietly, hands in his pockets, looking like he'd wandered into the wrong universe.
Sara stopped at a rack and pulled out a random shirt.
"What about this?"
Paul glanced once. "I don't like prints."
She shoved it back. "Alright. Simple then."
She grabbed a plain shirt.
He shook his head. "I already have something like that."
Sara stared at him. "So you don't like prints. You don't want something you already have. What the hell do you even want then?"
Paul shrugged. "I don't know. Whatever you like."
"Right," she muttered. "Right. Because that's why I'm here, playing fashion designer for a guy who owns four shirts total."
He didn't deny it.
She massaged her temple. "Just stand still. And don't wander off. Or disappear again. I swear if I have to call security for you—"
"I won't disappear."
"You say that, but you vanish every second day like some stray cat."
He didn't argue. Which irritated her more. Sara walked off and disappeared behind racks.
Paul stood alone, eyes drifting to random shelves, hands loose at his sides. People moved around him, but he didn't bother looking back at anyone.
Then Sara returned, arms full.
"Here." She shoved a light brown shirt into his chest.
Paul caught it, holding it up by the collar.
"Put it against you," she said.
He did.
She nodded. "Good. You don't look completely hopeless."
Paul dropped the shirt slightly. "That's a compliment?"
"No."
She crouched slightly, grabbed another item, rose, and pressed a pair of navy-blue pants against his legs, checking the length, stepping back to judge the fit with her eyes.
"Now this," she said, "this actually makes you look like a functioning human."
Paul blinked. "Is that also not a compliment?"
"Half a compliment. Don't get cocky."
As she lifted the pants slightly to check the color contrast with the shirt, voices drifted from behind them.
Three guys, probably college-age, leaning near the jeans section.
"Damn, look at that. Dude getting styled by his girlfriend."
"Lucky guy. I wish someone would pick pants for me like that."
"Bro's gonna propose after this."
All three snickered.
Sara froze for a second. Then:
"Bunch of jerks," she muttered under her breath. "Ignore them."
Paul didn't ignore them.His head turned slowly. Very slowly.
His eyes were ice-cold. Expression blank. Completely unreadable.
The three flinched instantly.
"Yo— hey—I was just joking, man."
"Yeah yeah chill—"
The third guy didn't even finish before all three backed off and walked away in silence.
Paul turned back like nothing happened.
Sara lifted an eyebrow. "Did you just villain-stare them into shutting up?"
Paul shrugged. "They were loud."
"You didn't even say anything."
"Didn't need to."
She sighed. "Whatever. Anyway, these are good."
He nodded. "Then this is enough."
"Good. Because I'm not picking more. My arms are gonna fall off." She looked at the small pile of clothes in her hands. "I'll buy the extra ones for you anyway."
Paul stared at her. "You don't have to."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't start. I'm buying them. End of discussion."
He let it go.
She started walking toward the billing counter. "Do you need shoes or anything?"
"No. I already have."
"Right. Mister Minimalist." She glanced back at him. "So… is she important?"
Paul raised a brow. "Who?"
"The person you're meeting tomorrow."
He paused for a beat.
"Something like that."
Sara hummed. "I see."
But the look on her face said she was already building ten theories inside her head.Paul didn't bother himself from stopping that.
They reached the billing counter.
Sara dropped the clothes onto it with both hands, exhaling like she'd been carrying bricks instead of shirts.
The cashier scanned each item.Paul watched silently, hands in his pockets.
"Are you the one paying?" the cashier asked. Before Paul opened his mouth, Sara cut in:
"Yes. I'm paying. Obviously."
Paul blinked once. "I didn't even say anything."
"You were about to."
"No, I wasn't."
"Yes, you were. I can see it." She tapped her temple. "I have intuition."
Paul looked doubtful but didn't argue.
The cashier handed her the bill. She entered her pin like someone punching a rival.
A plastic bag slid across the counter.
"Alright," she said, grabbing it. "Food?"
Paul nodded.
They walked out of the clothing store and stepped into the restaurant on the ground floor.
Sara chose a table near the window. Paul sat opposite, posture straight, expression as blank as always.
A waiter came.
Sara ordered without looking at the menu. "Two plates of fried rice. One iced tea. One black coffee."
Paul raised an eyebrow. "I didn't ask for coffee."
"You need it," she said. "You look like a ghost."
He didn't deny it.
The food arrived fast.
They ate in comfortable silence at first.
"So... how's everything coming along with Varsha?" Sara asked while casually digging her spoon into the plate.
"Fine. I guess."
"Fine means everything's good, right?"
"Could say that. She wasn't that much trouble once you caught the rhythm."
Sara snorted. "Oh really? My experience with her was horrible. I always felt like slapping her."
Paul nodded faintly. "Yeah, I think that sometimes too. She acts like she's in the center of the stage and everyone else is orbiting around her."
"Exactly," Sara said, pointing her fork at him. "That's literally it."
Paul took a sip of water. "She mentioned you one day."
Sara blinked. "What? Me? Why?"
"Because she thought I was one of you. Someone her father sent to keep an eye on her. She compared me to you. Said the situation felt the same."
"And how did you handle her?"
"Ignored her. If she wants to be that suspicious of everyone, then that's her problem. I don't need to fix her thinking."
Sara looked at him sideways. "Why do I feel like you know a lot about her?"
"Just enough. That's my job technically."
"Yeah but still… I feel like you talk to her a lot."
"Obviously."
"Like what do you even talk about?"
"Just normal student stuff."
Sara stirred her drink. "Hmm. So is she the one you're meeting tomorrow?"
Paul didn't even look up. "What? No."
Sara smirked. "She's beautiful though. And it looks like you get along with her pretty well."
Paul shook his head. "No. I'm doing this because it's my job. I couldn't care less about her. She's the complete opposite of her brother."
"Yeah… right. She really is nothing like her brother."
Silence followed for a few seconds.
Then Sara leaned in. "Then who is it?"
"Who? What?"
"You can at least tell me. What's she like?"
Paul blinked slowly. "What she's like…? Kind of annoying. She always comes to me talking nonsense. I don't know what her problem is."
Sara couldn't help but grin. "She's into you. That's her problem."
"So? I'll leave school life as soon as Alex comes back. It doesn't matter."
Sara stared at him, annoyed. "Oh come on. Why say things so bluntly? What happens if she hears you talk like that?"
"It's the truth."
"No, it isn't. If you didn't care, you wouldn't meet her. And you definitely wouldn't try to look good for it. That's a sign. Even if you won't admit it."
Paul didn't reply.
Sara narrowed her eyes. "You like her, don't you?"
Paul looked at her for a long moment, then finally, "I don't."
"You sure? Because honestly, it doesn't look like that. You're doing all this and feeling nothing? It doesn't fit right."
Paul stayed silent again.
Sara sighed. "Anyway, what's her name? She has one, right?"
Paul's eyes lifted slightly. He opened his mouth—
Buzz. Buzz.
Sara's phone lit up on the table.
JULIAN.
The moment shattered like glass. Her attention snapped from Paul to the screen.
"Julian…?" Sara muttered, picking up the call.
Paul didn't move. Just watched her quietly.
"Yeah, what is it?" Sara asked.
Julian's voice came fast and uneven, like he was half-running. "She's here. Rechel."
Sara's whole expression snapped. "What?"
Her voice rose before she could stop it. "How?"
"I don't know," Julian said. "I just got a call from the office. A woman walked in, said her name is Rechel. I checked the CCTV footage. It's her. The real deal."
Sara turned her head toward Paul slowly.
Why?
Why now?
Why all of a sudden?
Paul wasn't even looking at her. He stared out the window calmly, like the world outside interested him more than the chaos her phone call just brought.
"Alright," Sara said tightly. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
She ended the call.
She swallowed once, steadying her voice. "I… I have to go. Something important came up."
"Yeah," Paul said quietly. "No problem. I'll book a cab."
He finally turned his head toward her. His expression gave nothing. Not slightest but curiosity.
Just that same flat calm.
Sara stared at him a beat too long. Of course he wasn't going to ask. Of course he wasn't going to care.
"Alright then… see you soon," she said.
Paul nodded faintly.
Sara stood and hurried off, slipping into the crowd until her steps faded.
Paul stayed seated.
Alone and motionless. Expression unreadable.
Nothing in his mind.
Nothing at all.