I stepped out of my room and headed down the stairs.
The house was too big — too quiet — for just one soul.
Every corner felt like it was waiting for someone who'd never return.
Mira kept the house alive—clean, warm, steady. She kept it from becoming a mausoleum.
But no matter how much life she breathed into it, the house remained the same.
The dining room was spacious and elegant, without excess. At its center, a wide wooden table gleamed like calm. High-backed chairs lined its sides, carved with quiet craftsmanship. The smooth hardwood floor and cream walls were broken only by framed landscapes. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, filling the space with warmth—a place made for conversation and lingering moments.
Once, I had sat between them—my father at the head, my mother laughing beside him. I could almost hear their laughter… but it faded too quickly.
I sat down slowly and ate quickly, though not carelessly. My mind didn't wander; the dream was locked away, tucked behind a thin veil of morning light.
In less than ten minutes, I was done.
Ready to go.
I got up and lingered for a moment. From where I stood, I could see Mira at the counter, humming softly to herself. When her eyes met mine, the melody faded—she didn't have to ask. She could already feel the weight I was carrying.
"Is there anything you need before you go?" she asked gently.
"No, I'm good. By the way, the meal was great, just like always," I replied, keeping my voice steady.
"Glad you liked it, Neriah." Her face softened with warmth, her eyes shimmering with quiet gratitude as they lingered on me a heartbeat longer than they should have.
Hearing her say my name… felt alive.
"I'll be heading out now," I said, turning toward the doorway.
I slipped on my sneakers, drew a deep breath, felt my shoulders tighten—and then ease—as I prepared to step outside.
"Don't stay out too late," Mira said. "And if you can, come back for lunch. I'll have it ready."
"I'll try," I replied.
"And… be careful out there."
Mira had moved closer, hands folded lightly, eyes filled with quiet worry.
I turned and met her gaze. "I will," I said softly.
For me… and for everyone who still has faith in me.
The words stayed with me, soft as breath, as I reached for the handle.
Then, with a quiet click, the door closed behind me.
---
The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of morning dew. The sky stretched wide above—grey with streaks of blue. The city sprawled before me, streets and buildings in every direction.
Elexer.
A city that never stopped moving. Never paused. Never waited for anyone.
But today… today felt different.
Time for a small adventure.
And perhaps… today, the shadows might finally lift away completely.
I took a slow breath and started down the narrow path. Each step whispered against the damp stone, the faint scent of earth rising with the morning mist. Dew clung to the grass beside me, catching bits of pale light as if the world itself was waking up.
It's strange how long I've been waiting for a day like this—quietly, as if the world owed me some kind of light after all that silence.
The small gate waited ahead—familiar, quiet. Its metal felt cool beneath my fingers as I pushed it open, the hinges creaking softly, like a memory.
I stepped through and onto the road. To my left, the house stood still, its windows reflecting the first touch of sunlight. The garden stretched along the front—trimmed, neat, every leaf in its place. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed.
I moved past the sidewalk, parked cars, and early pedestrians.
Then slowly, I stepped into the flow of the streets—crowds moving around me like water around a stone. The faint aroma of roasted coffee and freshly baked bread drifted from corner cafés, mingling with the crisp morning air.
Neon signs flickered reluctantly as the sun climbed higher...
And yet, even surrounded by all this life, I felt like a ghost walking through borrowed light.
Distant horns blended with hurried footsteps and the chatter of passing voices.
Storefronts blinked open one by one, glass doors swinging with soft chimes, while bicycles slipped through the swarm of bodies with practiced ease.
The city breathed around me—alive, restless, indifferent—and I felt like a silent observer, moving against its current yet somehow carried along by it.
As I continued walking, thoughts drifted through my mind—places I could go, corners I hadn't seen in a while. Then, tucked between familiar streets, a park came into view—a place I hadn't visited in years.
A tall black fence framed its edges, sunlight shimmering across the rippling leaves within.
I crossed the zebra crossing toward the gate.
And paused.
For a moment, I just stood there, letting the scene sink in—the rustle of trees, the faint laughter of children in the distance, and that quiet mix of nostalgia stirring in my chest.
The air felt lighter here—scented with flowers and warmed by the faint aroma of food drifting from nearby vendors.
For a moment, it was as if the sunlight and wind reached into the shadows I carried, brushing against them, trying to draw them out.
I let the silence settle around me. My eyes softened, and for a heartbeat, the weight I carried eased—just enough for a faint flicker of hope to break through.
I wished, just once, that my nightmares would end with this light.
The city pressed close outside. Cars roared along the streets, some even cutting past the small parking lot to my right. Voices rose in the distance.
And then, through it all, a voice—bright and unguarded—cut through my thoughts.
It came from the direction of the gate, clear against the soft hum of the park.
"This is amazing!"
I turned slightly to my left. A boy stood there, wide-eyed with wonder. His eyes gleamed a vivid orange, mirroring the fiery red-orange of his hair that caught the sunlight like a living flame.
He turned his head toward me, chin lifted slightly—calm, yet curious. For a heartbeat, we just looked at each other, and in that brief silence, nothing else seemed to exist.
My chest tightened, but I stood firm, shoulders squared beneath his unwavering stare.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" His voice was soft, carrying wonder—and something fragile I couldn't name.
He just stood there, steady, unshaken.
I shifted slightly. The words slipped out quieter than I intended.
"Yeah… it's beautiful," I said, letting my eyes drift toward the park before flicking back to him, searching for any trace of mockery or hidden meaning.
"If you don't mind… may I ask what makes you say that?"
His shoulders stiffened. Surprise flickered across his face, then a faint smile tried to hide it.
I held my ground, lowering my voice. "Is it the people? The lake? The trees? Or… perhaps, for once, does everything here feel… perfect?"
Or maybe… I just wanted to know if that sense of wonder still existed in me somewhere, buried beneath all the silence I'd learned to carry.
He stepped closer to the park's entrance gate, shoulders relaxed yet alert, taking it all in as if trying to memorize every detail.
"Let's see," he murmured, almost to himself, eyes tracing everything in the park. Then he said,
"It's beautiful. The air, the people—even the sounds. Everything feels alive again. The warmth in the breeze, the sunlight on the water… it all feels so right, like the world finally remembered how to breathe."
His voice rang true, yet beneath it trembled something delicate, barely held in check.
He shifted slightly toward me, the faint lean of his shoulder suggesting a cautious openness—as if bridging the distance between us without a word.
A calm wind passed through me, carrying nothing but quiet.
I let a small smile tug at my lips. "Let's head in," I said, low and even. "Why don't we take a short tour together?"
My shoes tapped lightly against the cobblestones, each sound a soft invitation. He blinked, then fell into step beside me, his hand brushing the strap of his bag—a small anchor—before his gaze settled on the path ahead, though it lingered on me just long enough to matter.
The air seemed to breathe around us, stirring the branches overhead, as if the world itself acknowledged our movement. Light sifted through the leaves in golden threads, tracing patterns on the path, on his shoulders, on the space between us.
Together, we passed through the gate. The hinges murmured in protest, and the city behind us faded into a distant hum. Silence stretched around us—not empty, but alive, a gentle companion to our steps. I led the way, careful not to rush, letting us savor the park at our own pace.
And that's how I met Leo.
Someone who, in another story, might have been the protagonist instead of me.
But here, in this quiet morning, walking side by side — this was enough.