C11 - Remnants

The final months before my departure for Singapore were a whirlwind. However, the rush wasn't due to the preparations for the move itself—it was because I had to address a myriad of matters before stepping into this new chapter. But let's take it step by step.

The announcement of my upcoming international studies stirred a multitude of emotions within my family. My mother's reaction was the most profound—tears and melancholy lingered in her eyes for days, casting a shadow over the household. My father, though supportive, couldn't quite hide the quiet concern and solitude that clouded his gaze. And then there were the twins—at first, they withdrew into themselves, letting their emotions manifest through a palpable silence. This, too, would not last long. The realization that I would be gone for five years—returning only for short interludes during holidays—settled in, and with it, a palpable void.

I noticed it most keenly in my room. The familiar atmosphere that once held our collective presence felt empty, as though their absence had taken on a physical form. Fortunately, our newfound financial independence eased the transition. But for my mother, it was more than just a change in routine—it left her with a sense of purposelessness.

Though my parents held influential roles within the family enterprise, the active involvement of our paternal cousins meant that they could afford considerable leisure. In an effort to reignite my mother's passion, I acquired a nearby property and transformed it into a small culinary school. I brought in chefs from around the world, each eager to share their craft, and I encouraged my mother to oversee its management. Her love for cooking, after all, had always been evident. Moreover, I suggested that she enroll in formal culinary courses, obtaining a degree in a field she adored.

To my satisfaction, the school blossomed, bringing life back into her. My father, too, required an outlet for his own passions. Having always been fascinated by engineering, vehicles, and painting, I created a small art gallery and toy store. The gallery would serve as both a showcase and a marketplace for his artwork, offering him the chance to reconnect with his artistic inclinations. As I surveyed the space, I realized it had been too long since he'd picked up a paintbrush. It was time for him to rediscover that creative spark. The twins, on the other hand, remained elusive in their pursuits. But the ardor with which they approached their investments was a welcome distraction, and a sign that they were finding their own way.

"We'll wait for you"

Those words hovered in the room, spoken softly in the stillness of my dimly lit room. Darkness enveloped us as Yara wrapped her arms around me, a tender embrace that spoke volumes of the emotions she could not voice.

"Lei, you must wait for us," she murmured, her voice laced with both hope and a trace of sadness.

I gently stroked her hair, comforting her, though I, too, could feel the weight of our impending separation. "Excel in your studies," I whispered, "and stay diligent." Her response was little more than a hum of agreement before sleep claimed her. The gentle rise and fall of her chest, in sync with the quiet night, carried a sense of calm, as if peace had been restored. 

Turning my attention to Haya, I mirrored the same act of comforting touch, caressing her hair with the same tenderness. She had been quiet, contemplative, her eyes shimmering with unshed emotions. And then, in a voice so soft it seemed almost lost in the dark, she spoke, "Lei, we could come with you. Start high school there... maybe."

I searched the darkness for her face, trying to read the uncertainty there. "Our roots are here," I replied gently, "This is where we belong. If we all leave, who will take care of mom and dad?"

My voice was steady, even though a hint of sadness lingered, a faint smile tugging at my lips to soften the weight of my words. Haya paused, lost in her own thoughts.

"Will you truly be okay?" Her voice faltered, an uncharacteristic vulnerability creeping through. This side of her was rare, and it stirred something deep within me.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against hers, offering the only reassurance I could. "Absolutely."

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with the faint remnants of tears. She didn't say anything more, but the weight of her gaze spoke volumes. Eventually, sleep took her, the last vestiges of her tears still glistening in the dim light. After making sure the twins were tucked in, I, too, found solace in the embrace of sleep, knowing that this was just the beginning of a much larger journey—for all of us.