Chapter 4

Mom, it's been four years since you left me and Binar. Have you met Dad there? We're still holding on here, trying our best, just like you always taught us. I remember the last time you smiled, hugging us warmly even though your body was already so weak. Now, that smile is just a memory, sometimes feeling too far away to reach.

Four years, Mom, I've been trying to stay strong for Binar. He's still cheerful, though I know he understands more than he lets on. Every day, I try, not just to survive, but to make sure he doesn't lose hope. You know, sometimes it feels so hard, Mom. It feels like I'm carrying a weight heavier than my own body, but I can't give up. Because if I give up, who else will take care of Binar here?

***

The silence in the bunker consumed Ajisaka more and more each day, like a fog slowly wrapping around his soul. Since Dina's death, the nights felt longer, and the days heavier without the sound of his mother's presence. He sat quietly in the corner, listening only to the soft rhythm of Binar's breathing as he slept. The quietness was painful, like needles slowly piercing every corner of his mind. But Ajisaka knew he couldn't break—Binar needed him.

In another corner, Binar still smiled like he had on previous days. The cheerfulness on his face hadn't changed, as if he didn't fully understand the reality that hung between them. "Big brother, look what I made!" Binar exclaimed, holding up a tower made of tied-up tin cans. Ajisaka looked at him, trying to respond with a smile that never reached his eyes. Binar was trying to brighten their grey days, hoping to pull Ajisaka out of his sadness, but Ajisaka knew that smile was filled with an innocence that wouldn't last much longer.

Every morning, Ajisaka woke up before Binar. He started making new routines. His body was tired, but his soul was even more exhausted. He grabbed the empty food cans, tied them into weights, and started lifting them over and over. Every movement reminded him of the heavy burden he had to carry. He had to stay strong, not just for himself, but for Binar too. But with each passing day, the weight felt heavier—not just on his body, but on his mind.

Inside the increasingly silent bunker, the atmosphere shifted from a place of safety to a prison. Their remaining food was now just a handful, and Ajisaka carefully counted every piece they had. One can, two cans, three cans—the supplies were running out. Each count felt like the toll of a bell, calling the slow approach of death. How could they survive?

Routine became the only anchor in the creeping madness. Ajisaka and Binar cleaned the bunker every day, organizing their belongings, which were losing their value, and occasionally playing simple games they made up themselves. But beneath it all, Ajisaka rarely spoke. Every word felt too costly, too difficult to say.

Hunger began to creep slowly into their bellies, but the deeper hunger was for freedom. Binar, with his bright eyes, began to ask, "Big brother, when will we go outside? Will we see the outside world again?" Every time he asked, Ajisaka fell silent, his chest feeling like it was being crushed under a heavy stone. How could he explain that the world outside might no longer be one they would recognize?

As the days passed, the pressure of responsibility began to crush Ajisaka from within. Every time he looked at Binar's cheerful face, there was an indescribable pain inside him. How could he protect his little brother? How could he lead them out of this darkness? The answers never came. In silence, Ajisaka retreated further into his own world, shutting out everything he couldn't control.

Sometimes, he would sit in silence for hours, listening only to his own heartbeat, wondering if they would live long enough to see the outside world again. Binar would chatter around him, trying to pull him out of his cocoon of sadness, but Ajisaka was too lost in his own thoughts.

The nights grew more terrifying. Every time Ajisaka looked at their dwindling food supply, his heart grew emptier. Each bite felt like a countdown to their destruction. In the silence of the bunker, all that could be heard was the sound of their breathing, accompanied by the rustling of empty tin cans. Was this all that was left of their lives?

One day, as Binar played with his tin cans, Ajisaka could no longer hold the weight in his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes, even though he tried hard to stop them. But no one saw. No one knew, except the cold concrete walls that imprisoned them. He cried in silence, without a sound, like a shadow sinking into the darkness.

But deep inside, Ajisaka knew one thing—he had to keep going, no matter what. He couldn't give up. Binar depended on him. Even though each step felt heavier, even though hope was slipping further away, he would keep walking. Even as their days grew darker and hungrier, Ajisaka wouldn't let the darkness win.

But every night, as he lay beside Binar, the fear returned. What if they never got out of here? What if everything he was doing was in vain? These questions spun in his mind, like a knife twisting in the darkness, ready to strike at any moment.

In the middle of their routine, Ajisaka would sometimes talk to himself in whispers, like someone who had lost their way. He felt lonelier than ever before, and the silence bit into every corner of his mind. Every night felt longer than the one before, and the hope he once held began to fade, like smoke disappearing into the air.

Binar was still Binar—full of energy and innocence. But even Ajisaka knew that innocence would soon be shattered by the harshness of reality. Binar didn't yet know about their dwindling food, or the threats outside the bunker. Binar still wondered about the world outside, not realizing that it might no longer exist.

Every time Binar asked, "Will we go outside, big brother?" Ajisaka just stayed silent. He didn't have an answer. Not now. Not when their world was growing darker and emptier.

The days blurred together, and time seemed to lose meaning. In the dark bunker, all they had left was each other. Ajisaka looked at Binar sleeping beside him, his face still peaceful, still innocent.

Ajisaka felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. But even so, he knew he couldn't give up. Because in this world, there was only one thing left for him—Binar. Binar was his light, the only reason to keep going in this darkness.

And even though every step felt like a struggle, Ajisaka would keep moving forward, even as hope slipped further from reach.

Every night, as the darkness crept deeper and the air in the bunker grew colder, Binar would always wrap his arms around Ajisaka's waist. "Don't worry, big brother, everything will be alright," he said in his small, confident voice. In moments like that, Ajisaka's heart felt a little lighter. Even though he knew the world outside had turned to ruins, Binar's words always brought a moment of calm, like a warm blanket wrapping around the coldness of the night.

But once Binar was asleep, Ajisaka sank back into his own thoughts. What if there was no way out? What if Binar's innocent belief was just a hopeless dream? The questions kept spinning in his mind, like a dark shadow that refused to leave.

They began to tighten their use of water. Ajisaka carefully poured out only a few drops for each drink, ensuring that every drop from the bottle was still precious. However, worry began to take over as their remaining water dwindled, and there was no way to get more. Tension between them started to rise, though Binar rarely complained. Ajisaka could see the small lines of worry forming on his brother's face, something that had never been there before.

Binar started asking, "Brother, will we run out of water too?" The question hit Ajisaka like a blow he couldn't avoid. Every time, he tried to answer calmly, though inside, a storm of fear raged that he couldn't extinguish. "We still have enough for a few days," he replied, though he knew the answer wasn't truly reassuring.

Day by day passed, and the sound of water dripping from the near-empty bottle became a painful reminder of their limits. Ajisaka began thinking of ways to make their supplies last longer. He reduced his own water intake, forcing himself to endure the growing thirst. But each step felt heavier, every breath shorter. The hunger that had once tormented them now seemed to blend with an unquenchable thirst.

In the midst of all this worry, they maintained their routine. Binar still enthusiastically created simple games, though now Ajisaka noticed his brother's movements slowing. Binar's cheerfulness remained, but there was something missing in his gaze. Fatigue? Hidden fear? Ajisaka didn't know. All he knew was that they had to survive, no matter what.

One night, Binar hugged Ajisaka tightly before bed. "We'll get out of here, right, Brother?" Ajisaka only nodded, though inside, his heart screamed. In the darkness of the bunker, there was only empty hope, clinging to the concrete walls that felt like they were closing in more and more.

Time continued to pass without pause. Every morning, Ajisaka woke with new dread—fear of the day, fear of the looming challenges. And one morning, that fear became real.

When he awoke from a nightmare-filled sleep, his eyes were drawn to one corner of the bunker. There, a small crack had appeared in the solid concrete wall. At first, he thought it was just a shadow, but as he approached, he saw it clearly—the crack was real, and slowly widening. Ajisaka's heart raced, something cold creeping up his spine. Was the bunker going to collapse?

Panic started to take over his mind. He touched the crack with his fingers, feeling small fragments of the wall crumble and fall to the floor. "No, this can't be happening," he whispered. He couldn't imagine what would happen if this place fell apart, if their last refuge crumbled.

Binar, still asleep in the corner, looked so peaceful. Ajisaka didn't want to wake him, didn't want to shatter the rare moment of peace they had. But inside, turmoil raged. How would they survive if the bunker collapsed? Where could they go?

His mind spun wildly. Maybe it was just a small crack that could be fixed. But how? There were no tools, nothing to repair it with. In the silence of the bunker, only the sound of their breathing echoed. And behind that sound was something even more terrifying—the possibility that their last shelter wasn't as strong as he had thought.

That day, Ajisaka kept a close watch on the crack, hoping it wouldn't get any worse. But as time passed, the crack seemed to grow more threatening. He felt time slipping away, even though he couldn't be sure when the bunker might give in. Silently, he began to form a plan, though the plan was more a jumble of unclear thoughts in his mind.

Later that afternoon, Binar finally noticed the crack. "Brother, what's wrong with the wall?" he asked innocently. Ajisaka tried to stay calm. "It's just a small crack. Don't worry." But even he knew his voice trembled. Binar might still be too young to fully understand, but Ajisaka could see the small flicker of worry in his brother's eyes.

The next night, the crack continued to haunt Ajisaka's thoughts. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel the wall growing weaker, edging closer to collapse. And every time Binar hugged him before bed, saying everything would be alright, Ajisaka tried to believe it, though his heart was already starting to doubt.

The time they had left felt shorter and shorter. Each step inside the bunker made Ajisaka more anxious. He tried to forget about the crack, to focus on other things, like keeping Binar cheerful or making sure they stayed healthy. But the looming reality in that corner couldn't be ignored.

In the end, Ajisaka realized he had to make a decision. Would they wait until the bunker truly collapsed? Or should they try to find another way to survive? But in this sealed bunker, where could they even go?

Amidst all the uncertainty, Ajisaka could only pray that they still had time. Every second felt so precious, yet at the same time, it seemed to slip by too quickly. Time, which he once thought could be an ally, had now turned into an enemy he couldn't fight.

With growing pressure, Ajisaka looked at the crack again, hoping for some miracle to fix everything. But deep down, he knew, miracles don't come to places like this.