1 0| s p a r k s

A A R O N

"Your mom—"

"What?" I stood up abruptly. "Mom?"

Despite myself I chuckled, "That's a strange word. One I haven't even heard in about ten years. Why are you bringing that up now dad?"

Dad's heavy sigh filled the silent cold atmosphere and his shoulders tensed. I waited patiently for a response.

"Son... I understand how difficult this is for you," he turned around to face me with a tight-lipped smile on his face. "Trust me, son. Your mom and I... We still love each other and have realised our mistake. We've talked things out and realised it was really wrong of us to get a divorce back then... We— regret it... And want to get back..."

I shook my head incredulously as I was already seething with anger.

"Wait—Yeah! You do." I got on my feet and paced nearer so that we were face-to-face. "You know, dad? I never expected a day like this would come. You talked things out huh? What happened to talking things out ten years ago?"

My voice was about to betray me. It was hilarious how just moments ago I was thinking about how much our parent's divorce affected our childhood and now he's bringing up the possibility of a reunion?

"Aaron... Your mother is sorry... We are both sorry."

"Oh really dad? After ten years? Ten years... Without a mother. And guess what's more? Oh no, she wasn't even dead! She was just in another city!"

"Aaron... We're truly sorry and hope you can understand us. We didn't really think about the consequences when we got the divorce. We were both young and bitter. We..."

I was moth agape as I watched him open his mouth and close it.

"This is ridiculous dad..."

"I know son but—I regeret losing her! And she wants to come back!"

"And where's she? Huh? She's not even here! You say she's sorry but she's not even saying that herself, dad! And that sucks..."

Dad was tongue-tied. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw, his eyes clouded with a conflict too heavy to put into words.

Guilt, longing, and uncertainty tangle in his throat, because how would he explain that the woman he once let go has become the only thing he’s ever truly regretted losing?

"Does she know...? Did you tell her...?" I paused. "How much we missed her? Heck, we were begging her not to leave! She was..." I trailed off to get my voice back, pinching my brows with the tip of my index and thumb. "Noah and I..." I trailed off.

"We had to put up with a lot of things." I could've said.

We didn't even tell him we were bullied in our new school and Noah joined a bad gang so as to protect us. And that's one of the reasons, no matter what he did now, I owe him.

"You sent us to grandma... That poor old lady couldn't even cater for herself enough, let alone two teenage boys. We grew up too soon, dad. And where was mom? Chasing her career... Was it so bad if you both agreed to having a maid? We could've been happy!" And that was when I broke down.

I didn't realise that my dad, the man who had always been a man of unshakable presence—one whose voice commanded rooms and whose gaze alone could silence doubt, could be like this.

It was so evident that my words cut deep for his chest rose in a shaky breath. Probably for the first time, the weight of his own failures bent him, leaving nothing but a father on the verge of breaking.

I was speechless and the best I could do at the moment was to leave.

When I got to the top of the stair way, I glanced back at him. He was still on his feet but his hands were firmly placed on the table and he was bowing his head over in thought.

I didn't regret any of what I said just now.

_______

To be honest, I was kind of happy Mom is coming back. But the wounds of ten years wouldn't just heal like that... Like it was never there...

I can't be the same six year old boy whose world revolved around his happy family— not anymore. I've watched that fantasy crumble and have become so indifferent to it now.

I've lost all hopes that we could be that family again. Now that it feels like it's becoming possible again, I'm letting the bitterness of all those years overcome the tiny bit of joy I felt.

I slammed the door shut and just yanked the sweater off my body in frustration. I suddenly had the urge for fresh air and I just marched to the window at the instant.

My fingers graze the curtain’s edge, slow and deliberate, the fabric whispering against my skin like a ghost of a touch.

The dim lampshade light spills in, casting shadows that dance over my face, my breath hitched as if the air itself had thickened.

And then, through the glass, my gaze collides with Hermia’s— like two silhouettes framed by the night, caught in a quiet electricity neither dares to name.

I stopped breathing.

I had least expected to see her standing there, in front of her window. For the first time in years, I saw her as the girl I knew from my childhood.

"Hermia. . ." I called out her name on impulse, staring at her figure. That brief eye contact explained a lot.

She had been upset too. Her tear filled eyes spoke all the unsaid words. I knew whatever she was thinking now might be connected to what happened that night I first saw her up close. And maybe history is repeating itself now?

It's crazy how I felt we shared a bond and the way my heart hammered against my chest from a mere eye contact made me question if I was sane at all.

It was just an accidental eye contact and I expected she should have gone away by now but she didn't and I was quite aware of the way she was looking at me.

I watched as her eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face before her gaze betrays her—drifting, hesitating, then trailing southward, slow as a breath.

I feel the moment she takes it all in, the sharp lines of my torso, the way the dim light carves shadows along my abs, her stare leaving a warmth in its wake. And for just a second, as she swallows and snaps her gaze back up, I swear I saw something unguarded—something dangerously close to admiration.

I've been angry and tossed my sweater off. It's hot and I'm sweating...

Our eyes locked, and in that charged second, the air between us hummed—silent, heavy, almost tangible.

The air thickened, heavy with something unspoken, wrapping around us like a slow-burning flame, flickering in the places words dare not reach.

There’s something unreadable in her stare, something that sends a slow, heated pulse through my chest, but before I could grasp it, she turns away, breaking the spell. Yet, even as she looks elsewhere, the ghost of that moment lingers, crackling like static in my veins.

I was disappointed, yet I never bothered to call out to her.

That moment, a quiet spark had ignited in the space between us—brief, searing, and impossible to ignore.

But just as quickly as it ignited, she turned away, leaving me in the aftermath, my pulse thrumming with the ghost of something that almost was, something still crackling in the silence like embers refusing to die, emitting sparks.

Nothing more.

Just sparks...