Confronting Regret

The quiet streets stretched endlessly before them, the rows of wooden storefronts and gently swaying lanterns untouched by time. The town's stillness pressed down on the air, heavy and pervasive, as though it carried the weight of countless unspoken words. The old man shuffled along beside Tagitsa, his sunken eyes darting around nervously.

"It's strange," the old man muttered, his voice breaking the silence. "This place… it feels alive, but not in a way I can explain. Like it's watching us, waiting for something."

Tagitsa didn't reply immediately. His emerald eyes stayed fixed ahead, his calm stride unbroken. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured and steady. "It's as it has always been. A reflection, nothing more."

The old man let out a shaky breath, rubbing his trembling hands together as if trying to ward off a chill. "A reflection of what?" he asked, though his voice held little expectation of an answer.

Tagitsa's gaze didn't waver. "Perhaps you already know."

They continued in silence for a while, their footsteps muted against the cobblestones. The faint scent of cherry blossoms lingered in the cool air, mixing with the crisp stillness of the town. The old man glanced at Tagitsa occasionally, his expression conflicted, as though he wanted to say more but couldn't find the words.

A sudden gust of wind tore through the street, carrying with it a flurry of cherry blossoms. The petals swirled around them in a chaotic dance, disrupting the serene atmosphere. The old man flinched, his frail body swaying as the unexpected force threw him off balance.

He stumbled, his arms flailing as he tried to steady himself. "Whoa, whoa—" he gasped, his voice tinged with panic.

Before he could fall, Tagitsa stepped forward, catching him effortlessly by the arm. The younger man's grip was firm but gentle, his calm expression unchanged. "Careful," Tagitsa said, his voice low and even.

The old man straightened slowly, his breath uneven as he glanced at Tagitsa. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice subdued. "Guess I'm not as steady as I used to be."

Tagitsa released him, stepping back to maintain a respectful distance. The petals continued to scatter across the street, their vibrant pink hues stark against the muted tones of the town. They drifted aimlessly, carried by the wind, before settling in uneven patterns on the ground.

The old man's gaze followed the blossoms as they scattered, his expression tightening. "It's like my thoughts," he murmured, almost to himself. "All over the place. Never where they're supposed to be."

Tagitsa observed him quietly, his emerald eyes steady. He didn't offer a response, allowing the old man to process the moment in his own time.

The man sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as he turned his gaze back to the road ahead. "I don't know why you're helping me," he muttered. "I don't even know if I deserve it."

Tagitsa began walking again, his steps measured and unhurried. "Deserving has nothing to do with it," he said simply. "You asked for help. That's enough."

The old man hesitated, his frail frame still for a moment before he shuffled after Tagitsa. The cherry blossoms crunched softly beneath his feet, their scattered pattern a quiet reminder of the thoughts and regrets weighing him down.

The streets grew narrower as they walked deeper into the town, the buildings pressing closer together. The old man glanced at the empty windows and open doors, each one an invitation into silence. His voice wavered as he spoke again, his words barely above a whisper. "It's like this whole place knows. Like it's waiting for me to figure it out."

Tagitsa didn't answer immediately. He stopped at a small intersection, his emerald eyes scanning the path ahead before turning to face the old man. "The town isn't waiting," he said. "You are."

The old man blinked, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, though the question lacked real conviction.

Tagitsa began walking again, his tone calm but firm. "You'll see."

The old man followed reluctantly, his steps hesitant but determined. The swirling petals and quiet streets seemed to fade into the background as they moved forward, the tension between them growing heavier with each passing moment.

And yet, beneath it all, there was the faintest glimmer of something else—a sense that the scattered petals might eventually settle, their chaotic beauty giving way to clarity.

The quiet streets gave way to a narrow path lined with overgrown shrubs and cherry blossom trees. At its end stood a small, unassuming home. Its wooden facade was weathered, the sliding doors slightly ajar as though inviting them in. The old man froze, his sunken eyes widening as he took in the sight.

"This…" he murmured, his voice trembling. "This looks just like my house."

Tagitsa said nothing, stepping forward and sliding the door open with a faint creak. The interior was dimly lit, the faint glow of a lantern illuminating a room that mirrored a memory. A simple dining table sat at its center, surrounded by cushions that looked worn from use. Plates and bowls were arranged neatly, and a kettle sat in the middle as though waiting to be used.

The old man hesitated on the threshold, his trembling hands clutching the doorframe. "How…?" he whispered. "How is this here?"

Tagitsa stepped inside, his calm demeanor unwavering. "It's not here," he said simply. "It's you."

The old man swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the table as he finally shuffled inside. His movements were slow, hesitant, as though afraid the scene might disappear if he got too close. He reached out, his trembling fingers brushing against the edge of the table.

"It's the same," he murmured, his voice breaking. "Even the cushions... the cracks in the wood."

He sank onto one of the cushions, his frail body trembling as memories washed over him. "This was where we sat. Every night. Me, him, his mother before she…" He trailed off, his voice cracking. "It was always just us after that."

The silence in the room grew heavy as the old man stared at the table. His lips parted, and he began to speak, his voice halting and uneven.

"I remember this one night," he said, his gaze distant. "He'd just gotten back from school. I was already tired from work, and he had this… this look on his face, like he was excited about something. He pulled out this report card—perfect marks in everything. And do you know what I said?"

Tagitsa didn't respond, his emerald eyes fixed steadily on the man.

"I said, 'Good. Next time, aim higher.'" The old man's voice trembled, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "I thought I was teaching him something. I thought… if I pushed him, he'd keep reaching for more. But the look in his eyes…" He trailed off, his trembling hands tightening into fists. "It was like I'd slapped him."

He stood abruptly, pacing the room with uneven steps. His voice grew louder, tinged with frustration. "And that wasn't the worst of it. Every time he came to me with something—something he was proud of—I just… I kept doing the same thing. Kept telling him it wasn't enough. That he wasn't enough."

The old man's pacing quickened, his anger spilling over as he gestured wildly. "I thought I was making him stronger, but all I was doing was tearing him down! And the worst part is… I didn't see it. Not until he finally said it to my face."

He stopped abruptly, his back to Tagitsa. His shoulders heaved as his voice dropped to a whisper. "He looked at me, and he said, 'No matter what I do, it's never enough for you.'"

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

Tagitsa stepped forward, his calm presence grounding the moment. "Why did you say those words?" he asked, his tone low but firm.

The old man turned to face him, his sunken eyes filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "What do you mean, why?" he snapped. "I told you—I wanted him to do better than me! I wanted him to have more than I ever did!"

Tagitsa's gaze didn't waver. "What were you trying to protect him from?"

The old man faltered, his expression twisting as he struggled to respond. "From… from making the same mistakes I did. From failing. From being like me."

Tagitsa took another step closer, his emerald eyes sharp. "And what did you teach him instead?"

The old man recoiled, his trembling hands clutching the edge of the table for support. "I didn't… I didn't mean to teach him that he wasn't enough," he stammered, his voice cracking. "I thought he knew. I thought he understood."

Tagitsa's tone softened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. "Did you tell him?"

The old man's lips quivered, his gaze falling to the floor. "No," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I never told him."

Tagitsa stepped back, giving the old man space to process his emotions. The man collapsed onto the cushion, burying his face in his trembling hands. "I just… I didn't know how," he whispered.

Tagitsa stood silently, his presence steady as the old man's sobs filled the room. The echoes of their conversation seemed to linger in the air, mingling with the memories that the small house had drawn forth.

As the man's tears subsided, he looked up at Tagitsa with watery eyes. "How do I fix it?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"You can't fix the past," Tagitsa said, his tone even. "But you can choose how to carry it forward."

The old man's gaze lingered on him, conflicted but searching for hope. The cherry blossoms outside brushed against the window, their soft rustle a gentle reminder that resolution was possible, even in the stillness.

The old man sank into a chair, his frail frame trembling as the weight of his emotions pressed down on him. His hands clutched at the edges of the table, knuckles white as he tried to steady himself. His breath came in uneven gasps, and his voice, when it finally emerged, was cracked and broken.

"I thought I was protecting him," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the empty plate in front of him. "But I wasn't… I was just protecting myself. From my own failures, my own regrets."

Tagitsa stood nearby, his tall frame as still as the room around them. His emerald eyes fixed on the old man, steady and unblinking. "You cannot change the past," he said evenly, his tone calm but firm. "But you can choose how you carry it forward."

The old man let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the quiet room. "Carry it forward?" he repeated, his voice laced with despair. "How do you carry something that feels this heavy? That crushes you every time you think about it?"

Tagitsa remained silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering. Then, in a voice soft but pointed, he said, "I was never good enough for you."

The old man froze. His sunken eyes snapped up to meet Tagitsa's, his expression one of shock and confusion. "What… what did you just say?"

Tagitsa's face remained unreadable, his emerald eyes locked onto the old man's. He repeated, "I was never good enough for you."

The words hit the old man like a blow, and he recoiled, his trembling hands covering his face. "That's what he said to me," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Those were his words… the last ones he said before he left."

Tagitsa stepped closer, his calm presence grounding the moment. "And what did you say to him?"

The old man shook his head, his hands trembling as they fell back to the table. "Nothing," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I didn't say anything. I just… I just let him walk away."

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of unspoken truths and missed opportunities pressing down on both of them. The old man's breath hitched as tears began to stream down his weathered face.

"I didn't know how to fix it," he said, his voice barely audible. "I didn't know how to tell him I was proud. That I loved him. That he was enough, more than enough…"

Tagitsa remained still, his expression calm but his words deliberate. "Do you believe he never knew?"

The old man's tear-streaked face turned toward Tagitsa, his eyes wide with despair. "How could he have known?" he asked, his voice cracking. "I never told him… I never showed him…"

Tagitsa's tone softened slightly, though it remained steady. "Maybe he knew in the moments you didn't see. Maybe he felt it in the things you didn't say, even if you didn't realize it."

The old man's shoulders slumped, and he let out a shuddering breath. "But what if he didn't?" he whispered. "What if he died thinking I didn't love him?"

Tagitsa stepped closer, extending a hand toward the old man. "Then you let go," he said, his voice firm but gentle.

The old man looked up at him, his watery eyes searching Tagitsa's face for something—reassurance, understanding, forgiveness. "How do I let go of something I've held onto for so long?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Tagitsa's hand remained steady, unwavering. "You begin by standing," he said.

The old man hesitated, his frail body trembling as he stared at the outstretched hand. Slowly, he reached out, his weathered fingers brushing against Tagitsa's. The cherry blossoms outside rustled softly, their delicate petals drifting through the open window as if carrying the faint promise of resolution.