Chapter 19

The day after the academic competition should have been simple. Quiet, even. The kind of day when the whole school buzzes with leftover praise. Where friends tease each other about trophies and blurry photos snapped in the back of the auditorium get passed around.

For a few hours, it was exactly like that.

Tanaka clapped me on the back between classes, his grin wide and loud enough to draw some curious looks. Minato kept repeating the part of my speech that even one of the teachers had nodded along to, voice nearly trembling with excitement. Sae leaned closer than usual during lunch, brushing a strand of amber hair behind her ear, her eyes sparkling when I tried and failed to hide how embarrassed I felt.

It was almost normal.

Maybe even too normal.

Because then, in a quiet moment after school, when I slipped my phone out of my pocket, the whole thing cracked wide open.

One message, simple and cold, blinked on the screen.

From: Mother

He wants to see you. Today. Room 417.

I stared at the words for a long moment. Around me, the corridor was alive with afterschool chaos. Lockers slamming, laughter bouncing off walls, muffled conversations. But all of it sounded muffled, distant, like I was underwater.

I hadn't been back since that first time.

Hadn't planned to.

And yet.

My legs moved before I could stop them.

The hospital corridor smelled of disinfectant and something else, something sterile and sharp I could not name.

I stood outside Room 417 for a full minute, the hum of machines bleeding through the door. Then, finally, I pushed it open.

My father looked smaller than I remembered. Not weaker exactly, but diminished somehow.

He sat upright in the hospital bed, sharp-eyed still despite the IV in his arm. But behind those eyes, there was a hollowness. Time had stolen something from him. Illness had carved its mark. Or maybe it was something worse.

"You came," he said quietly, like it was a surprise.

I nodded stiffly.

"You asked."

A silence settled between us, thick and uncomfortable.

My mother sat in the corner, silent as usual. A magazine lay open in her lap but her eyes never really left the page. I could feel her avoidance like a weight pressing down on the room.

My father gestured to the chair beside the bed.

"Sit."

I stayed standing.

"What do you want?" My voice was low, even. But the storm underneath was starting to stir.

He sighed, rubbing a temple that looked strained. "No time for small talk, then."

"You never liked it either."

Another silence.

"I've been thinking," he said finally. "About what I've done. What I said. The pressure."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Pressure?" I repeated.

He snapped, more frustrated than angry. "I'm not good at this. I never was. But I'm sick. And you're my son. I just wanted to see you before things get worse."

The air between us grew heavier, thicker with unspoken words.

"Do you expect me to forgive you?" My voice was controlled but cold.

"No," he said after a long pause. "Just to hear me."

That somehow felt worse.

I looked at the man who had measured my worth by grades, obedience, and silence. The man who had taught me that softness was weakness and emotion was useless.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Instead, I turned.

Walked out.

I don't remember much about the trip back to the train. Or the last stretch walking home. I just remember the pressure building behind my ribs, the sensation of drowning while still breathing.

My hands trembled when I got inside the apartment.

I didn't cry.

Never did.

But I sat on the floor for a long time, fingers digging into the carpet, struggling to breathe without shattering.

Later that night, my phone buzzed.

You okay? Haven't seen you since lunch.

It was Sae.

I stared at the message for a moment.

Then I typed.

Hospital visit. Father. Unexpected.

A pause.

Do you want to talk? I'm still out. Walking.

Another pause.

…Yeah.

I met her by the small park near the river, where streetlights stretched long shadows over the gravel path. The breeze carried the scent of night jasmine, faint and sweet.

Sae stood there with her hands in the pockets of her coat, head tilted toward the dark water.

"You didn't have to come," I said as I approached.

"I know," she said without looking at me. "But I wanted to."

We began walking without saying much. Our footsteps made a soft, steady rhythm on the path.

For a while, it was just that. Quiet.

I appreciated it.

No forced questions.

No awkward sympathy.

Just the presence of her beside me.

Eventually, I spoke.

"I saw him today. My father."

Sae glanced at me, then looked ahead again.

"That's what the message was about."

I nodded.

"He asked for me. First time since the hospital visit weeks ago."

"How was it?"

I exhaled through my nose.

"Awkward. Cold. He said he was sorry. That he'd been thinking."

Sae was silent for a moment, then asked, "Did he mean it?"

"I think he meant the words," I said softly. "But I don't know if he understands what he did. Or if that even matters now."

We turned a corner. The wind blew a loose strand of her hair across her face.

I looked at it, the way it shimmered under the streetlights, amber and soft. Like it always did when the world quieted down.

She caught me staring.

"What?" she asked.

"Your hair," I said before I could stop myself. "It's kind of beautiful in this light."

She blinked.

Then her cheeks flushed just a little.

She tucked the strand behind her ear and smiled, small and surprised.

"You're bad at giving compliments."

"Yeah," I muttered. "I'm figuring it out."

"Well," she said gently, "it still worked."

We stopped near a low railing overlooking the water.

She leaned on it, arms folded, voice softer.

"You know you don't always have to keep everything inside."

I swallowed hard.

"I've been doing it so long, I don't know what the alternative is."

She turned toward me.

"Try."

I looked at her for a long moment.

Then I said quietly, "It's like carrying glass inside your chest. Every time something shakes me, the pieces shift. But I never let them fall out. I just hold them tighter, even when they start cutting."

Sae didn't say anything.

She just reached for my hand and held it.

Not tightly.

Just enough to say: I'm here. You don't have to break alone.

I looked down at our joined hands.

For the first time that day, the storm inside me softened just a little.