Laughter is not always happiness.
Sometimes it is permission.
A body saying:
"I am breathing freely enoughto forget,
for a moment,
that I once needed to stay alert to survive."
That permission arrived quietly.
Like a breeze.
Like a morning that didn't need to fight the night to exist.
He arrived earlier than usual.
That alone startled the day.
He didn't linger at the edge.
He didn't pause to decide if he belonged.
He walked straight to the bench.
Sat.
Set his bag down.
Leaned back.
Not defensively.
Comfortably.
Kannan watched him from the corner of his eye for only a second before returning to stillness.
He didn't want to turn the moment into an event.
He wanted it to be normal.
The world rewarded the restraint.
Soon enough,
another quiet miracle happened:
The young man spoke first.
"Today feels lighter," he said simply.
No dramatics.
No explanation.
Just a fact.
Kannan smiled softly.
"I'm glad."
And for the next hour,
nothing significant happened.
They watched.
They existed.
The port lived its life around them.
Movement.
Noise.
Breath.
And then the universe decided to be kind in the most ridiculous way possible.
A goat showed up.
From where?
Nobody knew.
It walked with absolute confidence through the dockyard
as if it had been appointed Inspector of Maritime Logistics.
It stepped over ropes.
Paused.
Judged a fisherman very harshly.
Then strutted on.
A grown man chased it.
He did not succeed.
The goat climbed onto a crate
and declared itself emperor of shipping.
The fisherman shouted in Malayalam.
Someone else shouted louder.
The goat ignored all earthly authority.
The fisherman slipped,
tried to make it look intentional,
failed spectacularly.
The goat bleated like laughter.
And for a second,
the world wasn't about pain,
or memory,
or survival.
It was about a stubborn goat
refusing to respect port management.
Something inside the young man cracked.
Not the painful kind.
The good kind.
The kind that makes space where tightness once lived.
The sound came before he could stop it.
A short breath.
A startled burst.
Then—
a laugh.
A real one.
Sharp at first.
Then round.
Alive.
Free.
It startled him.
He clapped a hand over his mouth instinctively,
as if laughter were dangerous.
Like joy was a sound predators could track.
Then he froze.
Waited for panic.
Waited for regret.
Waited for that old tightening in the chest.
Waited for the instinct to run.
Nothing came.
Just…
more laughter.
He let it out.
Open.
Clear.
Fully alive.
Kannan didn't stare.
Didn't cry.
Didn't treat it like a sacred relic.
He laughed too.
Not at the goat alone.
At this impossible softness life had allowed.
At the absurdity of survival giving way to silliness.
At the realization that laughter,
after years of absence,
did not arrive like a stranger…
…it returned like something that had always belonged to him.
Others joined in.
Workers paused.
Watched the goat.
Watched the fisherman.
Watched this young man
—who had always carried himself like gravity had chosen him personally—
laugh until his shoulders loosened
and his face remembered lightness.
Even Sara,
from across the dock,
laughed into her hands.
Arun wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist and pretended it was dust.
Jeevan grinned so quietly it almost hurt to see.
Ravi closed his eyes and whispered a prayer that belonged entirely to gratitude.
Eventually the goat was caught.
Order returned.
The dock remembered it was a place of industry.
But something did not return to what it was.
Weight.
It stayed gone.
The young man exhaled slowly.
Ran a thumb under his eye.
Surprised.
Almost shy.
"That was stupid," he muttered.
Kannan shook his head gently.
"That was human."
A pause.
A breath.
A long look at the sea.
Then the young man said something that would have been impossible only weeks ago:
"I forgot to be careful… for a moment."
He didn't say it with fear.
He said it like someone describing sunlight after monsoon.
Kannan nodded.
And instead of promising safety…
instead of making declarations…
instead of claiming this moment for himself…
he just said:
"I'm glad your body remembered how."
That mattered.
Because healing does not sit comfortably
with people who try to own it.
It breathes best beside those
who bow to it.
They stayed there long after the laughter faded.
Talking a little.
Quiet a lot.
Breathing freely.
No hidden calculations.
No internal alarms.
No edge.
Just life.
As evening slid gently across the harbor,
the young man rolled his shoulders once.
They didn't sound like stone anymore.
He stood eventually.
Not to run.
Simply because the day was finishing,
and normal life came next.
He looked at Kannan.
Not guarded.
Not neutral.
Open.
There was light in his eyes now.
A small one.
Real.
"I'll see you," he said.
Not hesitant.
Not reluctant.
Not weighed.
Just…
true.
Kannan smiled.
"Yes."
He watched him leave
not with fear of disappearance
not with relief at survival
but with quiet wonder
at something even better than hope.
Presence.
A life
staying.