On a quiet morning in late August, Kian left campus to buy drafting supplies. As he passed through the college gates, a figure ahead made him stop short. The man's posture, the set of his shoulders;it was deeply familiar.
A memory, hazy with the distance of two decades, surfaced: a kind face watching over him when his parents were too preoccupied. "Uncle James?" Kian called out, the name feeling foreign yet right on his tongue. š±
The man turned, his eyes narrowing as he studied Kian's face. Then, recognition dawned. "Kian Baby! Is it really you? You've become such a fine young man. I didn't recognize you at first, but your eyesā¦ they are just like the Big Sir's."
James himself had aged; his hair was now stark white, and the veins stood out on his arms, but his gentle demeanor was unchanged.
"Uncle, you haven't changed much. What are you doing here?" Kian asked. šµš»
"After the Big Sir went to jail, I returned to my city. This is my home. I live nearby now with my son and his family, looking after my grandchildren," he explained, a soft smile touching his lips.
"Uncle James was the most loyal person to my father," Kian said, the words filled with a sudden, profound gratitude for this link to a painful past.
"I would very much like to see the Big Sir again," James said, his eyes glistening with hope.
Kian's expression softened with sorrow. "Dad died about ten months ago, Uncle James."
"Died?" The word was a whisper, a sharp exhalation of shock. The old man's face crumpled, the joyful light in his eyes extinguished and replaced by a profound, weary grief. The past, it seemed, had reached out one more time, only to deliver a final, heartbreaking blow. š