Oliver had not gone to work since his father's death. Nor had he stepped foot in school. The house was quiet, except for the soft coughs and groans of his mother, whose movements had become slower and more careful.
Oliver didn't know why she had been restless at the hospital lately, and he didn't ask. He had learned long ago that his mother kept secrets—things he wasn't meant to know.
A knock at the door startled him.
"Oliver, are you in there?" The voice was warm, familiar.
He opened the door. Mrs. Snider, his boss from the restaurant, stood there, holding a small bag and a thermos of coffee. Her sharp eyes softened when she saw him.
"I've been worried about you," she said gently. "You've missed almost a week. I know about your father… and I wanted to check on you."
Oliver looked down. "I… I'm fine," he muttered, though his voice sounded hollow even to him.
"You don't look fine," she said, stepping inside. "Come with me for a while. A change of scenery might help."
He hesitated, then nodded. He didn't know why he trusted her, but somehow he did.
They walked together through quiet streets. Mrs. Snider talked lightly at first—about the weather, the new café that had opened downtown, small things to fill the silence. Then, as Oliver began to relax slightly, she shared a story he hadn't expected.
"My husband and our daughter…" Her voice faltered for a moment. "They drowned during a family cruise. Only I survived."
Oliver's eyes widened. He didn't know what to say.
"I know how it sounds," she continued softly. "My husband's family blamed me. Said I was careless. That it was my fault. Even though I had nothing to do with it."
Oliver stayed quiet, listening. He could feel her pain, the loneliness behind her calm voice.
They spent the day visiting some of her favorite spots. First, a small park with winding paths and a fountain that sang in the breeze. Oliver felt the tension in his chest ease just a little. Then a quiet café where the smell of coffee and pastries filled the air. He laughed quietly when she teased the barista about the complicated drink order.
They talked about life, work, and small everyday victories. Mrs. Snider shared stories about the restaurant, about her struggles managing the other staffs and difficult customers. She laughed about the times things went wrong.
And in return, Oliver found himself talking too, about small things he hadn't shared with anyone: a favorite dish he liked to cook, the physics experiments he tinkered with, the quiet corners of the city he sometimes walked through alone.
By the end of the day, Oliver felt lighter. The heaviness that had pressed on his chest for days seemed to lift slightly. Mrs. Snider had not forced him to smile, but he had, without realizing it.
As they walked back to the house, she looked at him. "You'll be okay, Oliver. Don't close yourself off completely. People care about you, even when life feels cruel."
Oliver nodded quietly, staring at the ground. For the first time in a week, he felt that maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him to breathe again.
As Mrs Snider turned to go, the turned back again.
"And don't forget, consult me when you need anything."
Without waiting for an answer, she walked away, leaving Oliver standing at the doorway like a statue, unmoving.
The school day ended, but Liam couldn't focus on anything else. Every class felt too long, every second too slow. His friends had invited him to come meet them at a restaurant in the city center. And he had agreed. But his thoughts kept drifting to one person—Oliver.
He had tried to call him several times, but no answer. He had checked the restaurant where Oliver worked; no one knew anything about him. Mrs. Snider had mentioned that Oliver had been absent for days, but she didn't know where he was either.
Finally, with the last bell, Liam walked toward Oliver's house. He moved quietly, almost hoping he wouldn't find him there—because if he did, what would he even say? He had not spoken to Oliver properly since their fight.
The front door was closed. The curtains were drawn. No one answered when he knocked. Liam's chest tightened. He wanted to pound on the door, demand to know where Oliver was, but he held himself back. Instead, he left silently, his mind spinning with worry.
By the time Liam reached the city center, he was exhausted—not physically, but emotionally. His friends were waiting outside at the five-star restaurant where they agreed to meet.
Where have you been, man?" Tommy asked the moment he approached. "You've abandoned us these past few weeks!"
Liam tried to smile. "I've been… busy," he said vaguely, not wanting to explain the real reason.
"Busy with what? Sitting at home brooding?" Billie,the fleshy friend amongst them teased, shoving him lightly. "Come on, today we're celebrating. You owe us!"
Liam sighed but followed them inside. The restaurant was bright and lavish, chandeliers glittering, marble floors reflecting the golden light. He had been here before with his family, but today, it felt different. He was a guest, a host, and a distraction all at once.
"Order whatever you want," Liam said, waving the menu at them. "Don't worry about the bill."
Their faces lit up instantly. "You're too good to us, man!" Paul exclaimed.
They laughed, joking about old stories, teasing each other, and for a few moments, Liam felt the weight on his chest ease slightly.
They ordered delicacies from every corner of the menu—sushi, steak, pasta, desserts that gleamed like jewels. Liam watched as his friends dug in, their laughter filling the space. He smiled quietly, but his mind was elsewhere.
He thought of Oliver—where he might be, whether he was eating, sleeping, or sitting alone somewhere. Every laugh around him made him feel a twinge of guilt. He had promised himself he would protect Oliver, and yet here he was, distracted by a night out, while the boy he cared about remained absent.
Then Lorette appeared. Liam stiffened.
"Well, well, Liam Adrien," she said with a playful smile, one hand on her hip. "Finally decided to join us?"
"You're late," Theresa, one of her friends joked. "Don't tell me you had to rescue the world first?"
Lorette laughed, flicking her hair. "I heard he's been busy thinking about a certain someone… maybe a lowly boy who can't even make it to school."
Liam froze, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "He's not a lowly boy, Lorette," he said quickly, too sharply. "I mean that's unfair.." he added, feeling uncomfortable.
" Sure, sure," she teased, circling him with a smirk. "Anyway, my birthday's in two weeks. I want it perfect. And yes, that includes you, Mr. Rich Boy. You'd better be there."
" Of course," Liam said, forcing a smile. Inside, his thoughts went straight back to Oliver. Birthday parties, Lorette, friends… it all felt heavy now.
Tommy, oblivious to Liam's inner turmoil, leaned over the table.
"Hey, Liam," he whispered, nudging him. "You and Lorette are like a scene from a drama. Don't tell me she's still making you sweat after all these years?".
"She is," Will, the politician's son laughed. "And the rest of us get to watch the show!"
Lorette smirked at them. "Oh, be quiet. Liam's mine. And you boys know it."
"Yeah, yeah," one friend said, waving his hands. "But seriously, your lovebirds act like you're in a soap opera. You two would make a great headline: High School Sweethearts Take Over the City!"
Liam groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Can we just eat?"
But no one listened. More plates of desserts arrived, and the conversation continued—laughter, playful insults, teasing remarks. Liam ate some of the food but barely tasted it. Every joke about couples, every playful glare Lorette threw, reminded him of what he couldn't stop thinking about: Oliver...