Aiden sat on the polished wooden bench along the sidewalk. The wood was warm from the morning sun, but he didn't feel it. He leaned forward, his shoulders heavy, as if an invisible weight were pressing against his chest. His eyes were open… but they stared at nothing.
His trembling fingers interlaced over his knees—a light squeeze, then tighter, as if he feared the truth would slip away if he let go.
Syra sat beside him without a word. She didn't stay too close, leaving a small space that respected his silence, yet her gaze never left him. In her eyes was a cautious worry, and questions piled up behind her lips.
She hesitated… then slowly raised her hand, like someone testing the water before diving in. She spoke in a soft voice, barely louder than a whisper:
"Aiden… I just want to know… what happened to you back there?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He looked at his hands. Their shaking was clearer now, as if they bore the trace of something that hadn't been washed away yet. He swallowed, then his voice came out calm, polished with a false care:
"I'm fine… really… fine."
But his inside said otherwise. There are things that cannot be told… even to someone named Syra. He slowly ran his hand over his temple, as if touching the spot might quiet the noise in his head, then spoke in a tone steadier than he felt:
"Forget it… just forget it."
She didn't argue.
Instead, Syra reached out and took his hand. Her grip was warm, steady—neither pressing nor letting go.
"Wait for me… I'll be right back."
She stood up and headed toward a nearby ice cream vendor. The sound of the spoon dipping into the metal freezer, the scent of cold strawberries, the water bottle condensing with tiny droplets. She returned with calmer steps… but more confidence.
She leaned slightly before him, offering the ice cream with a sincere smile:
"This is the best medicine right now. No questions, no words… just a cold, sweet taste… to take you away. Try it… trust me."
He raised his eyes to her. For a moment, she seemed as if she didn't belong to this place… as if she had come from a kinder world.
He took the ice cream.
Then… a small smile appeared. It wasn't full, but it was real.
In a quiet corner of the hospital, Arin sat at his desk. Papers were lined up with excessive precision—names of orphanages, dates, numbers. A system trying to curb the chaos within him.
He lifted the phone to his ear.
"Hello, this is Dr. Arin… I'm looking for adoption records from the year 2009."
The reply came formal, cold:
"We apologize, this information cannot be shared without a court order."
A brief silence followed.
"I understand… thank you."
He ended the call and placed the phone slowly on the table. He began tapping his fingers… tap… tap… tap… a restless rhythm. His fingers stopped at an open file.
Psychological Report — 2009.
One name brought him back to square zero.
He stood up abruptly. He tore off his white coat and threw it on the chair. Keys in hand. The door opened. The engine roared. And the road swallowed his car.
Did anyone still remember?
The past was no longer behind him… it was running toward him.
The sunlight reflected off the pharmacy glass. Syra's eyes stopped at a hanging sign:
"Employee Wanted — Part-Time."
"Aiden, stop."
She looked at him, a cautious hope in her voice: "I'll try… maybe I'll succeed."
He nodded quietly: "I'll wait for you."
He got off the motorcycle. He stood there. The world turned toward him.
Whispers… faint laughter… glances.
"He looks like a painting."
"Does he have a girlfriend?"
Then, one clear, bright voice:
"Aiden!"
Syra came out, her eyes shining: "I got accepted!"
He approached her slowly. His hand rose, touching her cheek. Their breaths mingled.
A light kiss…
But it said everything.
The world continued to turn. But for them… time stopped.
Elsewhere, Arin was driving as if the road were collapsing beneath him.
"Mother… when? When did you give up on Aiden?!"
The silence was heavy. Only her breath… staggered… regretful.
"After fifteen years?!" His scream tore through the air.
Then her voice, weak:
"Thursday… December 23rd… 2009."
His hand loosened. The lights in front of him drew near.
The truck…
Then—
CRASH.
Glass. Smoke. Blood.
With his last breath, he pressed a single number.
The phone rang.
Aiden looked at the screen.
"An unknown number…"