"Ooooh—"
Haya yawned as he walked through the wide-open door, slowly opening his eyes.
The first thing he saw was his mother, standing alone and getting ready to start work. She was dressed like a farmer—wearing a straw hat, gloves, an apron, and carrying a hand fork and a hoe.
"Eh? Awake already?" she said. "I was about to ask your sister to wake you up."
"Where are the other two?"
Realizing her son was already fully awake, she turned to face him.
"Thankfully, I got here before you did," Haya replied. "They're washing their faces right now."
"Sorry… was I late?"
"No," she smiled. "You came just at the right time."
"So… what should I do?" Haya asked, stretching his body.
"Hmm?" she hummed. "I think it's about time to prune this tree."
She glanced at him. "Can you prune it for me?"
"Ah… talk about coincidence," Haya muttered.
"Boys!" his mother called out. "Can you help me move those vases?"
"Okay, right away, ma'am!"
Danish and Zul replied together.
Suddenly, from the side of the house, a loud thud echoed—
followed by the sharp sound of a vase breaking.
Thud!
"Kyaa!"
"Hanna!"
Inari and Annis shouted at the same time.
Hearing the noise, everyone at the front of the house rushed toward the source of the sound. When they arrived, they saw a large vase—cracked but not completely broken—toppled beside a small tree.
Hanna had fallen, landing hard on the ground, while the other girls hurried to help her up.
"What happened?" Haya's mother asked, worry clear in her voice. "Are you all right, girls?"
"Oi, Inari," Haya said flatly, his voice uninterested as if scolding his sister. "Stop joking around."
Without waiting, he stepped forward and grabbed the half-broken vase. It was heavy and unstable, wobbling as if it might fall again, and he hurried to move it aside.
"I'm not playing around!"
Her voice trembled as she spoke, her eyes glassy and on the verge of tears as she denied Haya's accusation.
"Hey, hey… Haya," Zul whispered, stepping closer to him. "It's not like it was her fault. Don't blame her, okay?"
"It's not like I'm angry or anything," Haya replied, though the annoyed look on his face betrayed his words.
"Alright, that's enough," Danish said calmly, his tone mature. "You guys should rest for a bit. Let's continue after that."
With the incident settled, they returned to their work. The boys helped move and realign the vase and the small tree, while Haya's mother continued cleaning the flower beds and pruning the flowers.
At the front of the house, Haya focused on pruning a tree.
It wasn't an ordinary tree.
It was a bonsai—specifically a Japanese juniper, Juniperus chinensis.
A bonsai was not simply a tree. It was an art form.
The art of shaping and bending nature itself, turning something small into something beautiful.
Haya worked carefully, trimming each branch with patience, guiding the tree back toward its intended form.
As time passed, the world around him slowly faded. All he could see was the image of the fully pruned bonsai in his mind. At the edge of his vision, his friends and family became nothing more than moving shadows, quietly continuing their work.
Haya remained there, completely absorbed—
alone with the tree.
As Haya continued pruning the bonsai, the others began preparing to rest and have a small picnic beneath the large tree at the front of the house.
Danish and Zul arranged the spot where they would sit, while the girls carried the food over.
As they made their way there, the girls noticed Haya still standing near the front door, completely focused on pruning the bonsai.
"Big brother!" Inari called out.
"…"
"Hey, brother! Are you listening?"
"…"
"I'm calling you!"
"…"
"Can you stop for a bit and help us carry the water? It's heavy."
As Inari stepped closer, about to tap his brother and pull him back into the world around him—
"Hey, Inari. Long time no see."
"Eh—Brother?!"
Startled, Inari froze for a moment before running forward and jumping into the arms of a tall, broad-shouldered man who had appeared at the front porch. He looked to be in his twenties, his presence calm and masculine.
"Eh… why—how?" Inari stammered, caught between confusion and happiness.
"I'm on semester break too," the man said, smiling awkwardly. "That's why I came home."
"It's good to see you're as lively as ever."
"Hehehe, I've grown up a lot, you know!" Inari replied proudly.
"Mom's inside," she added. "She's washing up after working."
She glanced back toward the front door.
"And… Haya is over there."
"Hey, brother Haya! Big brother Amar is here!"
Inari called out loudly.
"..."
"This guy!" she snapped.
"Well, well… it's okay, Inari," Amar said, trying to calm her with an awkward smile. "Let him be."
"Hmph." Inari turned away, brushing it off in frustration.
Amar glanced at the others and chuckled softly. "Looks like you all could use some help, right? Let me lend a hand."
After what felt like a while, Haya finally finished pruning the bonsai. Satisfied with its shape, he lowered his tools and took a step back.
As he looked up, he caught sight of everyone resting beneath the large tree. After a brief pause, he decided to join them.
"You're done?" Amar asked.
"Big brother?" Haya blinked in surprise. "How come you're here?"
"I'm on semester break."
"Huh?" Inari crossed her arms. "Then why are you here? Go back and marry that bonsai tree already."
"Inari, stop it," Amar said gently. "Your brother was just too focused. It's not his fault he didn't hear you."
Haya tilted his head. "You really called me?"
"YES, I DID!"
Laughter burst out among them, breaking the tension. Soon, they settled back down, resting and eating together beneath the tree.
A wooden swing hung quietly from its branches.
Clouds drifted lazily overhead.
The sunlight had softened, no longer bright, as the day slowly prepared to fade into evening.
The laughter slowly faded into quiet conversation. Plates were emptied, cups were set aside, and the breeze carried away the last bits of warmth from the afternoon.
Haya leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes for a moment.
The laughter slowly faded into quiet conversation. Plates were emptied, cups were set aside, and the breeze carried away the last bits of warmth from the afternoon. What remained was a gentle stillness, the kind that only came after a day well spent. Leaves rustled overhead, whispering secrets to one another, and the scent of grass mixed with the faint sweetness of flowers from the garden.
Haya leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes for a moment. The bark was rough against his shoulders, grounding him.
The wooden swing creaked softly.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
That sound always calmed him. It was simple, predictable. A rhythm that didn't demand anything from him.
"Hey."
He opened his eyes. Amar was standing in front of him, hands in his pockets, his shadow stretching long across the ground.
"Walk with me for a bit?"
Haya hesitated, then nodded. He pushed himself up slowly, brushing bits of dry grass from his clothes.
They left the others under the tree and walked toward the side of the house, where the garden fence met a narrow dirt path. Beyond it stretched the paddy fields, wide and open, glowing under the sinking sun. The water between the rows of young rice plants reflected gold and orange, like pieces of broken sky scattered on the earth.
"You've grown taller," Amar said. "And quieter."
Haya gave a small shrug. "Really? I thought I'd become more talkative."
He paused, then added more softly, "Am I really that quiet?"
"Yes, you are," Amar replied gently. "You used to ask questions. A lot of them."
Amar chuckled.. "Besides… do I talk much to anyone other than my childhood friends?"
Haya frowned slightly "Now that you mention it…"
Haya looked down at the path as they walked. The dirt was soft from yesterday's rain, their footprints forming shallow marks behind them.
"I still have them," he said. "A lot of questions. Things I want clear answers to."
He took a small breath.
"I just don't say them out loud anymore."
Amar stopped walking.
"That's not always a good thing."
"Keeping everything inside… it makes your world smaller than it has to be."
Haya then looked up,
The wind moved through the rice plants, sending a ripple across the field like water. A bird flew past, cutting through the air with a sharp cry. Haya followed it with his eyes until it disappeared into the open sky.
After a moment, he spoke, his voice low.
"I used to like small worlds. But now…"
He hesitated.
"Somehow, they make me feel imprisoned."
Amar studied him for a second, then smiled faintly.
"You've been thinking deeply, haven't you?"
Haya gave a quiet nod, as if admitting something he hadn't said out loud before.
They continued walking, following the edge of the paddy field. The air smelled of wet soil and growing things. It was peaceful, almost sacred.
"So," Amar said, "how have you been, really? Lately."
Haya thought about it. The bonsai he tended every morning. The way he liked sitting alone before the house woke up. The quiet comfort of repetition, how it made his days feel steady.
"I guess… it's the same," he said. "Confused sometimes. But calm."
He hesitated, then added,
"The exams were really hard. But I guess I managed somehow."
A small, uncertain smile touched his lips.
"I just hope my results will be good."
Amar laughed softly and gave his shoulder a light tap.
"Hey, it's okay. You've done your part already. Now you can relax. Don't keep reminding yourself of that stressful exam."
Haya let out a slow breath, as if releasing something he had been holding onto.
Haya glanced at him. "How about you?"
"Me?"
"Your college life," Haya said softly. "How is it?"
Amar chuckled. "Busy. Loud. Sometimes exciting. Sometimes exhausting."
"That sounds… different from here."
"It is. You meet people from everywhere. Everyone has plans. Big ones." Amar paused. "Sometimes I feel like I have to keep running just to stay in place."
Haya imagined that. The noise, the rush, the expectations. It made his chest feel tight.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
Amar thought for a moment. "I like learning. I like the freedom. But I also miss this. The slow mornings. The way time feels wider here."
They reached a spot where the path bent slightly, opening up a clearer view of the fields. The sun was almost touching the horizon now, turning the clouds into soft flames.
Amar turned to Haya.
"Now that you ask .."
"Have you thought about where you want to study? What you want to take in university?"
Haya's steps slowed.
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "I don't even know what I want to study."
Amar raised an eyebrow, but his expression stayed kind. "Well…That's expected."
"I see people my age already deciding," Haya continued. "Engineering. Medicine. Business. They talk like their future is already written."
"And you?"
"I feel like my page is still blank."
"That's not a bad thing," Amar said. "It just means you have more space to write."
Haya considered that. The idea was comforting, yet frightening.
"What if I write the wrong thing?" he asked.
"You will," Amar said easily. "Everyone does at some point. The important part is that you keep writing."
They stood there for a while, listening to the soft sounds of the field. Frogs croaked somewhere near the water. The world felt alive, yet unhurried.
"Maybe," Amar said, "before university, you could find a job."
Haya looked at him. "A job?"
"Yeah. Just for a while. It'll help you see more of the world. Meet people. Learn what you like and what you don't."
Haya imagined himself working somewhere. A shop. A café. A nursery. The thought was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.
"Wouldn't that make me late for college?" he asked.
"Late for what?" Amar replied. "Life doesn't have a single schedule."
Haya smiled faintly.
They started walking back toward the house. The sky was now painted in deep orange and soft purple. Shadows stretched long, merging into one another.
Back at the big tree, Inari was on the swing now, pumping her legs to go higher. The others watched her, laughing whenever she nearly lost her balance.
"She hasn't changed," Amar said.
Haya glanced over. "She's louder."
"She always was."
Inari spotted them.
"Big brother Amar! Push me!"
Amar laughed and went behind the swing.
"Hold tight."
He pushed.
The swing flew forward.
Inari screamed happily.
"Higher! Higher!"
Haya watched. Something warm settled in his chest.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… steady.
As the sky began to darken, their mother came out with a towel over her shoulder.
"Alright, everyone. It's almost dinner."
Groans answered her.
"But we just sat down!"
"Five more minutes!"
She smiled. "Five minutes. Then inside."
The light turned soft purple. Crickets began to sing.
Haya looked up at the sky. Stars would appear soon. Slowly. One by one.
Tomorrow will come.
And after that—another day.
Another quiet morning.
Another memory to shape.
He thought about the paddy fields.
About jobs.
About blank pages and small worlds.
And maybe…
Another question he'd finally ask out loud.