Arin dressed so quickly that he put his shirt on backwards.
He discovered the mistake only after trying to button it.
"Wonderful. Ten years of additional life experience, and I still can't dress myself."
He corrected it, grabbed his bag, and rushed downstairs.
His mother stood in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
She looked exactly as he remembered her from that time: her hair tied back, a small crease between her eyebrows, and a habit of humming while she worked.
Arin stopped in the doorway.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
His mother turned.
"Why are you standing there? You'll be late."
He stared at her.
She was alive.
Not a memory. Not a photograph.
Alive, standing in front of him, holding a spatula and looking mildly annoyed.
Something tightened in his chest.
"Mom?"
She glanced at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Then sit down and eat."
He sat.
She placed a plate before him.
Pasta, cheese and a small bowl of breadsticks
The same breakfast she had made countless times.
Arin picked up a piece of meatball
His eyes burned, and he quickly looked down.
His mother noticed.
"Are you sick?"
"No."
"Then why are you making that face?"
"I'm not making a face."
"You look as if I've served you cardboard."
He laughed unexpectedly.
She shook her head.
"Strange boy."
Arin ate quietly, trying to memorise everything: the sound of the utensils, the sunlight on the kitchen tiles, the familiar rhythm of her movements.
He had spent years believing he needed a spectacular life to be happy.
Sitting at this table, he wondered whether he had been looking in the wrong direction all along.
His phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
KYLE: Bro, remember what we discussed? Don't forget. Meet me behind the auditorium before assembly.
Arin froze.
kyle alexander
His best friend.
Or the person who had been his best friend until that afternoon.
Arin remembered the incident with painful clarity now.
A missing examination paper. A false accusation. A teacher demanding an explanation.
And Arin, frightened of being blamed himself, had remained silent when Kyle needed him to speak.
That silence had cost Kyle his place on the school team. It had destroyed their friendship over the following months.
By the time Arin realised what he had done, Kyle had stopped answering his messages.
They had never truly reconciled.
Arin stared at the screen.
His first instinct was to reply.
His second was to do nothing.
The old Arin had always done nothing.
It was easier to avoid uncomfortable conversations. Easier to hope problems would resolve themselves. Easier to tell himself that he would apologise later.
He typed:
ARIN: I'll be there.
Then he put the phone away.
His mother watched him.
"Everything all right?"
Arin looked up.
"Yeah."
He hesitated.
"Mom?"
"Hm?"
"Do you think people can really change?"
She considered the question.
"Of course."
"Just like that?"
"No. Not just like that."
She returned to her cooking.
"People change when they decide their mistakes don't have to become their habits."
Arin went very still.
Had she always said things like that?
He couldn't remember.
"Now hurry," she added. "You're already late."
Arin stood, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door.
This time, he wasn't running away from his past.
He was running towards the first mistake he had a chance to correct.
And for once, he intended to arrive on time.