Thursday, May 24, near Mid-town District
The sky outside was streaked with golden orange as the sun began its descent. Warm air clung gently to the skin, and the hum of distant cicadas had just started to fill the background like a lazy summer soundtrack.
Jay walked alongside Emma, their steps in sync but quiet. The path that stretched from the library gate toward the station was lined with tall hedges and patches of soft grass. For once, there was no rush to be anywhere. No crowd flooding the sidewalk. Just silence, with little pockets of small talk between the two of them.
"You know," Emma said as she glanced up at the sky, "I always thought summer would feel… louder."
Jay raised an eyebrow. "You expecting fireworks?"
"I don't know. Just… something. Everyone talks about the freedom and thrill of summer vacation, but it's really just quieter. Kind of anticlimactic."
Jay gave a small chuckle. "You sound disappointed."
"I'm not. It's just…" She paused, watching a bird hop between fence posts. "Funny how we look forward to things that turn out just like everything else."
Jay didn't respond immediately. He had his hands in his pockets, walking slowly, letting the rhythm of her words settle in his mind.
"Guess that's why we remember the people more than the days," he said eventually.
Emma smiled faintly. "That's surprisingly poetic for someone who fails to reply to messages."
"I'm conserving energy," Jay replied. "Words are expensive."
They reached the corner where the station path split from the main road.
Emma stopped, tightening the strap on her bag. "Well, this is where I leave you."
Jay nodded. "Get home safe."
She hesitated. "You too. And... thanks."
"For what?"
"For not being weird. Or, being weird in the right way."
Jay gave a soft grin. "Anytime."
With a small wave, she turned and started toward the station.
Jay stood there for a second longer, watching until she disappeared behind a tall sign. Then he exhaled and turned back toward the road.
A familiar voice greeted him before he could take another step.
"Oi, rich boy! Thought you ditched us."
Jay turned to see Tyler jogging across the intersection, a towel around his neck and hair still damp from the locker room.
"I thought you were at practice," Jay said.
"I was. Then I realized I'd rather eat something before collapsing."
Behind him, Amaya crossed the street with a tote bag in one hand, her usual bakery uniform replaced by a pale blue sundress that fluttered in the breeze. She gave Jay a soft smile.
"Hey. I brought leftover matcha buns. You guys hungry?"
Jay blinked. "Always."
They found a shady bench near the vending machines by the old convenience store, the three of them sitting shoulder to shoulder like always.
Tyler bit into a bun like it was the first food he'd seen in years. "God bless your bakery."
Amaya laughed. "You say that every time."
"And I'll keep saying it. Respect where it's due."
Jay took a bite as well, the matcha filling melting warmly across his tongue. Familiar. Comforting. Like childhood in a pastry.
"So," Amaya asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, "what's everyone doing tomorrow?"
"Sleeping," Tyler replied without hesitation. "Unless my coach drags me out again."
"You're so dramatic," Amaya said.
"No, no—this is strategy. I'm saving strength for the tournament next month. Jay's coming to watch, right?"
Jay nodded. "You invited me ten times. I got the message."
"Just making sure, man. I need moral support when I miss every goal."
Amaya grinned. "I'll bring tomatoes to throw."
Tyler fake-gasped. "Et tu, Amaya?"
Jay smiled, letting their banter wash over him. This was the part he always liked best. The quiet, unspoken bond. The ability to talk about nothing, and still feel like it mattered.
As the light faded, they finally stood and started walking together down the road that led toward their homes.
The walk home was slow, meandering, the kind that didn't need a destination so much as a reason to stretch out a little longer.
Eventually, Amaya split off toward her neighbourhood bakery with a soft goodbye and the promise of fresh melon pan tomorrow if Jay showed up early. Tyler gave one last exaggerated stretch, then saluted before veering off toward his apartment block. And just like that, Jay was alone again.
The building where he lived loomed ahead, clean and modern, tucked between the older residential complexes like it didn't belong there. Jay stepped inside, the quiet hum of the elevator greeting him like an old friend. His reflection in the elevator mirror looked tired, but not unhappy. Just... full. Like his mind had too many tabs open.
Inside his apartment, the silence returned in full force. He dropped his bag by the door, toed off his shoes, and walked over to the living room. The sky outside was now navy blue, stars just beginning to peek through. A breeze fluttered through the half-open balcony door.
He stood there for a moment, looking out over the city lights.
This is peace, right?
Not a perfect one. But something close.
He sank onto the couch and pulled out his phone.
The screen lit up with a few casual messages in the group chat from the rooftop party crew. It was still alive, even weeks after the event. Names were random. Some used emojis instead of proper usernames. Others had just letters. But somehow, the vibe remained familiar.
[mysterious Username]: "So no one's doing anything this summer??"
[probably bakery-related]: "Some of us work full-time, thanks"
[??]: "I'm always around for something dumb."
Jay tapped slowly at his keyboard, then sent:
"I'm at my apartment most days. Hit me up if anything comes up."
A few emojis reacted immediately. Someone sent a sticker of a cat popping out of a box. Tyler replied with "Bet." Amaya simply left a single cherry blossom emoji.
Jay leaned back, holding the phone loosely in one hand.
Then he noticed something sticking out of the side pocket of his bag.
He reached over, unzipped it, and pulled out the book Clara had been reading earlier.
It must have slipped into his stuff during the library shuffle. He didn't remember grabbing it — but there it was.
He flipped it open lazily, skimming the first few pages.
Near the middle, a single corner was folded sharply, crisp and clean.
Jay hesitated, then turned to that page.
There was a line underlined in faint pencil:
"It's easy to wear a mask. The hard part is forgetting which face you had before."
He stared at it for a while.
No signature. No initials. But he didn't need them.
Jay closed the book slowly, placed it beside him on the couch, and rested his head back.
The mask never fully comes off, does it?
He reached for the remote, turned on the TV, and let the sound of some random sitcom fill the room.
Tomorrow, he'd probably head to the bakery again. Maybe walk around the park. Text someone randomly.
Normal things.
But under all of it — the silence stretched, just a little too deep.
And somewhere out there, Clara was watching again