[Ren]
The Morning Light Fell Through The Curtains Like It Was Afraid To Wake Anyone.
Soft, Careful, Almost Shy.
The House Was Quiet In The Kind Of Way That Didn't Feel Empty — Just Slow.
Mom Was In The Kitchen, Humming Something From An Old Song. The Scent Of Toast, Butter, And Slightly Burnt Edges Drifted Through The Air.
Dad Sat Near The Window With His Newspaper, His Glasses Sliding A Little Down His Nose. He Always Said He'd Get Them Fixed But Never Did.
I Sat At The Table, Hands Wrapped Around A Warm Cup Of Tea. The Steam Rose Slowly, Curling In Front Of My Face Like It Was Thinking About Leaving.
"Did You Sleep Well?" Mom Asked, Turning From The Stove.
"Yeah," I Said. My Voice Sounded Normal, But It Felt Like A Lie.
Dad Lowered His Paper Just Enough To Glance At Me Over The Edge. "You Did Well This Time, Right? Exams And All?"
"I Think So."
He Nodded, A Small Smile On His Face. "Good. Just Do Your Best. That's All That Matters."
It Was A Simple Conversation. Nothing Out Of The Ordinary. But It Felt Heavy In A Way I Couldn't Explain.
Like There Were Too Many Unsaid Things Resting Between The Words.
Then, Just When The Silence Threatened To Stretch Too Long, Riko Came In.
Still Half Asleep. Hair Messy. One Sock On.
"Why Is Everyone So Serious This Early?" She Yawned, Plopping Down Beside Me.
"Good Morning To You Too," Mom Said, Sliding A Plate Of Toast Toward Her.
Riko Ignored It For A Moment, Leaning Over The Table To Stare At Me. "Why Are You Smiling Weirdly?"
"I'm Not," I Said.
"You Are. It's That 'Something Happened But I Won't Say It' Kind Of Smile."
Dad Coughed Into His Coffee. Mom Tried To Hide A Smile.
Riko Narrowed Her Eyes. "It's A Girl, Isn't It?"
"Riko—"
"See? You Hesitated!"
Mom Let Out A Small Laugh. "Riko, Eat Your Breakfast Before It Gets Cold."
Riko Just Grinned, Victorious. "He's Blushing."
"I'm Not."
"You Are."
And Just Like That, The Table Filled With Laughter. The Kind That Echoed Lightly Against The Walls.
It Was Such A Simple Thing — A Morning, A Joke, A Familiar Kind Of Warmth.
But Somewhere Beneath It, I Felt A Strange Pull Of Nostalgia.
Because There Was A Time When Every Morning Felt Like This.
When I Talked Too Much. When My Voice Didn't Sound Like An Echo In My Own Head.
After Breakfast, Dad Asked For Help Fixing The Old Shelf In The Living Room.
The Same One That Tilted A Little Every Time Someone Walked Too Close.
"You Were The One Who Built This, You Know," He Said, Kneeling Beside Me.
"Yeah," I Said, Picking Up The Screwdriver. "It's Been Tilting Since I Was Twelve."
He Laughed. "You Tried So Hard Back Then. I Remember You Got Angry When It Wouldn't Stay Straight."
"I Remember."
"You Even Cried Once."
"...You Don't Have To Mention That Part."
He Smiled, Wiping Dust Off The Edge. "You Were So Determined, Though. You Never Liked Giving Up."
"I Guess I Grew Out Of That."
He Looked At Me Quietly, His Eyes Gentle But Sharp. "I Don't Think You Did. You Just Started Hiding It."
For A Moment, Neither Of Us Said Anything. The Only Sound Was The Turn Of The Screwdriver, The Wood Groaning Softly.
Later That Afternoon, Riko Dragged Me Outside To Buy Snacks For The Week.
She Walked A Step Ahead Of Me, Talking About Her School Trip, Her Friends, Some Drama About Who Borrowed Whose Notes.
I Barely Said A Word. But Listening To Her Was Enough.
When We Passed The Old Park Near Our Elementary School, She Stopped Suddenly.
The Swings Were Still There. Rusted Chains, Faded Paint, The Scent Of Wet Grass Hanging In The Air.
"You Used To Push Me Here," She Said, Sitting Down On The Same Swing She Always Chose.
"Yeah."
"You Were So Annoying," She Continued. "Always Told Me To Swing Higher, Run Faster. You Never Let Me Stop."
I Smiled, Leaning Against The Fence. "I Thought It'd Make You Brave."
She Looked Up, Her Hair Swaying In The Wind. "You Were Braver Back Then Too."
For A Second, The Wind Carried Her Words Like A Memory.
And I Could Almost See My Younger Self — Running Across The Grass, Laughing So Loud The Whole Park Heard.
That Version Of Me Felt So Far Away.
When We Got Home, The Sun Was Already Dipping Low.
The House Was Warm Again — The Smell Of Mom's Cooking, The Sound Of The TV Playing In The Background, The Quiet Comfort Of Knowing Everyone Was Just… There.
After Dinner, We All Sat Together For A While.
Riko Fell Asleep Against The Couch, Mom Was Folding Clothes, And Dad Was Still Reading.
It Was Peaceful. Almost Perfect.
But Somewhere In That Soft Quiet, A Thought Crawled In.
Maybe The Distance Between Me And Them Wasn't Because We Stopped Talking.
Maybe It Was Because I Stopped Letting Them See Me.
That Night, Lying On My Bed, I Scrolled Through Old Photos On My Phone.
Some Blurry. Some Too Bright. Some Showing A Boy With A Smile So Wide It Looked Like He Owned The Sun.
I Stared At That Boy For A Long Time.
He Felt Familiar. But Also Foreign.
And In The Stillness Of The Room, I Whispered Into The Dark —
"When Did I Become Like This?"
—
[Miyu]
The Morning Sun Fell Softly Against The Curtains, Painting The Room In Faded Gold.
The Sound Of Clinking Dishes Came From The Kitchen, Followed By Yui's Loud Yawn Echoing Down The Hall.
When I Walked In, Mom Was Arranging Flowers Near The Window — White Lilies This Time.
Dad Was Reading Something On His Tablet, A Cup Of Coffee Resting On The Table Beside Him.
"Good Morning," Mom Said With A Smile That Felt Like Home.
"Morning," I Replied, Taking A Seat.
Yui Was Balancing A Spoon On Her Nose. "Look, I Can Do It For Ten Seconds!"
Dad Laughed Softly. "That's A Very Impressive Skill, Yui."
She Grinned. "Better Than Miyu's Studying Skills."
I Raised An Eyebrow. "Excuse Me?"
"Just Saying," She Teased. "You Study Too Much. That's Boring."
Mom Tried To Hide A Smile. "She Has A Point."
"I'm Not That Bad," I Said, Taking A Sip Of Water.
"You're Worse," Yui Mumbled, Her Spoon Clattering To The Floor.
The Room Filled With Soft Laughter.
It Was Silly. Ordinary. But It Felt Real.
Dad Looked Up From His Tablet. "Exams Went Well?"
"Yeah," I Said.
He Nodded. "I'm Proud Of You. You Always Work Hard."
Mom Added, "We Both Are."
Their Words Should Have Felt Comforting. And They Did — A Little. But Underneath, There Was This Small, Restless Thought I Couldn't Ignore.
Would They Still Be Proud If I Wasn't Always Like This?
After Breakfast, We Went To The Market.
The Streets Buzzed With Noise — Vendors Calling, Children Laughing, The Scent Of Fried Snacks Mixing With The Hum Of Voices.
Yui Tugged My Sleeve When We Passed A Book Stall. "You Used To Beg For Coloring Books Here."
I Smiled. "That Was A Long Time Ago."
Mom Turned Toward Me. "You'd Sit For Hours Coloring Every Page Perfectly. Even A Tiny Smudge Made You Start Over."
I Ran My Fingers Across The Covers Of The Books. "I Remember."
It Felt Like A Version Of Myself I Had Misplaced Somewhere.
On The Way Back, Dad Bought Us Taiyaki From A Street Vendor.
The Filling Was Hot And Sweet.
Yui Complained That Hers Was Too Small, And Mom Swapped It With Her Own Without Saying Anything.
That Simple Act — That Quiet Kindness — Stayed With Me Longer Than The Taste.
When We Got Home, I Helped Mom In The Kitchen. The Smell Of Soy Sauce, Garlic, And Rice Filled The Room.
The Steam Clouded My Glasses As I Stirred The Pot.
"You Know," Mom Said Gently, "You Don't Always Have To Be So Perfect."
The Spoon Froze In My Hand. "I'm Not Trying To Be."
She Smiled Without Looking At Me. "Then That's Enough."
But It Didn't Feel Like Enough. Not Really.
Later That Evening, Yui Knocked On My Door.
"Come Watch A Movie With Us," She Said.
"I'll Join In A Bit."
"You Always Say That."
"I Just Have Some Notes To Go Through."
She Rolled Her Eyes. "You're Hopeless."
When She Left, The Room Fell Quiet Again.
The Ceiling Fan Hummed, Casting Shadows That Moved With Every Turn.
I Reached Into My Drawer And Pulled Out An Old Medal — My First One From Elementary School.
The Ribbon Was Faded, The Edges Worn.
I Remembered That Day Clearly. Running Home, Heart Racing, The Medal Clutched In My Small Hands.
Dad Had Lifted Me Up, Laughing. Mom Had Hugged Me So Tight I Thought My Ribs Would Break.
Back Then, It Was Pure Joy. No Pressure. No Expectation.
Just Happiness For The Sake Of It.
But Somewhere Along The Way, It Changed.
Somewhere Between Second Place And First, Between Smiles And Applause, I Learned That Love Felt Safer When I Earned It.
I Held The Medal For A Long Time Before Setting It Back.
Then, Quietly, Almost Like Breathing, I Whispered —
"When Did I Become Like This?"
Origins : End
— × —
To Be Continued....