The doorbell rang—once, sharp and distant—cutting through the quiet hum of the house.
Owen was sprawled on the living room sofa on the ground floor, one leg dangling off the side, eyes half-focused on the television. Some random comedy show played in the background, its laughter track filling the room, though Owen wasn't really watching. His phone rested on his chest, screen dark, mind equally blank. It was one of those lazy afternoons when time felt thick and unmoving.
Upstairs, in the small bedroom near the window, Mehrin was fast asleep. The curtains fluttered slightly with the breeze, and sunlight spilled across the edge of her bed. The sudden, piercing sound of the doorbell shattered the peace, jolting her awake.
She shifted, confused, blinking at the ceiling.
"Owen…" she called out groggily, her voice echoing faintly down the staircase.
"Owen… go and see who's at the door."
Downstairs, Owen let out a slow sigh and rolled his eyes.
"She always calls me," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face as he sat up. "As if I'm the only one in the house."
He pushed himself off the sofa, slippers scraping lightly against the wooden floor as he walked toward the door. The bell rang again, slightly impatient this time.
"Coming, coming," Owen said aloud, though no one could hear him.
He reached the door, hand closing around the handle without a second thought. But the moment he pulled it open—
He froze.
Standing there, bathed in soft afternoon light, was Sarah.
For a split second, Owen's brain refused to process what his eyes were seeing. She looked almost unreal, like a memory stepping out of the past. Her hair was slightly shorter now, framing her face gently. She wore a simple jacket and jeans, a small bag hanging from her shoulder. But her eyes—those familiar eyes—were exactly the same.
Sarah.
His childhood friend.
His first crush.
The girl who had once meant everything.
"Hi, Owen," she said, her lips curving into a soft, almost shy smile.
His heart skipped.
"H-Hi, Sarah," Owen replied, surprised laughter escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. "Wow… welcome to England." He paused, then added awkwardly, "I mean—welcome to our home."
Sarah laughed quietly, the sound warm and familiar, sending a strange ache through his chest.
"Thank you," she said. "I won't take much of your time. I just came to tell you something."
She reached into her bag and pulled out a folded slip of paper, handing it to him.
"I'm taking admission in your school," she continued. "Dad finalized everything today."
Owen stared at the paper, then back at her, eyes widening.
"Wait—seriously?" he said. "You're joining my school?"
"Yes," Sarah nodded. "I thought you should know first."
His surprise slowly turned into excitement.
"Wow… does that mean you're staying here now?" he asked, unable to hide the smile spreading across his face.
"Yes," she replied softly. "Dad left his job in Italy. He's starting a new business here in England. We moved just last week."
"That's amazing," Owen said genuinely. "Congratulations! That's a big change."
"Yeah," Sarah smiled, though there was a hint of nervousness behind it. "It still feels strange."
There was a brief silence between them—comfortable, yet heavy with unspoken memories. Years ago, they had been inseparable. They used to race bicycles down narrow streets, share secrets under old trees, talk about dreams that felt endless back then. And then, suddenly, life had pulled them apart.
Owen cleared his throat.
"Come inside," he said quickly. "Sit for a while. Mom would love to see you."
Sarah hesitated, shifting her bag on her shoulder.
"No, not today," she said gently. "There's too much to do—furniture, arrangements, unpacking. Everything's still a mess."
She took a small step back, then added warmly, "Please say hello to Aunt Mehrin for me."
Owen nodded, a little disappointed but understanding.
"Of course," he said. "She'll be happy to hear about you."
Sarah smiled one last time.
"Here's my number," she said, tapping the paper in his hand. "Please send me all the school details—timetable, teachers, everything."
"I will," Owen said quickly. "Definitely."
With that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps growing quieter as she disappeared down the path.
Owen stood there long after she had gone, the door still open, cool air brushing against his face. Slowly, he closed it, the soft click echoing through the house.
His heart was racing.
Sarah was back.
Back in his life.
Back in his school.
Back in his world.
He looked down at the slip of paper in his hand, unfolding it carefully. Her number was written neatly, just like before. He stared at it as if it might vanish.
Upstairs, the sound of movement broke his thoughts.
"Owen?" Mehrin called again, her voice sleepy but curious.
"Who was it?"
Owen straightened instantly.
"It was the parcel delivery guy, Mom," he replied loudly.
Mehrin frowned from her bed.
"Which parcel?" she asked.
Owen's mind raced.
"Uh… poor guy came to the wrong address," he said casually. "He left already."
There was a pause.
"Alright," Mehrin said finally, her voice softening as sleep reclaimed her. "Next time, tell him to be careful."
"Okay, Mom," Owen replied.
The house fell silent again.
Owen leaned back against the door, exhaling slowly. He clutched Sarah's number tightly in his fist, his thoughts swirling with memories, possibilities, and emotions he thought he had buried long ago.
A single knock at the door had reopened a chapter he never truly closed.
And somehow, he knew—
This was only the beginning.