Summer had already begun to loosen its grip on the neighbourhood, not with a sudden shift, but through small signs that only made sense if someone paid attention. Shops that had stayed open late during vacation were closing earlier again. School buses were being washed and parked in long, patient lines near the depot. Even the streets felt different, as if they were preparing themselves for mornings filled with uniforms and footsteps.
Tyler noticed all of it without needing to think about it.
He walked beside his father along the main road, the sun high but softened by drifting clouds. Silas carried a cloth bag folded neatly under his arm, the kind he used when he expected to buy more than planned. Tyler's hands were empty for now, his pace unhurried, matching his father's without effort.
"One week," Silas said, more to himself than to Tyler, as they slowed near a stationery store. "Vacation really does vanish when you stop counting it."
Tyler glanced at the shop window, where stacks of notebooks were arranged in careful towers. "It always feels long in the middle," he replied, his tone even. "And short at the end."
Silas looked down at him with a faint smile, surprised more by the observation than the words themselves. "That's a good way to put it," he said, then added, "You ready?"
Tyler nodded. "Yes."
The bell above the shop door chimed as they stepped inside, the familiar sound cutting cleanly through the low hum of ceiling fans. The air smelled of paper and ink, with a hint of plastic from wrapped supplies. Behind the counter, the shopkeeper looked up from a ledger and smiled when he recognized Silas.
"Ah, back again," the man said warmly, closing the book. "I was wondering when you'd come in. School's almost here."
Silas returned the smile with ease. "It always sneaks up on us," he replied. "We're here for the usual."
The shopkeeper's eyes shifted to Tyler, who stood quietly beside his father. "Middle school now, right?" he asked, already reaching for a bundle of lined notebooks. "They grow fast. One day they're buying crayons, next day it's geometry sets."
Tyler met his gaze politely. "I already have some things from before," he said. "Just replacements."
The shopkeeper laughed softly. "That's what they all say. Then they leave with twice as much."
Silas shook his head. "He's careful," he said, not without a trace of pride. "Too careful sometimes."
Tyler said nothing, only watching as the man laid out notebooks, pens, and a new geometry box on the counter. As Silas checked items off a small list folded in his pocket, Tyler scanned the shelves. The store felt unchanged, but he could tell which items had been restocked recently. New packaging, sharper colors. Preparation was everywhere.
"Pens," Silas murmured, glancing at the list. "Blue and black."
The shopkeeper slid two packs across. "Good quality this time," he said. "They won't leak in the heat."
Silas picked them up, weighing them briefly. "That's a relief."
While his father counted quietly, Tyler moved toward a rack of folders. His fingers brushed the edges as he checked their sturdiness. He chose two, one dark and one light, and held them up.
"These should last," he said.
Silas nodded. "Put them in."
The transaction finished without fuss. The shopkeeper packed everything neatly, his movements practiced and efficient.
"First week is always the hardest," the man said as Silas paid. "After that, it settles."
Silas accepted the bag and gave a small nod. "That's what we hope."
Outside, the sun felt warmer again, the noise of the street folding back around them. Tyler took the bag from his father without being asked, adjusting the weight easily.
"Uniform next," Silas said, pointing down the road.
They walked in comfortable silence, passing familiar storefronts and vendors setting up for the evening. Somewhere down the street, a cart rattled as someone pushed it into position. The sound blended with distant traffic and the occasional call of a shopkeeper advertising fresh produce.
The uniform store sat slightly apart from the others, its sign faded from years of exposure. Inside, fabric samples hung neatly along the walls, and the smell of starch lingered in the air.
The woman behind the counter looked up as the bell rang, her expression brightening. "Silas," she greeted. "Right on time."
Silas chuckled. "You always say that."
"And I'm always right," she replied, already reaching for a measuring tape. Her eyes moved to Tyler with interest. "Let me see you."
Tyler stepped forward obediently. The tape slid around his shoulders, then down his arms. The woman hummed softly, her movements precise.
"He's grown," she observed.
Silas nodded. "That's what they tell me every year."
Tyler stood still, watching the mirror opposite him as the measurements continued. His reflection looked familiar. Taller than before, leaner, but otherwise unchanged. The uniform folded on the counter waited quietly, its fabric crisp and uncreased.
"You'll need a slight adjustment," the woman said, making a note. "Nothing major."
"That's fine," Silas replied. "How long?"
"half an hour," she answered.
"Good," Silas said without hesitation.
As the woman prepared the uniform, she glanced at Tyler again. "First year?" she asked.
"Yes," Tyler answered calmly.
She smiled. "Then you know what to expect."
Tyler returned the smile politely, but said nothing more.
When the uniform was handed over, wrapped carefully, Silas thanked her and accepted it with both hands. Outside, the sky had begun to shift, light softening as afternoon edged closer to evening.
They walked home at an easy pace, Silas carrying the uniform while Tyler held the supplies. The road felt familiar underfoot, every turn predictable. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"You did well last year," Silas said eventually, his voice steady. "Your teachers were pleased."
Tyler looked ahead. "I did what was required."
Silas glanced at him, then nodded. "That's enough."
They continued on, the sounds of the neighbourhood growing richer as evening approached. Somewhere, a vendor called out his last sales of the day. The rhythm of ordinary life settled around them, calm and unremarkable.
Tyler adjusted his grip on the bag, feeling the weight of notebooks and pens inside. Routine had begun to reassert itself, not with pressure, but with quiet inevitability.
They turned onto their street, the houses lining the road bathed in warm light. The day was ending, and with it, the long stretch of unstructured time that summer always brought.
One week left, Tyler thought, not with anticipation or reluctance, but with simple acknowledgment.
Routine was coming back. And for now, that was enough.
By the time Silas and Tyler turned onto the narrower road that led back into their neighbourhood, the day had begun to fold in on itself. The heat lingered, but it no longer pressed down as heavily as it had earlier. The sky above the houses carried a muted orange tint, stretched thin between rooftops and electric wires.
They walked side by side in silence, their steps unhurried. The sounds of the main road faded behind them, replaced by the familiar rhythm of the neighbourhood. Someone laughed loudly a few houses down. A music played from an open window, its volume low enough to blend into the evening rather than dominate it.
As they approached the small playground near the center of the block, a sharp voice cut through the calm.
"Tyler!"
He looked up instinctively.
Elijah stood near the swings, one hand raised high in the air. Daniel was beside him, hopping in place as if standing still required too much effort. Katherine lingered closer to the slide, arms crossed, watching everything with her usual narrowed focus.
Tyler lifted his hand and waved back.
"Come here!" Daniel shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth as if the distance were greater than it actually was.
Tyler slowed and glanced toward his father. Silas followed his gaze, already understanding what was being asked without a word.
"Go," Silas said, his voice easy. "Just don't be late. Dinner won't wait."
Tyler smiled, relief flickering across his face even though he had expected the answer. "Thank you," he said, shifting the bag of supplies in his hands.
Silas nodded once and continued down the street alone, Tyler watched him for a brief moment before turning back toward the playground.
He broke into a light run, the bag bouncing slightly against his side as he crossed the open space. Daniel reached him first, nearly colliding into him without slowing down.
"You took forever," Daniel complained, even as he grinned.
"We were shopping," Tyler replied, steadying himself. "School stuff."
Elijah stepped closer, his posture relaxed but more composed than it had been a year ago. He had changed in small ways that were easy to miss unless someone knew what to look for. The way he stood. The way his eyes moved.
"So it's really starting," Elijah said. "Middle school."
Tyler nodded. "One week."
Katherine tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You don't look excited."
"I'm not bored either," Tyler said. "It's just school."
Daniel snorted. "That's what people say when they're nervous."
Tyler smiled faintly but didn't argue.
They gathered near the bench at the edge of the playground, the equipment behind them casting long shadows as the sun lowered. Daniel climbed onto the bench, immediately starting to kick his feet against the wood. Elijah leaned back against the metal railing, arms crossed loosely. Katherine remained standing, her gaze drifting between Tyler and the street beyond.
"Next year, I'll be there too," Daniel declared suddenly. "Middle school."
"You still have one more year," Katherine corrected without hesitation.
Daniel frowned. "That's what I said."
"That's not what you said," she replied flatly.
Elijah laughed quietly. "You'll survive," he said to Daniel. "Primary school isn't that bad."
Katherine turned her attention back to Tyler. "What was it like?" she asked.
Tyler paused. "What was what like?"
"Last year," she said. "Primary school. Your last year."
Daniel stopped kicking the bench and leaned forward. Elijah glanced over as well, curious.
Tyler didn't answer immediately.
For a moment, his thoughts slipped backward, not to the days they were asking about, but further than that. To another version of himself. Loud. Restless. Always in motion. A boy who had tested limits because he hadn't understood them, who had caused problems simply because he could.
That version felt distant now, almost unfamiliar.
In this life, primary school had been different. Stable. Controlled. Structured. He had learned when to speak, when to stay silent, when to observe. His grades had been high. His behaviour consistent. Teachers had trusted him. Administrators had approved of him.
It had worked.
It had also been exhausting.
He exhaled slowly. "It was decent," he said at last. "I tried to be a good student."
Katherine's eyes widened slightly. "That's it?"
Daniel blinked. "That's boring."
Elijah raised an eyebrow. "That's not a bad thing."
Katherine nodded quickly. "Everyone knows you," she added. "Even in my class."
Tyler glanced at her. "Do they?"
She crossed her arms tighter. "Yes. Teachers talk. Even the lower classes know your name."
Daniel puffed out his chest. "See? Popular."
Tyler let out a quiet breath. "I didn't notice."
Katherine frowned at him. "You're different from them," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the houses behind them. "From those hot-headed kids who only know how to make noise and cause trouble."
Tyler looked at her steadily. "You're the same age as them."
She scoffed. "I'm better."
Daniel laughed. "She says that about everyone."
Tyler smiled faintly. "Primary school was fine," he said, steering the conversation back. "But trying to be ideal all the time gets tiring."
Katherine blinked. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"It is," Tyler replied. "But I don't think I want to do the same thing again."
Elijah shifted his weight. "What do you mean?"
Tyler considered his words. "I don't want to aim for perfect this time," he said. "I want to be… looser."
Daniel grinned. "Chaos?"
Tyler chuckled softly. "Something like that."
Katherine stared at him. "That doesn't sound like you."
"I know," he said honestly. "But I want to try."
She frowned. "You shouldn't. People who mess around end up in trouble."
"They do," Tyler agreed. "But that's part of it."
Katherine shook her head. "They're stupid."
Tyler's gaze softened. "That's the fun part," he said. "Being stupid."
Daniel laughed loudly. "See? He gets it."
Katherine opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. "That's only okay when you're a kid," she muttered.
"That's what I mean," Tyler replied. "We don't get to do it forever."
She hesitated. "Why do you talk like you're already grown up?"
Tyler reached out and rested his hand lightly on her head, ruffling her hair just enough to annoy her. He smiled, gentle and unguarded.
She froze.
Her eyes lifted to meet his, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to slow. The evening light reflected in Tyler's gaze, deep blue catching the fading sky. White sparks moved faintly beneath the surface, shifting from one side to the other, subtle and quiet.
Katherine stared, unblinking.
"See you tomorrow," Tyler said calmly, dropping his hand.
She blinked, startled, and stepped back. "You're weird," she said quickly,
"Goodbye," Tyler replied, still smiling.
She murmured "What was I saying?"
Daniel waved enthusiastically. Elijah nodded once, already stepping away.
Tyler walked toward his home, the door opening easily under his hand. The sounds of the playground faded behind him, replaced by the quiet familiarity of the house.