After a brief conversation with Edith, Ashen left for school. He took out his bicycle but didn't start riding it immediately. He stood there for a moment, one hand resting on the handlebar, pondering the thought of returning to school. What if those bullies tried to tangle him up again? The suspension had given them three days apart. Sometimes distance made people forget. Sometimes it made them angrier.
He wasn't sure which one he was hoping for.
His pace was slow and steady as he walked the bicycle to the end of the path. He sometimes looked around, watching people living their own lives — a man in a coat hurrying somewhere important, a woman pulling a child by the hand, an old dog sleeping under a parked car without a single care in the world. Sometimes he lowered his head and sank into his own thoughts instead.
"I should start riding and pick up my pace," he said to himself.
He jumped onto the seat, pushed the pedals, and gave the initial push. His legs forced the bicycle to speed up and he started chasing the air in front of him. The gentle morning breeze touched his skin like a caring hand, cool and unhurried. The neighborhood slid past on both sides, familiar and quiet in the way that only early mornings managed to be.
He was halfway down a street when something pulled his attention sideways.
Two people had a man cornered against the wall of a narrow side alley. One of them had his hand outstretched. The man was already reaching into his jacket, his shoulders hunched with the particular stillness of someone trying not to make things worse.
"Just in the morning? In broad daylight?" Ashen muttered to himself, his jaw tightening as he slowed. He watched for a second too long.
One of the men glanced up toward the street.
"I shouldn't stay much longer. What if they see me?" He pushed hard on the pedals and moved away from the scene, the image trailing behind him longer than he wanted it to.
The guilt arrived almost immediately.
"Should I have called someone?" he thought, weaving around a pothole. "Now I feel guilty for not helping. What a terrible way to start the day."
He pushed the thought down and focused on the road ahead.
After some time he reached school, his breath a little heavy and his body warm from the effort. He parked his bicycle and moved into the building, rolling his shoulders back and allowing himself a small, quiet smile.
"Today I am not late," he said under his breath, a mischievous laugh escaping him. "I am actually excited to see the teacher's surprised face."
A few students nearby glanced at him — a boy laughing to himself in the corridor — and immediately began whispering to each other. Ashen didn't notice or didn't care.
He reached the front door of his classroom, grabbed the handle, and felt the cold metal against his palm as he turned it and pushed the door open.
The teacher looked up. For a moment she simply stared at him. Then she turned sharply and looked out of the window.
"What are you looking at?" Ashen asked, genuinely confused.
"I am checking to see if the sun didn't rise from the opposite side today," she replied without missing a beat.
The whole class laughed. Ashen's face went slightly flustered and he moved to his seat, dropping into it with as much dignity as he could manage. Jimmy, sitting nearby, looked over and waved with a wide grin, stretching out his hand for a handshake.
Ashen repeated the gesture.
"So," Jimmy said, grinning, "how were the vacations?"
Ashen's expression shifted instantly from amusement to flat annoyance. He turned a slow look toward Jimmy that said everything without needing words. Jimmy, reading the situation correctly, straightened up and looked ahead at the board like a model student.
The day passed normally after that. When the break came, they found the others at the same table by the far window — the one with the slightly wobbly leg that nobody had ever bothered to report. The autumn light came through the glass at a low angle and lay across the table in pale stripes.
"Where are those guys?" Ashen said, glancing around.
Arnold looked up briefly. "Haven't seen them."
"I don't know," Jamson said, leaning back in his chair, "but it's better this way, isn't it?"
"We don't have to deal with those empty heads, at least not for now," Charlie added, pointing his fork for emphasis.
Ashen nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly. It was a calm day. That alone felt like something worth noticing.
Then Arnold cleared his throat, looking slightly awkward.
"Guys, could you please stay a little late today at the court?"
"For what exactly?" Jimmy said. "Is there a match?"
"It's a training session," Arnold said, shifting in his seat. "The actual match is next month. Coach said this one is special so it will run a little late, that is why I am asking. You can refuse, it is completely up to you." He said the last part quickly, like he was worried about the answer.
Before anyone else could speak, Ashen said, "I will stay."
His voice was firm enough that everyone looked at him. Then, one by one, they all agreed.
Ashen stood up. "I will go make a call to let my grandma know I am coming late."
Everyone nodded and he went alone.
He walked through the long hallway, the same one he had walked more times than he could count. The painted walls, the row of lockers with their small dents and scratches, the faint smell of chalk dust that seemed to live permanently in the air — all of it was exactly as it always had been. His heart felt comfortable here in a way that was difficult to explain and that he had mostly stopped trying to.
He knocked on the teacher's office door.
"Come in!" a voice called from inside.
He pushed the door open. His class teacher sat at her desk with a stack of papers in front of her, her reading glasses slightly low on her nose. She looked up when she saw it was him.
"Oh, Ashen. Do you need something?"
"I am staying late today because of Arnold's practice session," he said. "Could I use the phone to inform my grandma?"
She nodded and slid the phone toward him. He dialed the familiar number and listened to it ring twice before the call connected.
"Grandma, I will be coming home a little late today. Arnold has a training session and I am staying to watch."
A brief pause. Then her voice came through, warm but firm at the edges.
"Fine. But come home as soon as it is over. Don't stay out until it's dark."
"I won't," Ashen said.
He handed the phone back to his teacher and thanked her. He was already turning toward the door when she spoke again.
"Ashen."
He stopped.
"Don't feel lonely," she said. Her voice was gentle but direct. "If something is weighing on you, if anything feels too heavy, you can talk to me. Or any teacher you trust." She paused. "Don't take matters into your own hands. Don't jump headfirst into things out of anger. Your grandmother cares about you very much."
The room was quiet. The rotating fan on the ceiling turned steadily. The exhaust fan near the window made its low, constant hum. Somewhere down the hall a door opened and closed.
Ashen stood still for a moment before turning back to face her properly.
"I know," he said. His voice was steady but carried a small weight underneath it. "I have great people in my life. My friends. My grandma. Teachers like you." He looked at her briefly. "I have never truly felt alone when I am around all of you."
The teacher looked at him and smiled. "You can go now."
He left. But as he walked back down the hall, the smile that crept onto his face was not one he had planned. It arrived on its own, quiet and small, like something that had slipped through before he could stop it. He didn't try to stop it.
The afternoon moved slowly and pleasantly. They all made their way to the court, where Arnold joined his teammates for the session. The rest of them settled on the benches at the side. The court was lit by the pale late-afternoon light, and the sound of sneakers on the polished floor and the rhythmic bounce of the ball filled the space around them.
Jokes passed back and forth. Charlie lost an argument badly and refused to admit it. Jimmy kept a running commentary on Arnold's footwork that was completely incorrect but delivered with total confidence. Ashen sat with his elbows on his knees, watching the session, laughing when something was actually funny and letting the noise of them fill the space around him.
Then Jamson shifted in his seat and looked at everyone with an expression that immediately made Charlie suspicious.
"Guys," Jamson said, "there is something I want to tell you."
Everyone turned. The confusion on their faces was immediate and visible.
"What?" Charlie said flatly.
Jamson leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to something he clearly considered mysterious. "Last night, when I woke up to use the bathroom, I saw something strange on the mountain."
The others leaned in despite themselves. Even Charlie, who had already decided this was going to be stupid, found himself listening. The silence stretched for just a moment too long.
"Last night," Jamson said, slowly and clearly, "I saw a flashing purple light on the mountain."
The silence held for exactly one second.
Then Charlie nearly came out of his seat. Jimmy grabbed his arm before he could do whatever he was planning to do.
"All that buildup," Charlie said through his teeth, "for a light?"
"They are probably just people on the mountain," Jimmy offered, though his tone suggested he agreed with Charlie more than he was letting on.
"How do you know what I saw were people?" Jamson said, his voice remarkably steady for someone being stared at like that. "The mountain area is completely fenced off. No one is allowed to go there. There is no structure, no road, no reason for anyone to be up there at night."
As the others continued going back and forth, Ashen went quiet.
Purple light.
The words settled somewhere in the back of his mind and refused to leave immediately. He turned them over once, twice. A faint and formless feeling, like trying to remember a dream after waking — something just at the edge of reach, not quite solid enough to grab hold of.
I think I saw that. I think I saw purple light somewhere. But when?
He couldn't place it. The feeling dissolved before it became anything useful and the conversation around him pulled him back.
"Then we should go there," Jamson was saying.
"Fine, I will join," Charlie said, though the look on his face suggested he had decided this entirely out of spite.
Jimmy nodded.
Ashen blinked. "Wait. What are you talking about? Where are you going?"
"The mountain," Jimmy said.
While Ashen had been inside his own thoughts, the others had already planned the whole thing.
"Would you come with us?" Jamson asked, looking at him.
Ashen looked at Jamson. Then he looked down, his hand moving to his chin. He considered it for a moment genuinely, which he hadn't expected to do.
"No," he said.
The faces around him fell.
Charlie immediately started making his case. Ashen let him finish and then shook his head again.
"I can't leave my grandma alone," he said, his voice a little firmer now.
"It will not take long," Jamson said. "We just visit the spot and come back."
"Jamson." Ashen's voice was quieter now but something had shifted in it. "There is an entire jungle behind that mountain. It stretches for who knows how long. What happens if we run into a wild animal? What if it is a crime scene? What if we see something we are not supposed to see?" He looked at all of them. "People are being robbed in broad daylight. Killings and murders happen like they are ordinary now. I saw it myself on the way here this morning."
Nobody said anything for a moment.
Jamson dropped his gaze. The excitement that had been bright on his face since the beginning of the conversation was gone. What was left was quieter and smaller.
"Fine," he said. "It was a bad idea. I admit it."
Ashen exhaled slowly.
"I am sorry," he said. "I said too much. I lost control of my words." He looked around at all of them. "You are all very close to me. I don't want anything to happen to any of you."
For a beat nobody moved.
Then Charlie lunged at him. Jamson grabbed his other arm. Jimmy piled in from the side. What followed was not a fight so much as a collective decision to make Ashen as uncomfortable as possible, which they achieved immediately and thoroughly.
"I am practically in tears," Jamson announced loudly, voice cracking with dramatic emotion. "That was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my entire life."
Ashen laughed, covering his head with both arms while the others continued their assault. The court echoed with it. Arnold, mid-drill at the far end of the court, looked over at them with a baffled expression and then returned to what he was doing.
The light through the windows turned orange, then deep gold, then began to fade.
When Arnold finally jogged back to them his hair was damp with sweat and he was slightly out of breath.
"Sorry, guys. I ran really late."
"It's no problem," Charlie said.
"We should head home now," Jimmy said, already standing.
They gathered their things and parted ways outside the school gates, heading off in their separate directions with the easy, unhurried goodbyes of people who know they will see each other tomorrow.
Ashen was alone on his bicycle.
He looked at his watch. The hands read 6:42 PM.
"I am still far," he muttered. "I am going to be late."
He pushed down on the pedals and picked up his speed, the evening air colder now and thinner. The streets were quieter at this hour. Most of the shops were lit from inside, casting yellow light onto the pavement. A few people walked with their hands in their pockets.
He was pedaling hard, thinking about nothing in particular, when it happened.
A whisper.
Soft. Close. Impossibly close.
"Ashen... find me."
His hands jerked on the handlebars. The bicycle swayed and he lost his balance completely, going down onto the road with a hard scrape. He pushed himself up immediately, heart hammering, adrenaline flooding through him so fast his hands were shaking.
He looked left. Right. Behind him. Ahead.
The street stretched in both directions, empty and still. No one near him. No one passing. Just the distant sound of a car somewhere several blocks away.
"That was definitely something," he said aloud, his voice unsteady. "It definitely said my name. But I am completely alone."
He stood there for a moment longer than he needed to, scanning every shadow, every doorway. Nothing moved. The whisper did not come again.
He picked up the bicycle, checked it quickly, and got back on. He pedaled hard this time, not because he was late, though he was, but because his legs needed something to do. The adrenaline thinned slowly as the distance grew between him and the spot where he had fallen.
By the time he turned onto his street he had almost convinced himself it was nothing.
He parked the bicycle and stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him. The house was warm and quiet. He looked down at himself and noticed his knee for the first time — a scrape from the fall, shallow but stinging now that the adrenaline had fully drained away.
"I didn't feel that at all before," he said, wincing slightly. "Now it hurts more than it should."
He looked around the entrance.
"Grandma?"
No answer.
He checked the kitchen. He checked the sitting room. He went to the bottom of the stairs and called up.
Silence.
"Maybe she is at the neighbour's house," he said to himself, and almost managed to believe it. He went to the bathroom cabinet, found the bandages where they always were, and wrapped his knee with the focused attention of someone who is deliberately not thinking about something else.
When he went to the kitchen for water he saw the note on the counter, held in place by the small ceramic jar his grandmother kept near the window. Her handwriting was neat and familiar.
Gone to buy groceries. Won't be long.
"Ah," he said quietly. "So she went to the market."
He exhaled and went to the sitting room. He turned on the television, settled into the sofa, and watched without really watching. The sound of it filled the room the way it always did in the evenings familiar voices, familiar music, the usual background of a house that was waiting for someone to come home.
He glanced at the clock.
Then looked again.
8:15 PM.
He was on his feet before the thought had fully formed. His heart was already moving faster than it should have been.
"This is too late," he said, his voice dropping to almost nothing. "She should have been back long before now."
He went next door. Knocked. Waited.
The neighbour opened the door and listened to his question with a kind but unhelpful expression. They hadn't seen her. Didn't know anything.
He thanked them and stepped back into the cold evening air.
The street looked different now. Ordinary in all the ways it always was and deeply, quietly wrong in a way he could not name. The same houses. The same parked cars. The same lamplight on the pavement. And somewhere out there his grandmother had gone to buy groceries and had not come back.
His heart beat hard against his ribs.
"Where did she go?" he said to himself.
His eyes moved to the end of the street and he felt it then the thing beneath the worry, the thing trying to be heard. He had been pushing it away since 8:15. Since the empty house. Since the note on the counter. Since the neighbour's gentle, useless answer.
He could not push it away any further.
"What happened to her?"