The ride home felt longer than it really was. Billy sat in the backseat of the cab, watching the streets pass with familiar stillness, his mind already at the doorsteps of home.
It had only been a few days—but everything felt different now. Sharper. Deeper.
The cab pulled into the quiet lane, and as he stepped out, the porch light was already glowing. A soft invitation.
Inside, the air smelled of warm spices and fresh herbs. His mother was at the dining table, setting down a bowl of stew, her movements precise but hurried—like she couldn't keep her hands still until she saw him walk through the door.
The moment she heard the door open, she turned.
"Leon."
He barely had time to set his bag down before she reached him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug that said everything her voice couldn't. He closed his eyes, letting it ground him.
