Family.. huh?
> "I want to be a poet,
a filmmaker,
a librarian—
a café owner,
a therapist,
an architect,
and a musician on the sidewalks.
I want to sell books in a quiet town, but I also want to dance on rooftops in a city that never sleeps.
I want to grow vegetables with my own hands, yet wear suits in glass buildings.
I want to heal people.
I want to disappear.
There's no one version of me that feels complete.
Maybe I'm not meant to be one thing.
Maybe I'm meant to be unfinished."
"Yoom!"
A sudden crash echoed from my parents' room—glass shattering, voices rising.
Someone screamed.
Then came my mother's voice, sharp and trembling.
> "Who even wants to stay by your side anymore? You're selfish!"
> "So, then you're leaving?" my father shouted back.
> "Nothing left to say. I'm going—for real this time. You're pathetic trash."
> "What about our son?"
> "Do as you like. Throw him out if you want."
Her voice was cold, fading as she walked away.
That night, when I was nine years old, I lost my mother.
---
"Dad… why are you crying?"
He looked at me, eyes red, lips trembling.
> "Because I love her, Rei. That's why I'm crying… I was careless. My words drove her away."
Years later, I learned the truth.
My aunt once asked her,
> "Why did you leave him? He was such a kind boy—so mature for his age."
And my mother had answered softly,
> "Because I'm not his real mother. No... that's not it. Someday, he'll know I loved him, even if he hates me for leaving. That's why I had to go."
When he was 8, I asked of him that what he'll become when he grow up ..
my aunt told her,
> "He says he wants to be a doctor."
"Really?" my mother asked.
"No," my aunt smiled, "he says he wants to become kind."
"Kind…?"
"Yeah."
My mother just laughed softly.
> "You look surprised," she told my aunt.
"I am," my aunt replied. "Who wouldn't be?
Ten years later…
"Hey, Rei, why are you always smiling?" Miyu teased.
"Huh? Are you stupid or something, baka," I said, smirking.
Miyu Sakurai—my childhood friend.
She was sunshine and silence, chaos and calm.
"You know," she said, "you're kind, thoughtful, calm… and a bit stupid. Even so, you're such a nice person, Rei."
"Yeah, yeah. Let's go eat something first, okay?"
"Fine," she laughed, "but you're paying."
The doorbell rang as we returned home.
Ding—dong.
"Dear, someone's here!" my father called.
"I'll get it," I said, walking to the door.
"Rei…"
It was her.
My mother.
---
"Mom," I whispered. "It's been… ten years."
She smiled through tears.
"You've grown so much."
"I'm nineteen now," I said, trying not to cry.
She hugged me tightly.
"I missed you so much, Rei. I love you."
"I love you too," I whispered.
Behind me, Miyu stood quietly, her eyes glistening.
"Is Miyu here?" my mother asked softly.
"She is," my father answered. "She's been by his side all this time."
"Rei," my mother said, brushing my hair back, "go take a bath, dear. Don't catch a cold."
"Mom… I'm not a kid anymore, you know."
She laughed, and the years of distance melted away.
Before she left, she turned to Miyu.
"Miyu, please… take care of him. Love him."
The Girl Who Stayed..
Morning sunlight slipped through the curtains, scattering gold across the floor. The house smelled faintly of tea and warm bread—Miyu had woken up early again.
Rei blinked the sleep from his eyes.
Was yesterday real?
His mother's embrace still lingered like a dream. For ten years, he had replayed that moment in his head—what he'd say, what she'd look like—and now, after so long, it had actually happened.
He touched the side of his face where her hand had brushed his hair.
Warm. Real.
"Rei!" Miyu's voice called from the kitchen. "Breakfast! And don't you dare fall asleep again."
He smiled faintly. Same tone, same energy. Always Miyu.
When he entered, she was already setting two plates on the table. Pancakes—slightly burned around the edges.
"You tried cooking again?" Rei teased.
Miyu frowned, pushing her bangs aside. "Hey, improvement takes time, you know."
"You said that last week too."
"Yeah, and you still ate everything, didn't you?"
Rei laughed softly. The sound filled the room, blending with the morning air.
They sat together, eating in comfortable silence for a while. Outside, birds hopped along the balcony rail, chirping like they owned the place.
"You didn't sleep much, did you?" Miyu asked suddenly.
Rei hesitated. "No… I kept thinking about her."
Miyu nodded quietly. "It's okay. You don't have to hide that."
"I'm not hiding. It's just… strange. She's back, but part of me feels like she'll disappear again."
She looked at him—really looked at him.
"Then hold on tighter this time."
Her voice was gentle but firm, and for a moment, Rei didn't know how to reply.
---
Later that day, they went out for a walk near the riverbank. Autumn leaves floated past in lazy spirals, the air carrying a faint chill. Miyu wore a long beige coat; her hair shimmered in the sunlight like strands of dark honey.
"Remember when we used to come here after school?" she said.
"Yeah," Rei replied. "You'd skip stones, and I'd fail miserably."
Miyu laughed. "You still do."
He picked up a small, smooth stone, tossed it across the water. It sank immediately.
"See?" she said, grinning.
Rei sighed dramatically. "My destiny is clearly not stone skipping."
"Nope. Your destiny is eating all the snacks I bring."
They both laughed, the sound echoing across the quiet river.
Then Miyu's tone softened. "Rei… you don't have to pretend to be happy all the time."
He turned to her, surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean… even when you're sad, you still smile. You tell jokes, act like nothing hurts. But I see it."
Rei looked away, watching the water ripple.
"I guess… smiling is easier than explaining."
Miyu stepped closer, her eyes shimmering. "Then don't explain. Just… let me stand next to you."
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves around them. For a while, neither spoke. The world seemed to pause—just two hearts breathing in sync with the river.
As the sun dipped lower, they headed back. Rei's father was asleep on the couch, a half-read newspaper on his chest. Miyu quietly covered him with a blanket.
Rei watched her from the doorway.
"You really care about him, huh?"
"Of course," she said. "He's family now."
That word—family—echoed inside Rei. Something warm, something fragile.
He followed her into the small study room. Books lay scattered across the desk—his old notebooks, sketches, half-finished poems.
Miyu picked one up and smiled. "You wrote these?"
Rei blushed a little. "Just scribbles."
"They're beautiful," she said, flipping through the pages. "You write like someone who's seen the world but still believes in kindness."
He chuckled softly. "That's a very Miyu thing to say."
She looked at him, her expression unreadable. "And that's a very Rei thing to avoid compliments."
Their laughter faded into a comfortable quiet. The room glowed orange with the setting sun.
Later that night, Rei stood on the rooftop. The city lights flickered below, a sea of gold and blue. Miyu joined him, holding two cups of hot chocolate.
"Here," she said. "To keep you from freezing your thoughts."
Rei accepted it gratefully. "You really think I overthink that much?"
"I know you do," she replied.
He sipped the drink. The sweetness lingered on his tongue.
"Miyu," he said softly.
"Hmm?"
"Thanks for staying."
She tilted her head. "Where else would I go?"
"Anywhere. People change, drift apart… but you didn't."
Miyu looked up at the stars. "Because some people are worth waiting for."
Rei felt his chest tighten. The night breeze carried her scent—soft, like sakura petals after rain.
For a moment, he wanted to tell her everything—the fear, the loneliness, the way her smile kept him together. But words failed. He simply looked at her and whispered, "You're too kind."
She smiled faintly. "Guess I learned from the boy who wanted to be kind."
Rei laughed, a quiet, broken laugh, and she joined him.
As they stood there, the first snow of the season began to fall—tiny flakes drifting between them, melting on their skin.
Miyu reached out her hand, catching one. "Make a wish, Rei."
He looked up at the gray-silver sky.
"I don't need to. I think it's already coming true."
She didn't ask what he meant. She just smiled, her eyes soft under the falling snow.
And for the first time in years, Rei felt complete—not because his mother had returned, but because someone had chosen to stay.