(Notice for everyone! This novel WILL be leaning on the slow-burn side. So, if anyone is not really into that. Then, I'll respect you're choice and you can find a different novel of your interest. But, for those who adore and LOVE slow-burns, then this is for you! Overall, Thank You, everyone, for understanding).
(Also, during reading, if you see any of the sentences or conversations appear with an Italic font. Since there are no other fonts, I'm stuck with Italic. It has two meanings for me to address; it means that the characters are talking to each other in Czech. While the other one is when the main character is writing to himself about his past and experience. Which will also be in Italic font. So I hope that explains it. Okay, moving on.)
(Date: November 23rd, 2010)
(Thursday)
Dear Diary,
It's been a while, hasn't it? I was organizing some things on the shelf—just tidying up when I stumbled across this old diary of mine—tucked away like a forgotten relic, buried beneath years of dust. I must've stored it ages ago, then let it slip into the abyss of memory. And yet… here it is. Still intact. Still waiting. Honestly, I never thought I'd return to this. Not this diary. Not this version of myself. Instead of continuing where I left off, I think I'll begin anew—a fresh journal, A quiet memoir, maybe. Not to recount the past in perfect order, but to trace the echoes of it. To tell the story of what's happened since, in fragments and reflections. It's strange. I used to write endlessly. Words poured out of me like rain—messy, unfiltered, alive. I chased thoughts like fireflies, never quite catching them, but always reaching. And then, one day, I stopped. No warning, just stillness. I don't even remember why.
English was never my first language. It felt foreign, heavy, like trying to breathe underwater. The words twisted in my mouth, the grammar tangled in my thoughts. I struggled, still do, sometimes. But even then, I found something in it—a rhythm, a pulse. Maybe it was my mom and sister, teaching me patiently, even scolding me when I got it wrong. Haha, Good times. This is probably why the younger me and I now speak English so effortlessly. Now I speak two, sometimes three, languages fluently. And yet, it's this one, this borrowed tongue that I return to when I write. Maybe because it's the one that taught me how to listen to myself. So here I am. Not because I planned it. Not because I know what I'm doing. But something in me stirred when I opened this journal. Something quiet. Something persistent.
And so… I begin.
(Flashback To The Past)
(Date: September 22nd, 1970)
(Tuesday, Lunch Time)
"Mr. Novák, thank you so much for your help today. Truly, it means the world," said Ms. Šimek, the soft-spoken British librarian whose cheerful spirit had outlasted her stamina. She leaned against the bookshelf, catching her breath—her smile wide despite the weariness clinging to her posture. "It's really nothing," Mr. Novák replied, his tone soothing and sincere. He tucked the final book into place with care, speaking as he worked. "You've been balancing stacks, climbing ladders, and lifting boxes. Anyone would be worn down doing this alone." Ms. Šimek chuckled softly, pressing a palm to her back.
-"You're not wrong there. I think my spine just filed a complaint. Might have to call off tomorrow or risk turning into a bookend."
- "You should," said Mr. Novák, descending the ladder with graceful ease. "There's more than just this library on your shoulders; you've got a little one to raise, Ms. Šimek. My mother used to say pregnancy felt like hiking uphill on a rainy day. Even brushing her teeth became a task."
That drew a loud, genuine laugh from Ms. Šimek, echoing through the empty aisles like wind through stained glass. "HAHAHA! Sounds like your mother had her hands full—and a golden heart. I'm just praying my child doesn't inherit my husband's chaos. Between the two of them, and all the screaming and running around, I'll need emergency backup... and earplugs." Mr. Novák smiled, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
-"There's only one way to find out, right?" he said, finally finished organizing the shelving.
"Oh, thank you again, Mr. Novák. You've been such a blessing. May your heart stay pure and your path stay gentle." He paused before heading to the door, then turned back and approached her with a softness that caught her off guard. Without a word, he took her hand and placed something small and green into her palm. A four-leaf clover, delicate and intact.
-"Keep it," he said gently. "And... you don't have to be so formal."
Ms. Šimek blinked, her fingers curling instinctively around the clover. He smiled, tender and quiet.
- "You can call me Tomas."
With that, Tomas Novák stepped out of the room, the bell chiming faintly in the distance as he disappeared into the rhythm of the school once more. Ms. Šimek looked down at the clover resting in her hand. The delicate leaf was barely the size of her thumb, yet it felt heavy with meaning. Her fingers closed around it slowly, as though shielding it from the harshness of the world outside the library walls. Her gaze drifted toward the door where Tomas had vanished, swallowed by the sound of the bell and hallway chatter.
-"For someone so small... barely in second grade, he carries himself with such softness, such care," she whispered aloud to no one. "He was raised with love—like kindness is just how he breathes. I just worry... if the world isn't gentle back, will that light in him, dim?" The silence that followed wrapped around her like a blanket: soft but heavy. She glanced down at her growing belly, pressing a hand lightly against it. "I want my child to grow up like that," she thought, a flicker of hope warming her chest. "Not just kind, but resilient enough to stay kind."
For a moment, she stayed there with her thoughts. No noise, no bustle. Just the faint smell of old pages and the quiet hum of possibility.
After lunch, Tomas's day never quite settled. He was supposed to be in class, but somehow kept getting held back. One teacher needed help grading; another asked him to organize craft bins for art. Then came the checklists for upcoming events: PE, band, choir—meetings upon meetings. The clipboard felt practically glued to his hands. Barely into the second quarter of second grade, and his responsibilities had already begun to pile up. Voluntary, they claimed. But it didn't always feel like a choice. Everyone adored Tomas's soft-spoken nature, and maybe that was the problem. His quiet empathy filled in the cracks others didn't notice. Even his friends and family had started to worry. The bike creaked gently beneath them as he pedaled through stretches of golden grass and whispering breeze. The sun hung low, casting lazy beams across the winding path home. Hanae sat behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek resting softly against his back. Her ponytail swayed with the rhythm of their ride, tapping gently against his shoulders. Neither of them spoke for a while, letting the wind carry the quiet. Hanae could feel his steady breath through his shirt, like the beating of a drum whose rhythm she'd always known.
-"You ever think they're taking advantage of you?" she asked quietly, her words warm against his spine.
-"Sometimes," replying without thinking.
Tomas said, shifting his grip on the handlebars, gears humming softly beneath them, while his eyes fixed ahead.
"But not, Ms. Šimek? She's different." He adjusted the pace, mindful of the path's dips and bumps. "She's compassionate. Really considerate. Even when her back's acting up or she's been on her feet all day, she smiles at every student like they're the first light she's seen. And now that she's pregnant, everything's harder: reaching high shelves, bending to sort books. You can see it in her eyes sometimes." Hanae's arms squeezed him gently: a muted show of support. "So when she asks for help," Tomas continued, "It doesn't feel like work. It feels like… keeping someone from falling apart." She nodded against his back. "I get it. I try helping her too, when I'm free. I wanted to today, but my teacher kept talking about homework like the world was ending."
-Tomas chuckled. "Well, if the world ends in algebra sheets, I hope we're exempt." -"Seriously, though," Hanae murmured, "you're always helping someone. But you look so fatigued lately, and… I guess I just want you to save some empathy for yourself."
He didn't respond right away. The wind tugged at their matching grey strands, his cropped loose and casual, hers dragging lower as the weight of the day pulled her ponytail mid-length. "I know," he said softly. "I don't love doing everything they ask, especially when it piles up. But I try to trick my brain into thinking I'm just doing little acts of service, like volunteering. Like I said… helping Ms. Šimek's different; It's like helping someone who still believes compassion matters." Hanae smiled and leaned her head fully against him, wrapping her arms tighter with a quiet laugh.
-"Next thing I know, you'll be cleaning my room and doing my homework too." -"Only if there's a clover and hot chocolate in it for me," Tomas teased.
Before she could reply, he called out, breath lit with joy, "We're home!" The village came into view: tilted rooftops, crooked fences, and the quiet hum of evening settling in like an old lullaby.
Nestled just beyond the reach of Prague's city sprawl, the village was a quiet patchwork of cobblestone paths, sloping rooftops, and faded pastel homes. The buildings leaned slightly with age, their shutters washed in chipped blues and greens, while flower boxes overflowed with wild daisies and marigolds, planted by neighbors who traded seeds more often than coins. The air carried hints of wood smoke and fresh bread, drifting from small stone ovens tucked behind crooked fences. Laundry lines stretched between homes like soft banners, fluttering with shirts and linens that whispered stories of everyday life. Chickens wandered freely, pecking at the dirt roads, and bicycles lounged lazily against garden gates. There was no grandeur here—only warmth. The kind born of shared meals borrowed sugar, and greetings exchanged in gentle Czech murmurs. At the center stood the village chapel, its bell rusted but still faithful, ringing every Sunday and echoing through the hills like a lullaby. For Tomas, Hanae, and their mother, this place wasn't perfect, but it was home. Their cottage was modest, with a slanted roof and a garden that bloomed more weeds than vegetables. Yet inside, it held laughter, quiet resilience, and the scent of lavender tucked into pillowcases.
Tomas and Hanae rolled into the village on their creaky old bike, its wheels kicking up soft dust from the worn trail. The scenery shifted as the school faded into the distance, and their quiet world unfolded around them. As they slowed to a stop, a breeze rustled through the trees, stirring the warmth of the late afternoon. Hanae kept her arms loosely around Tomas's waist, even after the bike came to a gentle halt.
-He tilted his head toward her. "You alright?" She nodded, then leaned forward again—not to steady herself this time, but simply to rest her forehead against his back. "Just... need a breather, and I miss Lara today."
Tomas exhaled, steadying the bike with one foot on the dirt.
-"Yeah. Felt strange without her waiting outside the classroom."
Lara usually stands by the front doors after school, her backpack slung carelessly across one shoulder. Her hairstyles changed often, but she was known for her wild braids, tossed behind her like a pennant. She'd greet them with snacks she'd saved, half-baked dinner ideas, and enough stories to fill the entire ride home. Her absence today felt like a missing chord in a familiar song.
-"I overheard Ms. Černý and Mom talking about Lara," Hanae murmured. "She's feeling a bit under the weather but said she'll be back tomorrow, or the day after. And she insisted we save her a seat in art class." Tomas smiled softly. "Glad she's resting. She's always moving... like she's afraid the world will slow down if she does."
They parked the bike just outside their gate, an uneven wooden frame leaning ever so slightly, with flower pots lined along the edges, decorated by Lara last spring. One pot was painted with streaks of sky blue and messy handwriting that read: "For Hanae's Dreams, and Tomas's Troubles. Love, Lara."
-Hanae giggled gently as she stepped off. "She really did put 'troubles,' didn't she?"
-"She knows me too well," Tomas muttered, but he was smiling.
As they passed under the archway of dried lavender hanging by the front door, the scent embraced them like an old memory. Inside, soft music drifted from the kitchen, and the aroma of koblihy (donuts) wafted toward them. From the hallway, their mother appeared, wiping flour-streaked hands on a towel tucked into her apron. She didn't speak right away—just scanned their faces, lingering on Tomas's eyes, then raised one brow.
-"Long day again?" she asked. -Tomas shrugged. "Normal-ish."
Hanae leaned against the wall, kicking off her shoes. "He saved the librarian from collapsing under a stack of encyclopedias and organized half the school on top of it." Their mother sighed, smiling as she reached up to pat Tomas's head with quiet tenderness.
-"You carry too much, můj pomocníček (my little helper). Let me handle dinner tonight."
She turned to Hanae. "Don't worry, Lara, she'll get an extra koblihy (Donut) tomorrow if she's feeling better."
-"She'll love that!" Hanae lit up, just hearing that, as she swung her satchel onto the hook.
Hanae then stepped outside to water the plants, and their mother turned toward the kitchen. But Tomas hesitated, then stepped forward and spoke softly. "Mom... about what Hanae said. The librarian didn't nearly collapse. She's pregnant, and she's been struggling lately. So I've just been helping: organizing, stacking books, putting things on higher shelves. We've gotten close, I guess. I enjoy helping her. It feels more... real."
His mother paused and turned back around, her gaze softening. She crouched slightly until her eyes met his, brushing a stray gray fringe from his forehead. At 4'6", Tomas stood taller than most second graders, but in that moment, he seemed impossibly small to her- kind, tired, and quietly brave.
-"Tomas," she said warmly, "You don't need to explain everything you do at school. Aiding others is in your nature, and I love that about you. No one here is judging. I know how it feels—because I used to be the only person people leaned on, too. So don't hold back or doubt yourself, alright? Except with trust—that can be tricky. Most of the time, I just keep it neutral. Trust the ones you truly depend on."
He nodded, eyes slightly misty but smiling. "Okay, Mom."
-"Good. Now go decompress and finish your homework. Dinner will be ready in... oh no, it's already five?" Her eyes darted to the clock, and she gasped. "OH GOD! I've been so wrapped up in dessert batches, I forgot dinner entirely!" And just like that, she vanished into the kitchen, towel flapping behind her like a cape.
The warm scent of stew and dill drifted down the hallway, creeping under doors and stirring hunger in its wake. Inside their shared room, Tomas and Hanae sat cross-legged on the floor, papers spread between them like fallen leaves. Pencils rolled off notebooks, and their schoolbags slumped against the wall, sagging from the day's weight. They had the same homework packet, same questions, same font, same due date, but their strengths lay in opposite corners. Tomas tapped his eraser rhythmically against the page.
"So, question three… '24 divided by 6.' Come on, Hanae. What's the move?" Hanae scrunched her nose like the numbers were fleas. "I know it's 4. I just don't like how fast they expect me to know it. Feels rude." He chuckled, gently nudging her arm.
-"Math isn't rude, it's just direct."
-"Directly frustrating," she muttered, stabbing the answer into the page and flopping back dramatically. Across from her, Tomas blinked at his vocabulary sheet, struggling to focus.
"Okay, English time. This word... 'adjacent'? It's like beside, right?" Hanae sat up, brushing her hair behind one shoulder.
-"Yup. Like your brain and exhaustion—they're adjacent."
-"Fair enough," Tomas mumbled.
-"Here," she said, pulling her reading assignment onto her lap. "I'll read it to you. You just listen and answer the questions. Deal?"
-"Deal," he agreed instantly.
She cleared her throat with flair and began:
"The rabbit was fast but distracted. The tortoise was slow but steady. When they both set out on the forest path, Rabbit dashed ahead, confident he'd finish first. But he stopped to play, nap, and chase butterflies. The tortoise kept walking, one gentle step at a time, until he reached the finish without ever stopping."
-"So the rabbit lost because he got distracted?" Tilting his head
-"Yep. And the tortoise didn't need speed—just focus," Hanae said, flipping to the worksheet.
"Question two: 'What is the moral of the story?" Tomas grinned. "Take naps in leaf piles and ignore competition." Hanae gave him a flat stare. He smirked, then quietly wrote on his sheet: "Slow and steady wins the race." No commentary. No teasing. Just a small smile shared between them. His lips were curling like a half-kept secret, and Hanae was sighing dramatically as she scribbled her answer.
-"You're the most exhausting rabbit I know," she muttered.
-"And you're the leaf pile I'd nap under," Tomas replied.
She rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the grin stretching across her face. Hanae snorted. "I'll write: 'Stay focused and don't underestimate quiet effort'. "Something Mom would say." Tomas nodded. "Pretty much." She scribbled, then pointed to the last optional question: "Which character do you prefer, Rabbit or Tortoise?" Tomas grinned. "Definitely Rabbit. Spiraling into distraction feels relatable." Hanae rolled her eyes. "I'm picking the tortoise—peaceful and predictable." Just as she circled her answer, their mother's voice echoed down the hall.
-"Tomas, Hanae! Dinner's ready!"
Both looked up from their papers, eyes wide. They gathered everything into a single pile, pencils tucked behind their ears, and walked together into the softly lit dining room. That's when they saw her. At the end of the table, lit by the warm glow of the overhead lamp, sat a familiar silhouette—her braid draped over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up, cheeks slightly flushed from the warmth. Lara.
She sat quietly, hands folded near her plate, waiting like she'd never missed a moment.
-"Lara?!" Hanae gasped.
-"Hi," she said with a soft grin. "Your mom let me in early. I'm on time for dinner—just not for school."
Tomas blinked, then smiled in disbelief.
-"You're impossible."
-"But predictable,"
Lara added, picking up a koblihy (donut) from the basket. "And ready to resume my role as Official Foodie Comedian." Hanae threw her arms around her, laughing with relief, and Tomas slid into his seat with something between gratitude and exhaustion. The table was old. The food was warm. And with Lara seated between the twins, the room felt fuller, like the final note of a familiar song had come home. Later, Lara explained that she hadn't been sick. She'd just needed space to deal with a few personal things.
By 10:30 PM, the cottage had settled into silence. The music had stopped, the dishes were cleaned, and the warm scent of stew and cinnamon lingered faintly in the air, like a lullaby whispered through the walls. Hanae and their mother had already fallen asleep. The house was small, built more for simplicity than comfort: just two bedrooms—one modest space for their mother, and a larger one for Hanae and Tomas to share. But tradition had always outweighed layout. Sleeping separately never felt right. Instead, most nights became sleepovers. They'd drag the mattresses into the living room, stacking blankets and folding pillows with practiced ease. Their mother always slept in the middle, wrapped between her two children like bookends made of warmth—Hanae on the left, Tomas on the right. They would each curl inward slightly, arms reaching just enough to hold onto the part of her that still hummed with life from the long day behind her. Tonight was one of those rare nights. Since taking on extra shifts, their mother didn't always make it home in time. The sleepovers had become precious and infrequent. But whenever they happened, they felt like stitched memories. Like the heart of the family had finally fallen back into rhythm. Tomas didn't say much as he lay beside her, just reached across gently and let his fingers brush her arm. Hanae had already nestled into the crook of their mother's shoulder, steady and quiet. In the hush of that room, surrounded by floral quilts and flickering candlelight, Tomas let his eyes drift closed.
No chores. No checklists. Just… home.
But before sleep took him, he gently slipped free of his mother's embrace, tiptoed back into his room, and retrieved the diary he kept hidden from everyone. Then, with quiet purpose, he began recording the day's events.
Date: September 22nd, 1970
(Tuesday)
Dear Diary,
Today was a hard day, but also good. I helped Ms. Šimek at the library. She's nice and talks like a poem. She's having a baby and smiled even when she looked tired. I organized books for her and even gave her small gifts when I had the opportunity. Then after that, I just… didn't go to class much. Not really on purpose. Teachers had me do chores. Papers, clipboards, events, checklists, and fixing stuff in rooms. It's kinda like being everywhere but also nowhere. I think some people forget I'm in second grade. Later, Hanae and I rode the bike home; we talked about school and how everyone needs help sometimes. She thinks teachers use me too much, but of course, she's not wrong. Homework was the usual. Hanae cried about math, and I couldn't focus on English, but we helped each other like we always do. I liked the story she read about the rabbit and the toad; she picked the Toad, while I picked the rabbit. I think both were kinda lost but trying. After that, not much happened. Lara came over and had dinner with us; it was rather peaceful than it became full chaos when Lara and Hanae started talking. Sigh, overall that's about it.