The benches were damp with evening dew, the lamps flickering weakly as darkness settled in. He sat down, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing in particular. Linda's words echoed in his head, each one heavier than the last.
You're almost eighteen.
You have your whole life ahead of you.
They need stability.
He had no answers. Only questions. And every question hurt.
What was the right thing to do?
What was the cruel thing?
And were they the same?
A sudden scream cut through the quiet.
Rony looked up just in time to see a girl in a tracksuit stumble, her foot twisting unnaturally before she collapsed onto the pavement near him.
"Ah—!" she cried. "It hurts! It's broken—I know it is! Someone call an ambulance!"
Rony was on his feet instantly. He dropped to his knees beside her, careful, focused. Gently, he examined her ankle, his hands steady despite the chaos inside his head.
"It's not broken," he said calmly. "But it's definitely going to hurt."
She winced. "You're sure?"
"Yes. Try not to panic."
She looked up at him, squinting, recognition slowly spreading across her face.
"Oh—wait. You're the directions boy," she said. "You remember me?"
He exhaled softly. Of course it's her.
"Yes," he said dryly. "Unfortunately, it's me."
She laughed despite the pain. "Figures."
Rony helped her up and guided her to the bench. She watched him closely as he gently rotated her ankle, testing movement like someone who knew what he was doing.
"Try standing," he said.
She did—but barely.
"So… what am I supposed to do now?" she asked. "I don't even have my phone. Can't call anyone." She paused. "Don't you have one?"
"I left it at home," Rony replied.
She stared at him. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "Seriously."
There was a moment of silence. Then she sighed. "Would you help me walk to my place? It's not very far."
"Sure," he said without hesitation.
They walked slowly, her weight leaning against him, the city quiet around them.
"I'm Sophie, by the way," she said after a moment. "And… I'm really sorry about earlier. I didn't mean it when I accused you of following me."
"It's fine," he replied. "I already forgot."
She smiled faintly. "I'm Rony—"
"I know," she interrupted. "Rony."
They shared a brief, easy silence.
"So, Rony," she said, glancing at him. "What were you doing alone at this time of evening? Don't tell me you were about to smoke pot."
He laughed, a real laugh this time. "No. I wasn't."
"Oh?" she teased. "Then what?"
"I was just sitting."
"Just sitting?" she repeated, exaggerating the words. "Okay. I won't ask further."
He glanced at her. "And what about you? Why run at this time?"
"I like the dark," she replied simply. "No people. No noise. Just space."
She stopped suddenly and pointed ahead. "There. My home."
She rang the bell.
The door opened almost immediately.
"Sophie!" a girl exclaimed. "What happened?"
"I almost broke my ankle," Sophie said dramatically. "And this man saved me. Otherwise, I'd still be screaming in the park."
She turned toward Rony. "This is Karen—my flatmate."
Karen smiled warmly. "Thank you so much. Seriously."
Rony nodded. "I should get going then."
"Byeeee," Sophie said, dragging the word out far longer than necessary.
He turned and walked away, the echo of her voice following him down the street.
For the first time that evening, his thoughts felt slightly less heavy.
Not lighter.
Just… quieter.
He went straight home after that.
Sophie's questions replayed in his mind, looping over and over until they began to sound like his own thoughts. Linda's words followed close behind.
They need education. Stability. A future.
And for the first time, Rony admitted the truth he had been avoiding.
I can't give them all of that. Not like this.
That night, he barely slept. By morning, the decision had settled heavily but clearly inside him. He would tell Linda to start the documentation. She would become their guardian.
The next day, after work, he finally spoke.
"I'm okay with it," he said quietly. "You can… adopt them."
Linda didn't rush him. She simply nodded, eyes soft, as if she already understood how much this cost him.
Later that evening, Rony sat Jane and Brian down.
They cried.
They begged.
They didn't want to leave him.
And he didn't want to let them go.
"There's no other choice I can think of," he said, holding them as their sobs soaked into his shirt. "She's a good woman. She'll take care of you. You'll go to school. You'll be safe. I'll visit you every day—I promise."
It took hours. Words, silence, more tears. Linda came over too, gentle and patient, slowly earning their trust. She didn't replace him—she didn't try to. She simply stood beside them, steady and kind.
The paperwork began soon after.
Forms. Offices. Signatures that felt heavier than they should have. After a month, it was official. Linda became their legal guardian.
They moved into her place.
For another month, Rony visited them daily. Homework at the table. Dinner together. Small laughs that felt like borrowed warmth. Everything went… well. Too well, almost.
At the library, Rony grew into his role. The shelves felt familiar now, the systems second nature. Linda trusted him completely—confided in him, left things in his hands. It felt less like he worked there and more like the place belonged to him.
Like he finally had something steady.
And yet, beneath it all, something quiet waited—unspoken, unresolved—like a page turned too quickly, its weight still pressing from behind.
He emptied the house a few days later.
There was nothing sacred left in it anymore—just echoes and dust. He moved into a small flat on the edge of the city, barely big enough for a bed, a table, and silence. It was enough for one person. Maybe that was the point.
That Friday evening, after work, Rony visited Linda's place as usual. Jane showed him a drawing she had made. Brian complained about homework. Linda insisted he eat before leaving.
By the time he stepped back outside, the sky had already darkened.
He was walking toward his flat when something felt… wrong.
Across the street, a girl staggered slightly as she walked. Her steps were uneven, her head low, movements loose—almost drunk. A man approached her, speaking softly, too close. Rony slowed instinctively.
The man opened the door of a black sedan.
The girl hesitated.
Then—too quickly—she was inside.
The door shut.
Rony froze.
The car pulled away.
The man hadn't seen him. But Rony had seen everything.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
That's not right.
Without thinking, he ran to his bicycle and mounted it, pushing off hard. The sedan was already gaining speed, but the road was clear enough to follow.
His legs burned almost immediately. He hadn't cycled like this in years—certainly not for this long. His breath came sharp and uneven, but he didn't stop. Not when his thighs screamed. Not when sweat blurred his vision.
After nearly half an hour, the car pulled far ahead. For a moment, panic gripped him—he thought he'd lost it.
Then he saw it.
A faint red glow in the distance. The car's backlights.
Still there.
Still moving.
What should I do? he thought desperately.
Call the police?
But what would he tell them? That he thought he saw something? That he had no license plate, no faces, no proof?
They'd ask for evidence. He had none.
I'll go a little further, he decided. Just a little.
The road narrowed, streetlights flickering on and off like failing witnesses. Darkness thickened around him. Ahead lay a small village—quiet, almost asleep. To one side, dense woods stretched endlessly, shadows swallowing everything beyond the trees.
They could have gone anywhere.
Rony pedaled into the village, stopping to ask a few people if they'd seen a black sedan pass through. Most shrugged. Some avoided his eyes. No one was helpful.
Frustration clawed at his chest.
He pulled out his phone and tried to call the police.
No signal.
Nothing.
The silence pressed in, broken only by the distant hum of insects and his own breathing. He stood there, bike beside him, heart racing, mind splitting in two.
Go back, one voice urged. You've done enough.
Go forward, another whispered. What if she needs help?
He didn't know which choice would haunt him more.
Standing alone on that broken road, surrounded by darkness, Rony realized something with chilling clarity—
Whatever he decided next would change him.
And he had no idea which way he was about to turn.
Rony decided he wouldn't leave—not until he knew what had happened to her.
This was a village. There were only so many roads. Only so many places a car like that could go. The woods loomed on one side, dark and endless, swallowing sound and light. Every thought clawed at him.
What if she's hurt?
What if I'm already too late?
For nearly an hour, he searched—circling roads, scanning shadows, listening for engines. Nothing.
Finally, exhaustion began to win. He had done the best he could. That was what people always said, wasn't it?
He turned back.
And then—movement.
Headlights cut through the dark.
A black sedan rolled past him, slow and deliberate, heading out of the village.
His heart jumped.
"That's it," he whispered.
He ran after it, shouting, "Stop! Stop that car!"
The driver didn't even slow down.
Rony mounted his bicycle again and chased harder than before. His lungs burned, legs screaming in protest. This time, the driver noticed. The sedan slowed… then stopped in the middle of the road.
The driver stepped out, annoyed. "What's wrong with you? You've been chasing me."
Rony forced himself to stay calm. Panic would get him killed here.
Think. Lie.
"I—my brother's missing," he said, breathless. "I thought maybe you'd seen someone… around this area."
The man studied him carefully. Too carefully.
Rony glanced inside the car.
It was empty.
No girl.
But he knew—he knew—this was the same car.
The driver shrugged. "I haven't seen anyone."
Rony nodded, thanked him, and stepped back. The sedan pulled away.
He didn't follow.
Not yet.
Instead, he returned to the village and waited.
His instincts screamed at him to stay. To watch. To be patient.
He hid near the place where he'd last seen the car, keeping to the shadows. Minutes turned into hours. Four of them passed in silence.
Nothing.
Just as doubt crept in, an engine hummed softly in the distance.
His instincts told him it was him.