"Hello, Mom."
[Hello, how are you?]
"I'm fine, Mom. How about you?"
[Sorry for Late calling but I was so busy in meetings So How's everything going at your new school? Any problems or difficulties with anything?]
"No, Mom. Everything at school… is good."
[Home feels so empty without you. Do you really need to stay in that apartment?]
"Mom, you know how far the school is from home."
[Yes, I know. But is staying in that small apartment actually comfortable for you, or not?]
"I'm living in a high-rise apartment, and it's also close to school. So there's really no need for you to worry unnecessarily."
[Hmm… alright then.]
"Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"
[Ah, well your father nah—nevermind, nothing. Just make sure you focus well on your studies.]
"Okay, Mom. Take care."
[You too, my child.]
After ending the call, Silas placed the phone on the table and sank into thought, lingering over the last words his mother had said. She had mentioned his father, but had stopped mid-sentence, leaving something unsaid. The mere hint of his father's name in the middle of the night unsettled Silas. His mother wouldn't bring up his father without reason—there had to be something she had restrained herself from telling him.
Does my father need something from me?
Anxious, Silas began biting at his nails, his eyes darting restlessly around the room. The mention of his father had disturbed him more than he wanted to admit, enough to interrupt his sleep entirely.
Pushing his hands away from his mouth, Silas threw the blanket aside and slid out of bed.
He moved toward the large glass window that occupied almost the entire wall. Beyond it, a small, beautiful balcony awaited, framed by the cold night. Silas opened the glass door, and the chill of the balcony floor kissed his bare feet. The cold made him shiver slightly, but he didn't step back. Instead, he let the night air brush against him, as if seeking some clarity amidst the unease gripping his thoughts.
The cold wind drifted silently through the night, swaying without a sound, as if the darkness itself were breathing. Above, the black sky was scattered with twinkling stars, and the full moon shone brightly, painting a serene, luminous glow across the heavens.
The chill of the night brushed against Silas's delicate body, sending a subtle shiver through him. Even though the cold prickled his skin, he stepped forward, drawn irresistibly toward the balcony. Reaching the railing, he placed his hands upon it and let his helpless eyes drink in the sparkling, quiet night.
All around, a profound silence lay thick over the world. In the shadowed darkness, only a few scattered lights glimmered, faint and distant. The moon had spread its radiance far and wide, yet the wind carried cold, restless currents that brushed past him.
Shadows lingered in the black sky, tendrils of darkness creeping slowly, as if trying to seize the moonlight for themselves. The night was alive with quiet tension—the delicate balance of light and shadow, stillness and movement—and Silas stood there, caught between them, silently absorbing the fragile, trembling beauty of it all.
Alone on the dark balcony, Silas stood silently, his sleep shattered by the mention of his father. A strange, uneasy feeling gnawed at his chest—a sensation he almost recognized, one his mother had tried to speak about but had stopped herself midway.
The truth was, Silas was living away from home in this apartment primarily because of his father. Their relationship had never been easy, and things had only worsened in recent months. When Silas had to leave his previous school, a serious conflict had erupted between him and his father. The dispute had been severe enough that his father had imposed strict restrictions on every aspect of Silas's life: leaving the house, attending school, even stepping outside for any reason was forbidden.
To ensure Silas continued his education, his father had arranged tutors and teachers to come to the house, effectively confining Silas to his room at all times. He had no freedom, no privacy—he was constantly trapped within four walls.
Silas drew a deep breath of the cold, night air, letting it fill his lungs, and slowly exhaled. The icy wind touched his skin, yet he welcomed it, letting the chill wash over him. It was the only freedom he had at that moment: the night, the wind, the quiet solitude of the balcony. For a fleeting instant, he could feel the world beyond the suffocating control of his father—a small, sharp taste of liberty, fragile and fleeting, but utterly his own.
Today, the very freedom in which he stood was all because of his mother Emily. She had arranged everything for him, going against his father—a decision that had surely caused her some pain—but in doing so, she had given Silas a taste of liberty. Yet Silas knew all too well that this freedom was fragile. If he made even a single mistake, if a complaint from his school ever reached his father's ears, this liberty would be taken from him forever, perhaps never to return.
He let his hands fall from the balcony railing, then slowly lowered himself onto the cold floor below. The chill bit into his skin, but he welcomed it, as though it were a reminder that he was still alive, still free, even if only for a fleeting moment.
Resting his head against the railing, Silas closed his eyes, letting the icy wind sweep across him, feeling the quiet serenity of the night envelop him. The subtle whispers of the wind, the stillness of the world around him, all seemed to seep into his very bones.
"Perhaps… this is what freedom feels like," he whispered to himself, a soft, awed thought barely leaving his lips, yet carrying the weight of everything he had longed for.
The silence of the night was everywhere, but something was not right. At that hour of the night across to that building, a shadow stood on the balcony and kept watching him.
....
The sun was slowly rising, spreading its first gentle rays across the world. Birds chirped cheerfully in every direction, their songs floating lightly through the morning air. Sunlight began to spill into the streets and onto the rooftops, painting everything in shades of gold.
The first touch of light brushed across Silas's eyes. His eyelids fluttered as he tried to adjust, blinking slowly against the brightness. As he gradually opened his eyes, he realized where he had slept through the night.
"Hah… I actually fell asleep out here on the balcony," he murmured, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips. The chill from the night had given way to the soft warmth of the morning sun, which now brushed gently against his skin.
Rising to his feet, Silas scanned the surroundings. Morning had fully arrived. The sun hung low but bright in the sky, its light glinting off windows and shop signs. The shops below had begun to open, shutters rising with a soft creak, and a few early risers wandered the quiet streets. Life had started again, gentle and ordinary, yet vibrant.
Silas stepped back into his room, the soft carpet under his bare feet comforting and familiar. His eyes immediately fell upon the clock beside his bed. The hands pointed sharply at six o'clock. He exhaled softly, noting the early hour.
He moved to his wardrobe and carefully pulled out his neatly folded school uniform. The fabric felt crisp and clean in his hands, smooth against his skin. Carrying it to the washroom, he began his morning routine: washing his face, splashing water over his hair, wiping away the remnants of sleep. Each motion was slow, deliberate, almost meditative.
A few minutes later, he stepped out of the washroom, towel in hand, patting his damp hair dry. He faced the wall-mounted mirror, studying his reflection. His eyes lingered on his features for a moment—the faint shadows under his eyes, the subtle way his hair fell unevenly after the night. Carefully, he smoothed his hair down with the towel, watching it settle neatly into place.
Next, he picked up his school shirt. He slipped it over his shoulders, fastening each button with precise, deliberate movements, as if the act itself marked the start of something important. Once the shirt was perfectly in place, he draped his coat over his shoulders, straightening it until it lay perfectly along his frame. Every movement was exact, calm, and intentional—a quiet ritual that prepared him for the day ahead, a small assertion of control over a life that often felt constrained.
As he prepared himself, adjusting his brown-red hair with his hands in the mirror, Silas suddenly noticed something unusual. His reflection blurred before his eyes, and for a moment, he didn't understand what was happening. Confused, he shook his head and widened his eyes, staring back at the mirror—and there it was again: the same hazy, indistinct reflection.
Blinking rapidly, Silas looked away for a moment. The small fashion boards attached to the side of the mirror, on which various items were placed, appeared blurry as well. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and slowly opened them again. Gradually, the room came back into focus, the reflection sharpening, the objects on the boards becoming clear once more.
"Oh," he muttered softly, a mix of relief and curiosity threading his voice.
Once fully refreshed, Silas stepped out of his room into the hall. The space was quiet, almost unnervingly empty, echoing his own sense of solitude. The hall itself was sparsely furnished—some sofas and couches arranged neatly, facing a large television mounted or placed against the wall. Despite the presence of furniture, the room carried a hollow, unused feeling, as though it existed more for appearances than for daily life.
Drawn naturally toward the kitchen, Silas walked further into the apartment. The kitchen contained everything one might need—utensils, appliances, neatly stacked supplies—but something about it seemed untouched. The surfaces were clean, the counters pristine, as though the kitchen rarely saw real use. It gave the impression of being more decorative than functional, silent and almost sterile, much like the rest of the apartment.
Silas opened the fridge and carefully took out a bottle of mango juice. He poured it slowly into a glass, watching the golden liquid swirl and catch the morning light. Bringing the glass to his lips, he took a small sip, the sweet, tangy taste lingering pleasantly on his tongue. Setting the glass down gently on the kitchen table, he turned and stepped out of the kitchen.
He walked toward the main entrance of the apartment, his eyes sweeping across the space he called home. From where he stood, the large apartment appeared vast, empty, and silent, the loneliness almost tangible. Each piece of furniture seemed suspended in stillness, the shadows stretching across the floor as if holding their breath. The space, despite its size, felt hollow, echoing with a quiet solitude that matched his own.
At the door, Silas reached for the handle. As he stepped outside, he closed the door firmly behind him. The sound of the latch clicking into place seemed disproportionately loud in the stillness, resonating through the empty apartment.
And then, silence. Absolute, uninterrupted silence. The moment Silas left, the apartment seemed to sigh, settling back into its usual state of emptiness. Every corner, every wall, every piece of furniture was shrouded in quiet, a quiet that felt alive—vast, heavy, and utterly alone. The apartment didn't just sit in silence; it existed in it, breathing it, swallowing it, filling every inch of the space with a solemn, lonely presence.
To Be Continued.....