I woke to the sound of my father’s faint cough from the bed across the room. Instinctively, my hand shot out toward the alarm clock beside me on the couch, cutting it off just before it could screech at 7:00 a.m. A rare luxury—it was only 6:57, and I’d woken up naturally. The evening shift yesterday had ended early, and for once, I hadn’t dragged myself out of bed feeling groggy.

As I jumped up to do my usual morning push-ups, careful not to overdo it, I nearly tripped over my father’s wheelchair, which was inexplicably parked in the middle of the room. How could I have missed it? The thought crossed my mind while I brushed my teeth, blaming myself for leaving it there the night before. After making breakfast for both of us, I waved a silent goodbye to my father. He muttered something without opening his eyes, acknowledging my departure.

Heading out, I texted Yerke, my best friend, to meet up for the walk to school. His usual response came in almost immediately.

Declined. New message: Plz 2-3 min!

I sighed. Yerke always declined my calls, a habit he picked up because he knew I wasn’t too well off. The last thing he wanted was for me to waste any minutes on unnecessary calls.

Moments later, the gate opened, and there he was, running toward me with that goofy smile and his signature mid-length hair bouncing as he ran.

"What's up, bro? Sleep well?" he asked, though it was a routine question.

This time, I actually felt different. "Yeah," I answered, keeping it short but adding a smirk. "By the way, what’s the deal with Anya? You finally confess?"

His face dropped instantly. "Bro! Stop doing that face!" he groaned, waving a hand as if to brush off the question. "I haven’t asked her yet, man. Like, the chances of her saying yes are zero. I’ll wait until I can make a better impression."

I couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatics. "You better hurry up, dude. Graduation is less than a year away."

"I know, I know. I’ll try."

We walked the rest of the way in companionable silence until the school bell jolted us out of our rhythm. A few lessons later, Yerke dashed out of the classroom, performing his well-known "pee dance."

"Already hitting the bathroom this early?" I teased, trailing behind him. He mumbled something about drinking water for healthy skin. Yerke, ever the health enthusiast, was an endless source of facts.

We entered the bathroom, but the moment I stepped in, I caught the unmistakable smell of cigarettes. The air was thick with it. Yerke hesitated behind me as I glanced at the three guys lounging by the sinks—Ken, Jambo, and Aipek. Ken, with his slicked-back hair and an aura of trouble, gave me a sly grin.

Ken is tall and athletic, with a lean build that reflects his active lifestyle. He has slicked-back dark hair that glimmers in the sunlight, accentuating his sharp features. His confident smile and charming demeanor often draw people to him, making it easy for him to take charge in any situation. He usually dresses in casual, stylish clothes—fitted jeans and a graphic tee that showcase his laid-back attitude.

Jambo, whose full name is Jan Bolat, is stocky and strong, with a round face that contrasts with his tough exterior. He keeps his head shaved, revealing a collection of freckles across his cheeks. Despite his imposing size, there’s a gentleness in his demeanor. He often wears loose-fitting clothes—baggy T-shirts and comfortable shorts—giving him a relaxed vibe. His laughter is hearty, and he has a way of making everyone feel at ease.

Aipek is the tallest of the group, with a lanky frame and spiky black hair that gives him a bit of an edge. His sharp features are often accentuated by a hint of sarcasm, and his deep-set eyes seem to hold a touch of melancholy. He tends to dress in darker colors, often wearing a hoodie and jeans that add to his mysterious aura. Despite his quiet nature, his presence is commanding, and he often surprises others with his insightful remarks.

"Mr. Justice," Ken said mockingly, raising his hand for a fist bump, always calling me that for my so-called sense of right and wrong. "Good to see you.” The others nodded in acknowledgment. It was their usual greeting for me—part friendly, part taunting. Behind them, a kid knelt on the floor, beaten up and bruised.

"Found him misbehaving," Ken added casually, reading my uneasy glance. "We taught him a lesson. Actions have consequences, right?"

I remained silent, taking in the scene. Jambo, the large one, grunted. "Justice." His voice echoed Ken’s, trying to play the sidekick, but something in his tone suggested he wasn’t fully on board with this either.

Before I could respond, Yerke whispered, "Um...can I go pee?" I had nearly forgotten he was there.

"Of course, Yerke," Ken replied, smirking as he stepped aside, his eyes glinting with something I didn’t like. "Didn't see you behind Khan here. Go ahead."

I opened one of the stalls, and Yerke quickly ducked inside. Ken watched him, smiling like a predator playing with its prey. As we waited for Yerke to finish, Ken’s attention drifted back to me.

"Khan," he started, leaning closer. "You got a shift tomorrow?"

"I’m off tomorrow," I said warily.

"Perfect. I need help at my place—nothing major. Just some easy work. You know, with your build, it’ll be a breeze."

I narrowed my eyes. "If it’s shady, count me out."

Ken chuckled. "Nah, man. Just yard work. Besides," he added, voice dropping to a whisper, "I know you could use the cash." He played the name card, making sure to say my name because he knew it made people feel seen. But I wasn’t blind to his tactics.

I sighed, glancing at Yerke, who had emerged, clearly uncomfortable from the whole situation. "Fine. I’ll help. But only because you’re desperate."

Ken grinned wide, slapping me on the back. "Knew I could count on you, Khan. Tomorrow after school."

The next day, I followed Ken to his house. His father, a middle-aged man with a gold chain and a cigarette permanently glued to his lips, greeted me warmly. As we approached Ken’s house, Uncle Pachi was sitting on the porch, cigarette in hand, his gaze distant. When he saw us, he stood up, giving a quick glance toward Ken before turning his attention to me with a small grin.

"Ah, the ruler himself!" Ken's dad exclaimed dramatically, giving me a firm handshake. "Come to conquer the jungle in the backyard, eh?" I smiled at the joke. My name, Khan, meant "ruler" or something like that. But here I was, not ruling anything—just cutting grass in someone else’s backyard.

Ken waved me toward the backyard. "It’s just yard work. Easy stuff, I swear."

When I saw the actual jungle of weeds awaiting me, I shot Ken a sarcastic look. He scratched his head, giving me a sheepish grin. "Okay, maybe not easy, but I’ve got faith in you, man." 

Ken, clearly in a rush, gave a half-hearted nod toward his dad. “I’m just grabbing the car, Dad,” he said over his shoulder, already walking past us toward the garage.

Uncle Pachi didn’t even turn to look at him. “Mm-hmm,” he muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Always running off,” he added under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear.

I felt the awkwardness settle between them as Ken opened the garage and got into his dad’s old car, the engine revving to life.

“So, Khan,” Uncle Pachi said, turning his attention back to me, his tone immediately warmer. “How’s life treating you?”

I shrugged, leaning against the railing. “Same old. School and work keep me busy.”

“Good to hear. Keep your head down, stay on track,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Not everyone does, you know.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ken pulling the car out of the garage, his expression casual, almost detached. “I’ll be back later, Khan. Don’t work too hard,” he called out, barely glancing in his dad’s direction before speeding off.

Uncle Pachi didn’t even acknowledge Ken’s departure. Instead, he focused on me, and gave me the tools I needed. 

     KEN

I turned the ignition, but the engine sputtered. I let out a sigh, already feeling a wave of panic. After a second try, the engine roared to life, and I exhaled in relief. Checking the mirrors, I slowly backed out of the driveway and headed toward the meeting spot.

“Where’s Ken?” Aipek’s voice broke the silence, impatient as always.

“Why’s he always late?” he grumbled, pacing around.

Jambo lazily checked his watch while lounging on an old rubber tire. “We’ve got time, bro,” he yawned, looking bored.

“How much time?”

“I said, we’ve got time,” Jambo replied, his tone slow and uninterested.

“Just tell me the time, man,” Aipek snapped.

Jambo sighed heavily before muttering, “It’s 2:46. Calm down, man.”

“That’s all you had to say!” Aipek rolled his eyes. He was always anxious, always impatient.

Yerke, who had been quietly swinging on the playground nearby, seemed lost in his thoughts.

“You good, bro?” Jambo called out to him.

“I’m fine, Jambo,” Yerke replied, still swinging.

“Not bored, are you?” Jambo asked in his deep voice, making a playful gesture with his hand.

“No, it’s all good,” Yerke answered softly, though Jambo could sense the tension in his voice.

Ten minutes later, Ken parked the car near the playground, rolling down the window to let some fresh air in. He caught a glimpse of his reflection and quickly adjusted his expression, trying to look as cool as possible. First impressions mattered, and Ken wasn’t about to blow this one.

The day unfolded like a perfect getaway—at least, on the surface. Ken, Jambo, Aipek, and Yerke piled into the car with the music blasting, the warm wind rushing through the windows as they sped down the road. The atmosphere in the car was light, filled with jokes and laughter, but there was an underlying tension that only three of them could feel.

Yerke leaned his head back against the seat, a smile on his face, but his thoughts were elsewhere. “You sure Khan’s cool with not coming?” he asked, glancing at Ken, a trace of concern in his voice. “Feels weird not having him here.”

Ken didn’t miss a beat, shrugging casually. “Ah, don’t worry about Khan. He’s got some stuff to handle at home today. Besides, you know him—he wouldn’t have fun with all the crazy stuff we’re about to do.” He grinned, turning the wheel as they approached the amusement park. “He’ll be fine.”

Jambo, sitting in the back, leaned forward slightly, giving Ken a knowing look, while Aipek glanced out of the window, his sharp eyes catching Ken’s in the rearview mirror for just a split second. They didn’t need to say anything—each of them knew the plan, and Yerke remained blissfully unaware.

“Yeah, man,” Jambo added, giving Yerke a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “He’s probably relieved we’re not dragging him around for this. Let’s just enjoy today.”

Yerke nodded, though his worry didn’t completely fade. Still, he let it go as Ken cranked the volume on the stereo, and the sound of the music drowned out the unease. The car bumped along the road, laughter echoing through the open windows as the day unfolded before them.

They spent the afternoon riding roller coasters, playing arcade games, and eating junk food. Yerke’s laughter came easily, and for a while, the fun drowned out any concerns he had about Khan. But every now and then, between the adrenaline-filled rides and competitive arcade games, Yerke’s gaze drifted off to the side, wondering if his best friend was okay.

Ken, ever the charmer, kept the group together, steering the conversation away from anything serious whenever it got too close to Yerke’s feelings. The group was a well-oiled machine of banter and playful insults, with Jambo’s booming laugh and Aipek’s quiet snark keeping the mood light.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they packed up and piled back into the car. The cool evening air filled the vehicle as Ken drove them out to the woods. Music still played softly in the background, but the excitement of the day was beginning to wind down. They were headed for their final destination: the bonfire.

By the time they reached the woods, the sky had turned deep purple, stars faintly visible in the twilight. Ken parked the car in a clearing, and they all stepped out, the crunch of leaves beneath their feet as they made their way toward the fire pit.

Jambo pulled out a lighter and got the fire going, its flickering light casting long shadows across their faces. 

As the night deepened and the fire crackled under Jambo’s careful tending, Ken glanced over at Yerke, a subtle shift in his expression. The others were laughing about some old inside joke, but Ken’s mind was elsewhere.

“Hey, Yerke,” Ken said, his voice lower than usual. “Come sit over here with me for a bit.” He gestured toward a quieter spot, a little away from the fire. Yerke, ever trusting, followed without hesitation.

They sat down on the edge of the clearing, away from the others, where the night sky stretched above them in a blanket of stars. The distant sounds of the fire and laughter seemed to fade into the background.

“Pretty night, huh?” Ken muttered, shifting uncomfortably beside Yerke. His eyes flickered to Yerke’s hands, and for a moment, he hesitated, then awkwardly reached out, touching Yerke’s hand in a clumsy, tentative gesture. It wasn’t a playful bump between friends. It was something more.

Yerke, caught off guard, glanced down at Ken’s hand on his and chuckled nervously. “Yeah... I guess.”

Ken swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d spent days planning this moment, imagining how he would tell Yerke how he felt. But now that they were alone, the words wouldn’t come. Instead, all that surfaced was the confusing, overwhelming urge to act, to do something—anything—to express the feelings he couldn’t understand, let alone explain.

Before the awkwardness could deepen, Jambo called out from the fire, “Hey! You guys missing the party?”

Ken flinched, quickly pulling his hand back, and they both stood up, heading back to the fire. They sat in a circle, Yerke on one side of the fire, Ken directly across from him, with Jambo and Aipek to the sides. The crackle of the fire was the only sound for a moment, until Ken broke the silence.

“So,” Ken said, leaning back on his hands, his eyes fixed on the flames. “Today was fun, huh?”

“Yeah,” Yerke agreed, though there was a slight hesitation in his voice. “Still feels weird without Khan, though.”

Ken’s smile didn’t falter. “Don’t worry, man. He’s got tomorrow to make up for it.” His tone was easy, but there was a glint in his eye—a secret that only he and the others shared.

Jambo and Aipek exchanged a quick glance, the firelight dancing in their eyes. They knew what was coming, and as the minutes ticked by, they kept an eye on the clock.

As the night grew even darker, the fire continued to burn brightly, warming their small circle. The conversation shifted to old memories, funny stories, and dreams for the future. Aipek laughed along with them, though every now and then he would glance at his phone, checking the time.

Then, at exactly 00:01, the atmosphere shifted.

Aipek stood up, pulling something from the back of the car—a small birthday cake, the candles already lit, flickering in the cool night air. He carried it over to the fire, the glow of the flames illuminating the cake as he stepped closer.

“Surprise,” Aipek said softly, his usually distant voice carrying a warmth that was rarely there.

Ken grinned, standing up as well, clapping his hands together. “Happy birthday, Yerke!”

The group broke into a soft rendition of “Happy Birthday,” their voices mixing with the crackling of the fire. Yerke sat there, wide-eyed, his face breaking into a smile as the realization hit him.

“You guys planned this?” he asked, clearly touched.

“Of course,” Ken said, stepping around the fire to sit next to him. Jambo added - “We wanted to make sure we didn’t miss a single minute of your birthday. That’s why we’re celebrating right at 00:01—to be the first ones to do it right.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Yerke’s smile grew wider as he blew out the candles, his eyes shining in the firelight. For a moment, everything felt perfect—just four friends sitting around a fire, celebrating life.

But behind the smiles, the others shared one last knowing glance. The night wasn’t over yet, and Ken’s plan was far from complete.

For a while, the group relaxed into a comfortable rhythm, reminiscing about old memories and sharing laughs. Yerke seemed to settle back into the evening, his earlier unease fading as he listened to Jambo’s booming laugh and Aipek’s dry humor. The warmth of the fire and the sweetness of the cake added to the easy, light atmosphere.

But Ken, sitting a little too close to Yerke, was still restless. He couldn’t let go of his feelings. He kept glancing at Yerke, inching closer with every passing minute, as if proximity alone could help him express what he couldn’t say out loud. His knee bumped against Yerke’s leg, and he didn’t move away. Yerke noticed but tried to ignore it, focusing on the conversation with the others.

Jambo, taking a bite of cake, happened to glance over and caught the subtle way Ken was leaning toward Yerke, their legs almost touching. His eyes widened, realizing something was off. He stared for a moment, unsure whether to say something.

Aipek, always observant, noticed Jambo’s expression and nudged him quietly. “Come on,” he whispered, grabbing Jambo’s arm. “Let’s give them space. Looks like something’s happening.”

Jambo, still uncertain, let Aipek pull him away from the fire. They walked into the shadows, lighting up cigarettes, their voices fading into the background. Jambo still looked back once, concern in his eyes, but Aipek just shook his head.

Back at the fire, the atmosphere between Ken and Yerke grew tense. Yerke, still oblivious to what Ken was thinking, sat back and gazed at the fire, enjoying the warmth. But Ken couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Yerke,” Ken said, his voice quieter than before, but more urgent. “There’s something I need to say.”

Yerke looked over, confused. “Yeah? What is it?”

“I...” Ken’s voice wavered. His heart pounded as he leaned in, the words he had planned disappearing. Instead of speaking, he acted—reaching for Yerke’s shoulders and leaning in closer, too close. Without warning, Ken pressed his lips to Yerke’s, the kiss awkward, desperate.

Yerke froze. The shock hit him like a wave, and for a moment, he couldn’t react. Ken was touching him all over the place, inhaling his scent. But then, instinct took over. He shoved Ken away, his heart racing with panic and disbelief.

“What the hell, Ken?!” Yerke gasped, standing up quickly, his breath coming in short bursts. His hands shook as he wiped his mouth, trying to process what had just happened.

Ken stumbled back, his face pale, realizing what he had just done. “I— I didn’t mean—”

“Stay away from me!” Yerke’s voice was sharp, filled with hurt and confusion. His best friend, the one he trusted most, had just crossed a line that shattered everything.

Ken’s face twisted with regret, but he couldn’t find the words to fix what he had just broken. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible.

Yerke shook his head, his chest tight with a mixture of anger and betrayal. He turned and stormed off toward the shadows where Aipek and Jambo were standing, his mind reeling.

Jambo, who had just turned back toward the fire, saw Yerke’s distressed face and froze. He had thought Ken and Yerke were having a romantic moment, but now it was clear that something had gone horribly wrong.

Before he could react, Aipek quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Don’t... don’t look,” Aipek said, his voice quiet but firm. “Just let them be.”

Jambo nodded, his heart heavy with guilt. He had thought giving them space was the right move, but now he wasn’t so sure.

As Yerke pushed Ken away and stood up, his breathing heavy, Ken scrambled to recover. His heart was pounding, and his words came out in a panicked rush. “Yerke, wait, I—I’ll get you home,” Ken mumbled, stumbling over his words, his face flushed with guilt and confusion. “Let me—uh, I can drive you.”

Yerke shook his head, his voice sharp. “No, Ken. I’ll figure it out.” His mind was still reeling, and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in the car with Ken right now.

Jambo and Aipek, who had been standing just a little distance away, exchanged uneasy glances. Sensing the tension, Jambo walked over, trying to lighten the mood with his usual good-natured approach. “Hey, Yerke, you sure you don’t want us to come with you? I mean, it’s late and all.”

Aipek stood silently beside Jambo, flicking his cigarette, his sharp gaze moving between Ken and Yerke. He sensed something was off but didn’t push. “Yeah, man. It’s pretty dark out here,” Aipek said quietly, his voice much softer than usual.

Yerke shook his head again, forcing a small, strained smile. “I’ll be fine. Just need some air, you know?”

Ken, still hovering awkwardly nearby, tried again. “I can drive you. It’s no problem... really.” His voice cracked slightly, desperate to fix what had just happened, even though he knew he couldn’t.

But Yerke had already pulled out his phone and was dialing for a taxi. “No, I’m good. I’ll get a ride.” His voice was cold, final.

The awkwardness hung in the air as they all stood there, the fire crackling in the background. Jambo tried to break the silence with a light chuckle. “Well, alright, man. Just... let us know when you’re home safe, yeah?”

Aipek gave a small nod in agreement, though his eyes remained fixed on Ken, who was staring at the ground, clearly rattled.

Yerke nodded briefly, not meeting any of their eyes as he waited in silence. After what felt like an eternity, the headlights of the taxi appeared through the trees, and Yerke walked away without another word, disappearing into the night.

As the taxi pulled away, the group was left standing in the clearing, the tension thick and unspoken. Jambo sighed, scratching his head. “That was... weird.”

Aipek flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it underfoot. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Weird.”

The night air hung thick with awkwardness and tension as Ken sat by the fire, alone, his mind spinning with regret. Yerke’s absence left a void that none of them could fill, and Ken knew he had just destroyed something precious. What he didn’t know was that the damage he had done went far deeper than he could have imagined.

________________________

After finishing the yard work, I sat down on the porch with a cold glass of orange juice in hand. Uncle Pachi, Ken’s father, was sitting across from me, silently watching as I wiped the sweat off my face. His eyes were fixated on my hands for some reason, as if fascinated by my exhaustion.

“You really worked hard today, huh?” he asked, his tone light but with a hint of admiration.

“Yeah, it was pretty rough,” I replied, taking another sip of the juice. The coldness was a welcome relief from the blazing sun.

“You smoke?” Uncle Pachi asked suddenly, pulling out a cigarette.

“No, sir,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t smoke.”

“What about drinking? A cold beer maybe?” he continued, almost like he was testing me.

I smiled politely. “No, I don’t drink either.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised but also a bit disappointed. “Ah, c’mon, be a man! No one will know,” he insisted, waving the beer bottle in front of me.

“I’m good, sir. Thanks, though,” I repeated firmly.

Uncle Pachi gave a small shrug before switching topics. “Well, then, let me show you something. You’ll appreciate this!” He stood up and motioned for me to follow.

We entered the house and walked down the hall where a large painting hung on the wall. It was new—definitely something I hadn’t seen during my last visit. The painting depicted a horse, galloping across a vast landscape. You could almost feel the horse’s strength and determination as it charged forward, despite the weariness in its eyes.

“How much did this cost you?” I asked, genuinely impressed by the piece.

Uncle Pachi chuckled. “That’s the interesting part, boy. I didn’t buy it. Found it in my dad’s garage while cleaning up. Thought it would look better on the wall than just gathering dust.”

I nodded, understanding the sentiment. There was something strangely fitting about the image of the tired but determined horse hanging in their home.

The sun was starting to dip low by the time I finished with the yard work. The cool air felt good, and the quiet was a relief after hours of mowing.

Uncle Pachi lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the air as he leaned back in his chair. He glanced over at me after a moment. “So, how’s school going? And Ken—how’s he been acting? Still causing trouble?”

I took a sip of the juice, thinking over the question. “Ken’s... well, Ken’s Ken. You know how he is. School’s alright, nothing much going on.”

Uncle Pachi nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He seemed to be thinking, staring off at the horizon. After a long drag of his cigarette, he looked back at me. “You know, Ken was raised without a mother... just like you. I’m sure you know that.”

I nodded. I’d heard it before. Ken never talked about it much, but I knew his mom had passed when he was little. It wasn’t something either of us liked to dwell on.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, not sure where he was going with this.

Uncle Pachi tapped ash off the end of his cigarette. His tone softened a little, like he was talking more to himself than to me. “It’s been tough, raising him alone. Lately... I don’t know, Khan. He’s different. Hormones, I guess. Or maybe just growing up. But sometimes, I feel like I don’t know my own son.”

I stayed quiet, letting him talk. I didn’t have much to say about it, but I could tell he needed to get it off his chest.

“I mean, he shuts down when I try to talk to him. He used to be more open, but now? It’s like I’m talking to a wall. The kid I knew is slipping away, and I don’t know how to reach him.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But you...”

I blinked, glancing over at him. “What about me?”

“You’re different, Khan. It’s always been easy with you. You’re reliable, mature. Hell, sometimes I wish you were my son instead of him,” he said with a half-smile, like it was half a joke, half something real.

The comment caught me off guard. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Uncle Pachi didn’t say it in a way that made me think he hated Ken or anything—it was more like he just felt... lost.

I smiled a bit, not really knowing how to respond. “Well, thanks, Uncle. I try.”

He nodded, taking another drag. “Your dad’s proud of you, you know. More than he probably tells you.”

I looked down at my hands. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a brief silence, one of those comfortable pauses that didn’t need to be filled. Uncle Pachi didn’t say it, but I knew he and my dad went way back. They’d been through a lot together—raising us on their own wasn’t easy, but somehow, they made it work. I knew Uncle Pachi saw a lot of my dad in me, and I wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

Eventually, he stood up, stretching his arms. “Alright, time to get you paid.”

I followed him inside, wondering what Ken would’ve said if he knew what we’d just talked about. When Uncle Pachi handed me the envelope, I felt its weight and was immediately surprised.

“Ken said he promised you some cash,” Uncle Pachi said with a small grin, “but you’ve earned a lot more than that today.”

I blinked, staring at the envelope. “Uncle, this is... way too much. I can’t—”

“Take it, kid,” Uncle Pachi interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ve earned it. And send my best to your dad, alright?”

I smiled, knowing there was no use arguing with him. “Thanks, Uncle Pachi. I will.”

I turned to leave, but something caught my eye on the counter near the door. It was a revolver—old but well-maintained, sitting there casually next to some papers. I froze for a second, wondering why he’d need something like that just lying around. I didn’t ask, though. It wasn’t my business.

As I walked home, the cool evening air felt good against my skin, and I realized just how much weight had lifted off my shoulders. Uncle Pachi had paid me more than I expected, and I decided to pick up something special for dinner. After everything, I figured my dad and I deserved a bit of a celebration.

I stopped by a shop on my way home and grabbed a few things I knew my dad would like. As I walked through the door, the smell of the warm food already made me feel a little better about things. My dad was sitting by the window, like always, looking up when I walked in.

“What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the food I’d brought.

“Dinner,” I said, grinning. “I got paid, and Uncle Pachi says hi.”

My dad’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in a while. “That’s good to hear. Been a while since I talked to him.”

We sat down to eat, and for once, everything felt right. It wasn’t a grand meal or anything, but it was special to us. The conversation flowed easily, and I could tell my dad was happy, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Later that night, after my dad had gone to bed, I sat on my own, feeling more content than I had in a long time. I reached into my drawer and pulled out the small box I’d been hiding—a gift I’d bought for Yerke’s birthday. Inside was a scarf, soft and carefully chosen, something I knew he’d like.

I smiled, thinking about how excited I’d been when I first bought it. It had been sitting there for over a week now, waiting for the right moment. I couldn’t wait to give it to him.

Satisfied, I put the box back in the drawer and lay back in bed. The day had been long, but it ended on a high note. As I closed my eyes, I drifted off, thinking about how good it would feel to celebrate Yerke’s birthday tomorrow.

Satisfied and content, Khan lay back, closing his eyes and drifting off into

a peaceful sleep, unaware of the storm that was brewing just ahead.

I woke up to the usual dull light filtering through the curtains. Groggily, I reached for my phone, expecting the typical morning routine—messages, maybe some social media updates. But today, there was only one message that mattered.

"Thank you for everything."

It was from Yerke.

I stared at the message, confusion and worry immediately knotting in my stomach. Thank you for everything? What the hell did that mean? We hadn’t even celebrated his birthday yet. I thought we were going to meet up today. Why would he send something like this?

My fingers hovered over the screen, ready to type a reply, but I stopped. My mind was racing. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just being weird. But a gnawing doubt began to grow. Was something wrong? Had something happened yesterday?

I shook my head, trying to push the thought aside. Yerke’s parents had trusted me with his birthday plans—we were supposed to celebrate together. He wouldn’t have gone off without telling me. But the message... it didn’t sit right.

Before I could dwell on it further, I heard a soft sound coming from my father’s room. He wasn’t calling out, but it was the kind of noise that told me something wasn’t right. I shoved the phone into my pocket and headed toward his room.

When I got there, he was struggling—his hands trembling slightly as he tried to adjust himself in the wheelchair. His face was pale, eyes unfocused.

“Dad, what’s going on? You okay?” I asked, quickly moving to his side.

“I need... I need to go to the doctor,” he murmured, his voice weak. “Checkup... can’t put it off anymore.”

A cold wave of dread washed over me. This wasn’t the usual. He needed real help today—more than I could give. And it wasn’t something I could just fix in a few minutes. I knew what was coming: I’d have to take him. His health wasn’t good, and there was no way he could manage this on his own.

My heart pounded as I helped him into the chair, adjusting his position as best as I could. He looked weaker than usual, the fatigue in his eyes undeniable. This wasn’t just some minor discomfort—this was serious.

I glanced at the clock, the pressure building. Yerke. His message, the birthday celebration, everything. I had planned to spend the day with him, but now, my dad needed me. There was no choice, no room for anything else. I couldn’t let him down.

“You’ll be okay, Dad. I’ll get you to the clinic,” I muttered, but my voice didn’t sound convincing, even to me. I was trying to be strong, trying to keep it together, but the weight of everything was pressing down hard.

I grabbed what we needed—papers, meds—and tried to juggle everything at once. Every minute that passed, the tension in my chest grew. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to make this work. The idea of juggling Yerke’s birthday and my dad’s health... it was too much.

The thought of the message kept replaying in my head. "Thank you for everything." What if it meant something worse? What if something had happened to Yerke and I didn’t even know?

“Ready?” my dad asked weakly, breaking me from my spiral of thoughts. His voice sounded small, reminding me of how fragile he’d become.

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s get going.”

I struggled with the wheelchair, the door, the bag of meds, my phone buzzing intermittently in my pocket. Everything felt like it was collapsing in on me. Why did it always have to be like this? Why couldn’t anything just go right?

As I wheeled my dad out of the house, the weight of everything I had to do began to crush me. It was hard enough taking care of him most days, but today... today felt impossible. And I was stuck in the middle of it all, helpless.

I was thinking of catching a taxi when I heard the sound of some car pulling up. I turned around and saw Uncle Pachi’s familiar car coming down the street. He parked and stepped out, casually strolling over with his usual calmness. 

“Hey, Khan!” Uncle Pachi called out, waving. His voice had that easy tone, like nothing in the world was urgent. “How’ve you been, kid?”

I sighed inwardly, feeling both relieved and embarrassed. “Hey, Uncle,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just... trying to take Dad to the clinic. He’s not doing too well today.”

Uncle Pachi’s face softened as he took a look at my dad. “Ah, I see. Tough morning, huh?” He glanced back at me, and I could tell he knew. He always knew when I was close to breaking.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “And, uh... I’ve got some other stuff going on too. Yerke... he sent me this weird message. It’s his birthday today. I was supposed to—”

Uncle Pachi nodded, stepping closer and resting a hand on my shoulder. “I get it. It’s a lot to handle. Yerke can wait a bit. Right now, your dad needs you. Let me give you a hand.”

For the first time all morning, I felt some of the pressure lift. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Uncle Pachi helped me get my dad settled in the car and made sure we had everything. The calm way he handled things made me feel like maybe I wasn’t completely out of control.

“Thanks, Uncle,” I said quietly, not sure how to express the relief I felt.

“No problem, Khan. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Just take it one step at a time, alright?”

I nodded, feeling a little more grounded as I sat beside him. The knot in my stomach loosened, but Yerke’s message still lingered in the back of my mind. I knew I couldn’t ignore it forever, but for now, all I could do was focus on getting my dad where he needed to go. I think it makes sense for Uncle Pachi to take over handling Khan’s father’s situation, allowing Khan to leave and potentially be one of the first to find Yerke. This would let Khan follow his instincts and investigate Yerke’s message. The relief provided by Uncle Pachi would give Khan the time and space he needs to act on his growing worries about Yerke.

As he started the car, my mind was still racing, flipping between my dad’s condition and that message from Yerke. The pressure was overwhelming—too much to hold at once. But just as he was about to drive off, Uncle Pachi looked at me, his brow furrowed.

“Khan,” he said softly. “I can see you’ve got something else on your mind.” He paused, his eyes searching mine. “If you’re worried about something—anything—you can let me take over from here. I’ll handle your dad’s appointment. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. The thought of leaving my dad felt wrong, but the worry gnawing at me about Yerke was like a stone in my chest. I couldn’t shake it. That message wasn’t normal. And if something was wrong, if something had happened... I had to know.

“I—” I hesitated, glancing at my dad, who was slouched in the passenger seat, exhausted. “I don’t know, Uncle. My dad needs me, but... Yerke... I got this weird message from him this morning. I don’t know if he’s okay.”

Uncle Pachi’s eyes softened with understanding. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot weighing on you, kid. How about this? I’ll take your dad to his checkup. You go find Yerke, make sure he’s alright. I know you’ll feel better if you do.”

The relief hit me immediately, but I still hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Uncle Pachi said, patting the car. “I’ve known your dad for a long time. I can handle this. You need to make sure your friend is okay.”

I nodded, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten again. Yerke’s message flashed through my mind—"Thank you for everything." It felt like a warning, like he was saying goodbye. I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Thanks, Uncle,” I said, stepping out of the car. “I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing, kid,” Uncle Pachi replied, waving me off with a small smile. “Just go. And send my best to Yerke.”

I gave him a quick nod and then headed off, my feet moving faster than I’d expected. The worry that had been building up inside me since I woke up was now at a breaking point. I had to find Yerke—had to make sure everything was okay.

As I walked through the quiet streets, I kept checking my phone, hoping for some kind of follow-up message from Yerke. But there was nothing. Every second that passed made the anxiety in my chest grow worse.

The house was unnervingly quiet. Everything felt too perfect, too sterile—like walking through a museum where you weren’t allowed to touch anything. I stepped inside, my shoes barely making a sound on the polished hardwood floor. The kind of floor you’d be terrified to scuff because you knew it cost more than your entire life savings.

I called out Yerke’s name, my voice echoing through the cavernous space, but there was no response. Great. Not ominous at all.

As I moved down the hallway, I almost tripped over some ridiculously expensive Persian rug—probably worth more than the car I didn’t even have. Typical Yerke. His parents had money to burn, and it showed in every corner of the house. The walls were lined with art that looked like it belonged in a gallery, and the furniture was sleek and modern, the kind you couldn’t sit on without feeling guilty about wrinkling the fabric.

I called his name again, but the only answer was silence. My gut twisted as I headed further into the house. There was no sign of him, but the sense that something was wrong was gnawing at me like a bad joke that had gone too far.

Finally, I reached his room, the door slightly open. I hesitated for a second, already dreading what was on the other side. With a deep breath, I pushed it open—and that’s when I saw him.

Yerke. Hanging from the ceiling, as lifeless as the overpriced art hanging on the walls.

My stomach dropped, and for a moment, I couldn’t move. My feet felt like they were glued to that ridiculously plush carpet his parents probably imported from some distant land. The boy who had everything—was gone.

I stumbled forward, almost knocking into his pristinely organized desk, where some perfectly wrapped birthday gifts sat. The irony hit me like a slap. Rich kid, perfect life, perfect home—and this.

My hands shook as I reached out, but it was too late. The perfect world Yerke lived in had fallen apart, and I was standing in the middle of the mess, surrounded by all the luxury that couldn’t save him.

I backed away, trying to steady my breathing. Everything around me felt wrong, too clean, too controlled, while my mind spiraled out of control.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I fumbled with it for a second before managing to dial Yerke’s parents. The phone rang once, twice, and then his mother picked up, her voice light and completely unaware of the storm about to hit her.

“Khan? Is Yerke with you?” she asked, completely casual, like she wasn’t expecting to hear the news that would shatter her world.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “... you need to come home. It’s... it’s Yerke. He’s... dead.”

The words felt cold, flat—like they didn’t belong to me. Before she could ask anything else, I hung up, staring blankly at the phone in my hand. The whole place suddenly felt too quiet, too big. I sank down against the wall and patiently waited for his parents.

The shovel hit the ground with a dull thud, and I threw another heap of dirt to the side. The grave was coming together, deeper and wider with every shove, but it didn’t feel like I was making any progress. Not really.

I don’t even know why I was the one doing this. All I knew was that I asked for it. No one argued with me, not even Yerke’s parents, though they were too busy drowning in their own grief to care. Maybe they just let me because they didn’t know what else to do. Because I was the one who found him. Because I was his best friend.

The air around me felt thick, heavy with a silence that pressed down harder than the dirt I was shoveling. Yerke was gone. It didn’t feel real, but here I was, digging the ground that was going to hold him forever.

I gritted my teeth as the ache in my arms intensified, but I kept going. I had to. I needed to do something with my hands, anything, to keep from thinking about the last message I’d gotten from him. Thank you for everything. What did that even mean? Thank you for what? And why?

It felt like every shovelful of dirt was some kind of punishment. Maybe I should have known something was wrong. Maybe if I’d gone to see him earlier, I could’ve stopped it. But I didn’t. Instead, I was here, burying the person I was supposed to be celebrating with today.

As I dug, the surroundings started to blur—Yerke’s parents off to the side, their eyes red and swollen, barely keeping it together. His mother, usually so put-together and elegant, now looked lost, crumbling under the weight of something even her wealth couldn’t fix.

I tossed more dirt aside, my mind slipping between flashes of Yerke’s face and the harsh reality of the present. All the expensive things in his life, all the stuff that used to make me laugh when I’d visit his house—none of it mattered anymore.

And then, there were them.

I looked up for a second, wiping the sweat from my forehead, and saw Ken, Jambo, and Aipek standing under the trees. Far away. Hidden. They were just standing there, like shadows, as if they didn’t want to be seen. Like they couldn’t face the rest of us, or maybe they just didn’t know what to say.

Ken, Jambo, and Aipek stood under the trees, barely visible through the branches. They’d always been there for me—always helping when I needed it, never hesitating. But today, even they kept their distance. Maybe they didn’t know how to handle this either. Maybe none of us did.

I didn’t know why they were standing so far back, and honestly, I didn’t care. I had my own things to deal with. I kept digging, the ground getting tougher the deeper I went. Every second made it harder to think straight. The more I thought about it, the less I understood. Why hadn’t Yerke said anything to me? Why hadn’t he let me in?

The shovel scraped against something harder this time—a rock, maybe—and the impact jolted my arm. I cursed under my breath, but I didn’t stop.

No one else was going to do this. The others could stand around and watch all they wanted, but they didn’t know what it felt like, finding him like that. They didn’t know what it was like to still be asking why.

A gust of wind rustled the leaves above, the only sound in the cemetery. No one was talking. Just watching. It was like time had stopped for everyone else, but for me, it was stuck in that moment—when I walked into his room, and the world shattered.

I didn’t want to look at the others. Not his parents, not the neighbors, and definitely not Ken. I focused on the ground instead, forcing myself to keep digging, to not think about how everything had fallen apart.

Yerke was gone. The friend I’d known my whole life, the one person who always seemed to have it all together... was gone.

And I was the one burying him.

As the grave was finally filled, I noticed Ken, Jambo, and Aipek starting to move away, retreating into the shadows of the trees. For the first time, I caught their faces as they turned to leave.

Jambo’s rounded face was slick with sweat, his eyes wide and darting, like a kid who had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. There was guilt there, mixed with a kind of nervousness, like he was afraid of what might happen next.

Ken’s expression was harder to read—he looked conflicted, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on something distant. It was like he was carrying the weight of something much bigger, something that was eating at him from the inside.

Aipek, on the other hand, wouldn’t even lift his head. His eyes stayed glued to the ground as they walked away, like he couldn’t face any of this. Like looking up would make it all too real.

I felt something shift in my chest as I watched them leave. There was something there, something in their faces I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

The day dragged on. People slowly trickled away, leaving me standing alone, shovel still in my hands. I couldn’t shake the image of them three retreating into the shadows. Something in their faces... I couldn’t let it go.

Some time passed. I don’t remember much—just the feeling of heaviness pressing down on me. Everything around me seemed muted, like the world had been drained of color.

Eventually, I found myself walking through the narrow streets that led away from the cemetery, the shovel still in my grip. That’s when I saw them again—Ken, Jambo, and Aipek, walking ahead of me. They didn’t see me at first, but as I got closer, they stopped, their steps faltering. I got closer, the air between us thickened with tension. My grip on the shovel tightened, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down harder with each step. They froze as I caught up with them.

“Khan,” Ken muttered, his voice barely a whisper. The fear in his eyes was unmistakable. Jambo, always the one trying to mediate, stepped forward, his rounded face glistening with sweat.

“Hey, man, let’s just talk. There’s no need for this,” Jambo said, his deep voice shaky. He raised his hands, trying to block my path, but I wasn’t about to stop.

“What do you know?” I growled, pushing Jambo aside. He stumbled, his big frame crashing into the wall. I didn’t care. This wasn’t about him. “Tell me what happened, Ken. What did you three do?”

Ken swallowed hard, backing up as I closed the distance between us. He tried to smile, that nervous grin twitching at the corners of his mouth, but there was nothing behind it—just fear. “Khan, listen—Yerke, he... it wasn’t what you think. We didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Didn’t mean for what?” I barked, stepping even closer, the shovel heavy in my hand.

Before Ken could answer, Jambo, still slumped against the wall, started to cry. Big, ugly sobs. His hands covered his face, his whole body shaking like a child caught doing something wrong. “We didn’t mean to hurt him!” he blurted out, his voice cracking. “We didn’t mean to... We assaulted him, Khan! It got out of control!”

I froze for a second, the words slamming into me like a punch. Assaulted him? My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. Everything clicked into place—the message, Yerke’s behavior, his death.

Ken took a step back, panic flashing across his face. But it was too late. Rage boiled over inside me. I swung the shovel at him, striking him in the side. He fell hard, gasping for breath as he hit the ground.

I didn’t stop. The anger, the grief—it all poured out as I raised the shovel again, this time bringing it down with full force.

Jambo, still sobbing, didn’t move to stop me. He sat there, crying, his face twisted in fear and regret. Aipek, frozen in shock, stood a few feet away, staring at the ground like it would save him from everything happening around us.

As I raised the shovel for another blow, Aipek suddenly lunged forward, throwing himself over Ken’s body. “Stop!” he screamed, his voice breaking as he shielded Ken with his own body. “Please, stop! He’s dead! He’s already dead!”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer, or better say the shovel, which I was holding. (Pun intended)Dead? No... no, I didn’t mean to—

The shovel slipped from my hands, clattering to the ground. I staggered back, my mind spinning. He’s dead? I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t mean for it to go this far.

Aipek was sobbing now, cradling Ken’s limp body, his voice barely audible through the tears. “He’s dead, Khan... you killed him.”

I stumbled back, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “No... no, I didn’t mean to... I didn’t...”

My hands were trembling. I could still feel the weight of the shovel, the impact of each blow, and now... Ken was gone. I felt the walls closing in, the world spinning faster and faster.

“I’m not going to prison,” I muttered, my voice shaky. “I’m not... I can’t go to prison.”

Without thinking, I turned and ran. My mind was blank except for one thought: I had to get away. The streets blurred as I sprinted, the panic drowning out everything else. I ran faster, my heart pounding in my chest, the sound of my own breathing roaring in my ears.

And then—bam.

The headlights. The deafening screech of brakes. The truck slammed into me, and everything went black.