Haru's lips parted, then closed, his gaze wavering as he took in the unfamiliar tenderness of the woman before him. His mother. In his memories, she had never touched him quite like this—gentle hands combing through his hair, fingers tracing along his arms, searching for any hidden bruises as if she could shield him from even the faintest hurt. Her touch, so warm and present, stirred something deep inside him, a foreign ache he couldn't explain. When he looked back at her, his throat tightened, the world blurring slightly at the edges.
"Haru, honey," she breathed, her hand resting gently against his cheek. "When I saw you fall, I nearly fainted." She laughed softly, a bit shaky, her eyes full of worry and relief. "You scared us half to death! Are you sure you're all right?"
Haru swallowed, nodding timidly. "S-Sorry," he whispered, the word slipping out without thought. He wanted to say more, but the words stuck somewhere in his chest.
But his mother's face only softened further, her eyes brimming with a warmth he could almost feel. "Oh, sweetheart, you didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to be sorry for." She cupped his face more fully, her voice barely a murmur. "But… is something else bothering you?"
The air seemed to hang in stillness, carrying the sweet scent of gardenias and salt from the ocean beyond the garden walls. Before them, the sprawling grounds stretched to the edge of the cliff, where vibrant wildflowers painted splashes of color against the rolling green hills. Beyond that, the sea stretched endlessly, its waves casting a soft murmur that echoed across the garden, wrapping them in a cocoon of peace.
Haru's gaze drifted to the horizon, to the place where the sky met the sea, and his thoughts wandered to that dream—a dream that felt more like a memory, of a life both familiar and foreign. He remembered the endless days of cold silence, the feeling of being small and invisible, with no one else to rely on.. In that life, he was always on guard, always getting hurt. No mother's touch, no father's gentle voice. The adults he grew up with were all so vicious and abusive, and not a single one extended their hand for help.
"I… I had a scary dream," he murmured, his small voice wavering. His fingers twisted in his lap, grasping at nothing. "It… it felt so real, like I was really there." He paused, glancing at his parents' faces, hesitant to go on. But his mother's hand gently squeezed his shoulder, encouraging him, and the words came spilling out, unbidden.
"In the dream, there was no one. Gili and I are alone. Everything felt so… cold. And there were people, but they… they didn't see us." His voice broke, and he looked down, afraid of the pain and confusion in his own words. "You weren't there. None of you were.You… you didn't exist." His voice grew quieter, as if saying it too loudly might make it true. "It was so… so scary."
A sob tore out of him, all the fear he'd bottled up crashing over him like the waves against the cliffside. The hot tears rolled down his cheeks, and he tried to stifle them, to push them back, but it was no use. His small body shook with the force of his cries, the terror he'd felt in that dark dream wrapping around him like a shadow he couldn't shake.
"Oh, Haru…" His mother gathered him into her arms, her embrace soft and unyielding, her hand running over his back in slow, comforting strokes. "It's all right, love, it's all right. We're here. We're real. We're not going anywhere."
His father joined them, encircling them both with his strong arms, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Haru's back. "You're safe with us, son," he murmured, his voice deep and steady, like the anchor he so desperately needed.
But Haru's sobs only grew louder, his tiny fingers clutching at their shirts as if they might vanish if he let go. The weight of it all was crushing him, pressing down on his chest until he could barely breathe, but his parents' voices were there, calm and unwavering, grounding him, wrapping him in a warmth he hadn't known he'd craved.
Then, a small, trembling whimper came from the doorway.
Gili stood there, wide-eyed, watching his brother break down in a way he'd never seen before. His lip quivered, and without a word, he stumbled forward, his golden eyes wet with tears. He sniffled, his small hands reaching out, and in an instant, Gili had joined them, clinging to Haru's side as if his presence alone could banish all the shadows.
"Oh no, Gili, not you too!" Their mother's voice wavered with a mixture of laughter and sympathy as she opened one arm, pulling Gili into the embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder, his little fists clinging to her blouse as he let out a series of heart-wrenching sobs.
"There, there, Gili," their father said, trying to stifle a chuckle. "It's all right, buddy. There's nothing to be scared of."
But Gili only sobbed louder, his cries mingling with Haru's, the two boys clinging to each other and their mother as if the world outside didn't exist. The weight of their shared fear and relief washed over them in waves, and they wept together, their tears flowing freely, binding them closer with every sob.
"Haru, Gili, please—breathe for me," their mother coaxed, her voice wobbling as she tried to keep from laughing. "One at a time, one at a time!" She stroked Haru's hair with one hand and rubbed Gili's back with the other, her voice a soothing hum as she rocked them gently.
Their father shot her a helpless look, lips twitching in amusement. "Maybe… I should grab a cookie for each of them? Or two?"
She snorted softly, her laughter finally breaking through. "At this rate, they're going to need the whole jar."
Finally, after what felt like forever, the sobs began to quiet, their cries softening to little sniffles and hiccups. Exhausted, Haru rested his head on his mother's shoulder, the weight of his fear gradually fading, leaving him with a sense of fragile peace he didn't quite understand.
In the quiet that followed, his father leaned down, his voice a gentle murmur. "No more scary dreams, okay? Just us. Just the four of us. For as long as you need."
Haru nodded weakly, a small, tired smile beginning to form as he let his eyes drift to the garden stretched out before them—the vibrant flowers and deep green bushes leading to the cliff's edge, where the sea sparkled under the sun, stretching endlessly toward the sky. It felt like the world was holding its breath, cradling him in a beautiful, fragile promise that he didn't have to be alone anymore.
And as he drifted into a light, peaceful sleep, cradled in his family's warmth, he held onto that promise, grounding himself in the safety of this new, precious reality.