That evening, Noah rushed home, his heart pounding with the urgency of the conversation he knew he needed to have. He fumbled with his keys, swinging the door open with a mix of hope and fear, only to freeze in place.
Sitting at the dinner table were two unfamiliar faces—an older man with a kind smile and a woman with a stern, almost distant expression. Oliver sat stiffly beside them, his posture tense, like a spring wound too tight. Noah's eyes widened in surprise, and he felt suddenly out of place.
The man turned toward him, offering a warm smile that contrasted sharply with the icy atmosphere. "You must be Noah, right? I've heard a lot about you," he said in a friendly tone.
Noah, taken aback, managed a small nod. "Yes, that's me. Nice to meet you."
Oliver's expression flickered with something Noah couldn't quite read—surprise, embarrassment, maybe both. Before anyone could say more, Oliver suddenly stood up from his chair. "Thank you for the dinner," he mumbled, his voice hurried as he moved to leave the room.
"Oliver," his mother's voice cut through the tension like a blade. She didn't need to raise it; the quiet authority in her tone was enough to make everyone stop. "Your father and Noah can stay here. You and I need to talk."
The air seemed to tighten as Oliver nodded, unable to refuse. He glanced at Noah briefly, a silent apology in his eyes, before following his mother out into the backyard.
Noah watched them go, his mind racing. He sat down beside Oliver's father, who offered a sympathetic smile but didn't say much, sensing the weight of the moment. The sound of their footsteps faded as the two disappeared into the soft glow of the backyard lights.
Oliver sat beside his mother on a bench near the pool, the water reflecting a dim light across their faces. The quiet night air made the tension between them almost unbearable. His mother's expression was unreadable, her gaze focused on the rippling water.
"So," she began, her voice cool but not unkind, "tell me about school, Oliver. And those bags by your door… what's going on?"
Oliver felt his throat tighten, the words catching there. He had dreaded this conversation for so long, and now that it was here, the reality felt heavier than he expected. A few tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them.
"I… I'm going to study in Bangkok," Oliver said, his voice trembling. "I got accepted to a fine arts program. I'm leaving right after graduation."
His mother's gaze didn't waver, but there was no warmth in her eyes. She nodded slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line, the disappointment clear in her posture. Oliver felt a pang of guilt. He had always known his dream wouldn't be easy for her to accept.
After what felt like an eternity, she reached out and grabbed his hand, her grip surprisingly firm. "Is this really what you want?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost tender. "I need to know if this is your dream, or if you're just running from something."
Oliver nodded, more certain than he had ever been. "Yes, Mom. This is what I've always wanted. I want to be a world-famous artist. I know it won't be easy, but it's what I love. It's my dream."
She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face as if trying to find any hint of doubt. Then, finally, she sighed and nodded, her expression softening for the first time that evening. "Study well," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And make sure you won't regret it. I'll talk to your father later on. But for now… follow your path."
Oliver felt the weight lift from his shoulders, the tension that had been suffocating him for so long dissipating in an instant. His mother's approval—however tentative—meant more than he had realized.
In a burst of emotion, Oliver leaned in and wrapped his arms around his mother. She hesitated for a moment but then returned the hug, holding him tightly. They both shed quiet tears, the cold distance between them melting for the first time in years.
As they sat there, the pool reflecting the dim light across their tear-streaked faces, Oliver felt something he hadn't felt in a long time—a connection with his mother. A warmth, fragile but real, like the first flicker of a flame in the dark.
For a moment, it was just them. A mother and son, sharing an understanding they had both longed for but never quite found.
It wasn't perfect, but it was a beginning.