The days since Daniel's return home flew by, each one carrying a confusing collaboration between change and stagnation. The oddities of his body, and the challenges of adjusting to a life that no longer felt like his own weighed heavily on him.
What was meant to be his pursuit of the truth about his accident had fallen by the wayside, drowned out by the constant, overwhelming distractions of simply existing.
This Thursday, the 23rd of Soltveir, was no different. Daniel sat in the living room, his hands folded on his lap, his distant gaze fixed on the muted television. His younger brother, Maxuel, stood a few feet away, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke with their father.
Richard's voice was faint, but Daniel's heightened senses caught every word.
"Make sure Daniel isn't alone, Max. If he goes out, stay with him. Don't let him do anything strenuous, and keep an eye out for anything… unusual."
"Yes, Dad," Maxuel replied. "I've got it."
"Keep us updated on his condition. Your mother and I need to know if anything changes."
"Got it, Dad," Maxuel repeated, this time more impatiently.
The call ended with a soft chime, and Maxuel let out a frustrated sigh, tossing his phone onto the sofa. Daniel, meanwhile, turned his attention to the television, though he wasn't watching it.
Today, he'd had his first real conversation with his father since leaving the hospital. Throughout his time as a patient, their talks had been perfunctory—his father asking a few questions about his condition before transferring the line to a doctor or nurse.
This evening had been different.
Richard had started the call with an apology, explaining that he hadn't been able to visit due to unexpected work demands. Though Daniel had assured him it was fine, the words rang hollow even in his own ears.
Daniel couldn't shake off the whisper of abandonment. What kind of work could have been more important than his life hanging in the balance?
The absence of his parents was a bitter pill to swallow, one made worse by the fact that his mother… she hadn't spoken to him even once.
Not once.
It was as though she didn't want to speak to him.
Daniel bit his lip.
[Even they do not want me, huh?] The other voice whispered, cold and solemn.
A warm hand on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts. Daniel looked up to see Mrs. Aalia standing over him, her gentle smile radiating kindness.
"Your parents love you deeply, Daniel," she said softly, as though she could see the storm brewing inside him. "They're just busy, that's all. I'm sure they want nothing more than to be here with you, helping you recover."
Daniel clung to her words like a lifeline, using them to anchor himself against the tide of doubt threatening to overwhelm him.
"Thank you," he whispered, managing a weak smile.
Aalia's eyes softened, but then her brow furrowed slightly. She reached out, pinching a lock of his titian-colored hair between her fingers.
"When did this grow so long?" she asked, her tone more amused than concerned.
Daniel blinked, his hand instinctively reaching up to run through the strands falling over his face. Before he could reply, Aalia turned to Maxuel:
"Max, bring me the hairdressing kit."
Maxuel groaned theatrically but saluted with a smirk. "Yes, ma'am!"
He dashed off, and Aalia disappeared momentarily to fetch a stool. In no time, Maxuel had returned with a pair of scissors, a comb, and a cape, while Aalia set up a makeshift barbershop in the corner of the living room.
"Sit here," she instructed, patting the stool.
Daniel obeyed, suppressing a chuckle as Maxuel draped the cape over him with exaggerated flair.
~~~
As Aalia worked her fingers through his hair, Daniel let himself relax, enjoying the familiar sensation. She had been the one to style his hair as a child, and her practiced hands hadn't lost their touch.
"You have such beautiful hair, my boy," she said fondly as she snipped away at the overgrown strands.
Aalia continued her work while Daniel's ears tuned into the sound of the television. Maxuel was flipping through channels, muttering to himself until he landed on a news program.
On-screen, a presenter sat opposite two men whose tense expressions hinted at the gravity of their discussion.
"Let's turn to the ongoing crisis in Panwei," the presenter began. The news presenter's voice was grave as she addressed the men. "Tensions between Seichi and North Parja continue to rise. The military posturing from both sides has led to widespread concern that a full-scale war may be imminent. Gentlemen, what's your take on this escalating situation?"
The first man, a Seichese political analyst, adjusted his glasses. "The so-called 'terrorist attacks' in Parja were not state-sponsored. Seichi has no interest in war. However, Parja's provocations and baseless accusations are making diplomacy impossible."
The second man, a North Parjan diplomat, scoffed. "Baseless accusations? The evidence is overwhelming. Your government has been funding these militant groups for years, and now they've escalated to outright violence against innocent Parjan citizens."
"Let's not forget the ethnic tensions your government has allowed to fester," the analyst countered. "Seichese citizens in Parja have faced systemic discrimination and violence for decades."
The presenter interjected, her tone sharp. "But does that justify the recent clashes? Dozens of lives have been lost, and the threat of military retaliation looms large. What would either side hope to gain from war?"
The men began talking over each other, their voices rising as the debate grew more heated.
Maxuel frowned, shaking his head. "I don't get it. They say terrorists are behind the attacks, but the fact that Seichi is threatening military action if Parja retaliates… something else is obviously going on."
Mrs. Aalia hummed thoughtfully as she snipped at Daniel's hair. "Is it really an act of terrorism if the whole nation supports it?"
"Right?" Maxuel agreed. "It's like Seichi wants to go to war."
Daniel listened quietly, the conversation swirling around him. He had no idea what events had led to this situation, but a nagging feeling settled in his chest.
A war…
The word echoed in his mind, carrying with it a weight he couldn't quite explain.