Anir sat alone in the corner of a quiet cafe, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. He spent most of his days here, escaping the cramped apartment he shared with his father in A.S.O.D., the bustling capital city of Miraco. Outside the cafe's fogged windows, the city unfolded in a mix of old and new — a place caught between history and change. A.S.O.D. was a place of concrete high-rises, bustling sidewalks, and streets that twisted like mazes, alive with the noise and pulse of millions.
Anir glanced around the cafe. It was the kind of place that few people noticed, tucked away from the main roads. He came here often, drawn to the calm, away from the constant movement outside. At twenty-one, he felt as if he were drifting through life. Jobs came and went, one after another, and nothing really fit. The days were starting to blend into each other, just like the city that surrounded him.
His father was his only real family. A quiet, distant man, he was someone Anir couldn't quite understand, though they shared the same small space. His father had always seemed to live in his own world, spending hours locked away in his study, scribbling into old notebooks. Those notebooks were one thing Anir had never questioned. He felt like he knew so little about his father's life, even though they lived together.
Just as he was taking another sip of coffee, his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with an unknown number. Anir hesitated, then answered.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Anir?" The voice on the other end was calm, professional.
"Yes, that's me," he replied, a slight edge of worry creeping into his voice.
"I'm calling from A.S.O.D. General Hospital," the voice continued. "There's been an accident. Your father was hit by a car and is currently in critical condition. We need you to come as soon as possible."
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and unreal. Anir's hand tightened around his phone, his heart racing. He stood up, barely noticing as his chair scraped against the floor. Without thinking, he grabbed his coat and rushed out of the cafe, weaving through the crowded sidewalks. The noise of the city faded into the background, replaced by the thudding of his heartbeat.
As he made his way to the hospital, memories of his father surfaced in his mind. The quiet man who always seemed burdened with secrets, the hours he spent in his study, the distant look in his eyes. He had always wanted to ask his father about those notebooks, but he had never found the words.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he arrived at the hospital. The bright, sterile lights felt cold and harsh as he was directed down a long hallway. Nurses and doctors moved around him, speaking in low voices as they attended to patients.
At last, he reached his father's room. Anir paused in the doorway, looking at the still figure on the bed. Machines beeped quietly, and his father lay pale and fragile, his breathing shallow. Anir moved closer, feeling a knot tighten in his chest. He could see his father struggling to open his eyes, as if he was fighting for just a moment more.
Anir leaned in, his face close to his father's. "Dad…" he whispered.
His father's eyes opened a little, and he managed a faint smile. With great effort, he whispered, "Anir… the diary. Check… my diary." His voice was barely audible, the words slipping out like a secret he had kept too long.
Before Anir could respond, his father's hand went limp, and the light in his eyes faded. The machines continued to beep, but it felt as though the room had gone completely still. His father was gone.
---
The next few days passed in a haze. The funeral was a blur of dark suits, hushed conversations, and the scent of incense lingering in the air. Anir's mind couldn't focus on much beyond the fact that his father, the only family he had left, was gone. People spoke of him with kind words, but Anir had always known that there was more to his father than anyone had ever shared. The man had carried a quiet weight, something hidden from everyone, even his own son.
After the funeral, as the last of the mourners left, Anir found himself standing in the small apartment they had shared. The walls, usually filled with the hum of his father's scribbling, felt empty now. Anir's footsteps echoed as he walked across the room, the dull thud of his shoes on the wooden floor the only sound.
He moved to his father's study, where the air was thick with the faint scent of old paper and ink. The bookshelves, once neatly organized, were now gathering dust, and the desk sat untouched. The notebooks. Anir had seen them many times before, stacked in neat piles, their contents a mystery to him.
His heart pounded as he approached the desk. His father's words echoed in his mind: "Check... my diary." He had never opened any of the notebooks before, but now, his fingers trembled as he reached for the first one. The leather cover was worn, the edges frayed from years of use. He opened it carefully, the sound of the pages turning filling the otherwise silent room.
The first few pages were filled with his father's neat handwriting, detailing everyday things—weather reports, work notes, minor events. But as he turned more pages, things began to change. The writing became erratic, almost frantic. Words that didn't make sense, sketches of symbols Anir didn't recognize, and phrases that seemed too cryptic to understand. His breath caught in his throat when he reached the last entry, the handwriting shaky, as if written in a hurry.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from the page, his pulse quickening.
Anir slowly leaned back, the diary still in his hands, his mind racing to process the words that had just unlocked a door he had never known existed. His throat tightened as the weight of what he had just read sank in. He blinked, trying to make sense of it all.
Finally, he whispered to no one in particular, barely able to comprehend what he had just uncovered.
"This…"
The weight of his father's final words—and what they meant for his future—crushed him in that moment.