Mako sat on the worn carpet of his tiny, dilapidated apartment, the air thick with the scent of age and neglect. The apartment was a small, cramped space, a far cry from the home it once was. The walls were stained, patches of peeling paint flaking off like old skin. The light was dim, barely enough to illuminate the sad, faded surroundings. A single lamp, its shade chipped and yellowed, sat precariously on a creaking wooden stool, struggling to offer warmth in the otherwise cold, empty room.

The furniture—if it could even be called that—was nothing more than an old, sagging sofa, its fabric frayed, its cushions deflated from years of use. It had long ago ceased to resemble anything resembling comfort. Beside it was a stool, its legs uneven and creaking with every shift, almost as if it too were exhausted by the weight of the years. The floor was covered in a thin, cheap carpet, its fibers worn down from the constant shuffle of bare feet. It had several holes in it, some small, others large enough to reveal the wooden boards beneath.

The apartment was like an old memory—faded, broken, and fading more each day. There was nothing here that spoke of life, no warmth, no joy, just the silent echo of a family long gone.

On the walls, there were two framed pictures, the only trace of brightness in the room. The first was a picture of a happy family—a man and woman, their faces radiant with love, surrounded by their three children, all smiling brightly. Their smiles seemed to belong to a time before everything had fallen apart, a time when life had been simpler. The second photo was of the same parents, younger, their love still fresh and new, captured in a moment of youthful promise. It was an old photo, one that seemed to belong to another life entirely. Mako stared at them for a moment, the faces of his parents staring back at him with their warm, knowing smiles. They had been taken too soon. Their death, a year ago, had shattered the family completely.

His parents, and his brother, too. His brother, the third child in the picture, the one whose absence Mako felt most keenly. It was a tragedy so complete, so final, that Mako sometimes wondered if the pain would ever go away. He was left with nothing but memories and a sister who, despite all odds, remained his only tether to the world that once was.

Across from him sat Mei, his younger sister, the last piece of the puzzle. She was barely sixteen, but she had grown up too fast, forced to carry burdens far heavier than anyone her age should have to bear. She had finished her meal and stood up, stretching her arms with a contented sigh, before heading to the kitchen to wash her bowl. Her movement was fluid, effortless, but even in her small moments of peace, Mako could see the weight of their circumstances hanging over her like a shadow.

It had been over a year since the accident, the one that took their parents and their brother. Mako had tried to carry on, tried to hold the pieces of their broken lives together, but it was becoming increasingly harder to do so. He had dropped out of school, his dreams slipping away with every missed opportunity, and had been forced to take menial jobs—jobs that barely paid enough to feed them, let alone give them any semblance of stability. He couldn't afford to give Mei the life she deserved, the life their parents had promised her. And now, it felt like they were slowly slipping into oblivion, with no way out.

Their landlord, Mr. Orji, had been a constant reminder of their failure. He was the only person in the building who treated them with anything less than contempt. He was always rude, always demanding, and never willing to offer a kind word. Mako had grown used to it. After all, they didn't pay him on time, and they lived in his shoddiest apartment. But what hurt the most was that Mr. Orji never treated the other tenants like this. They were the only ones who faced his cruelty. The others had homes that were much nicer, and they paid their rent without delay. Mako and Mei, however, were the exception—the ones who were always late, always struggling.

Mako let out a long, heavy sigh, pushing the bowl away from him. He glanced at Mei as she rinsed her bowl in the kitchen, her face calm, her back turned to him. He knew she was pretending that everything was fine, pretending they weren't hanging on by the thinnest thread. She always tried to stay positive, always tried to be the one to lift him up when he faltered. But today, he could feel the weight of it all pressing in on him. He didn't have much hope left, not for the future, and not for anything beyond just getting through the next day.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. It was sharp, forceful, and unmistakable. Mako's heart sank into his stomach. He didn't need to hear the voice to know who it was. Mr. Orji. Only he would knock like that—angry, impatient, and full of malice.

Mei's voice broke the stillness. "I'll get it!" she called out, her tone too bright, too cheerful. But Mako could hear the nervous edge in her voice. He didn't move. There was no need. He knew what was coming.

Mei opened the door just a crack, her face lighting up for a split second before her expression fell. She stood there, frozen, staring at Mr. Orji for a moment before she stepped aside, letting him in with a resigned sigh.

"Come in, Mr. Orji," she said quietly.

Mako stood up slowly, his body tense. He didn't need to hear the words to know this wasn't going to end well. Mr. Orji stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room as if it were beneath him. His face was a mask of irritation, his lips tight, his eyes hard.

"How soon can you move out of here?" Mr. Orji asked, his voice cold and clipped.

Mako blinked, momentarily stunned. "Move out?" he repeated, confusion and disbelief lacing his words.

"Yes," Mr. Orji snapped, his tone sharper now. "How soon?"

Mako swallowed, his mind racing. "But… the rent isn't due until next month. I'll have the money by then. I swear."

"I don't want your money," Mr. Orji interrupted. "I want you gone. Now."

"Please, sir, what have we done wrong?" Mei's voice trembled, desperation creeping in. "We've never caused any trouble. We've always paid when we could."

Mr. Orji let out a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing. "Is there anything you haven't done wrong?" he sneered. "This place is the worst in the building. And somehow, you've made it even worse. You don't pay on time, you make it harder than it needs to be. You make my job harder. I'm done."

He wiped his brow as though the effort of speaking to them was exhausting. "Enough is enough," he said. "You're out. Now."

Mako felt his stomach twist into knots. This was it. There was no way out. "Please, Mr. Orji," he began, his voice shaking. "We can't just leave. We don't have anywhere else to go."

Mr. Orji didn't even look at him. "I've rented the place out to someone else," he said coldly. "They're coming in three days, so you need to be gone before then. And I'm going to cleanse this place of your… poverty aura."

Mako's breath caught in his throat. "I'm not leaving," he said, his voice steady despite the panic rising inside him. "The rent isn't due until next month, and I'm going to stay until then."

Mr. Orji chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "I thought you'd be difficult."

Turning to the door, he called out, "Bu! Come in with your boys."

Moments later, three large men entered the apartment, their footsteps heavy and deliberate. Mako's heart pounded in his chest. He knew what was coming, and it wasn't good. These men were not here to negotiate. They were here to enforce Mr. Orji's will.

"This is Bu," Mr. Orji said with a smirk. "He and his boys will be helping you pack."

With that, he turned and walked out, his laughter echoing as the door slammed shut behind him.

The men didn't waste any time. They started picking up everything they could, throwing Mako and Mei's few belongings out onto the porch without a second glance. Mako tried to protest, to stop them, but his words fell on deaf ears. They weren't listening.

Mei, unable to bear the sight, buried her face in her hands, her sobs muffled by the sound of furniture being tossed out. Mako stood there, frozen, his heart sinking lower with every item removed from the apartment. Their home—the only place they had left—was being stripped away piece by piece.

He watched helplessly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a suffocating cloud. Where would they go? The question echoed in his mind, unanswered, as the apartment grew emptier, more barren.

Mei's sobs grew louder. She had no more tears to shed, but they kept coming, a torrent of grief she couldn't hold back any longer.

Mako stared at the empty room, at the bare walls, and realized he had no idea where to turn next.

Where will we go? He asked himself quietly.

It was a seemingly simple question, the tragedy was that there was no simple answer to the question.