"Remember," his father said while tightening his tie,
"Love is choosing their tomorrow over your own forever."
Eugene had nodded back then.
He didn't understand it, not really. He just liked the way his father said things. As if every sentence came from somewhere deep and important. As if the world made sense if you listened carefully enough.
He woke up smiling.
For a moment, he thought he could hear plates clinking in the kitchen.
He ran barefoot across the cold floor, the tiles biting gently at his skin, and wrapped his arms around his mother. She smelled like soap and morning sunlight. Like something safe.
"Late again,huh?," she laughed, brushing his hair away from his forehead.
He buried his face against her back and refused to move.
His father pretended to cough dramatically from the dining table.
" The topper of the class, and still can't wake up on time haha."
They were both smiling.
Breakfast was loud. His mother always overfilled his plate. His father always reminded him to sit straight. They talked over each other. Small arguments that never lasted longer than a minute.
Love filled the room so completely that silence and sorrow had nowhere to sit.
Outside, the school bus honked once.
His mother adjusted his bag straps twice. His father placed a steady hand on his shoulder , not heavy, just firm enough to say "I'm here".
They stood at the door as he walked toward the bus.
He turned back once.
They were waving.
Still smiling.
As if they would be standing in the same place when he will return.
The bus doors folded shut.
The engine growled.
Eugene pressed his face against the window, leaving a faint foggy mark with his breath.
That's when he saw it.
A car.
Its was Ford F-150
Too fast.
Too careless.
Coming from the wrong direction.
Time didn't freeze like in movies.
It stretched.
His mother turned her head slightly. Confused.
His father didn't hesitate.
He ran.
Eugene remembers that part clearly - the way his father ran without thinking. Not heroic. Not dramatic. Just immediate.
A push.
His mother fell sideways.
Metal screamed.
Glass shattered.
The bus driver shouted something.
Eugene screamed too but the sound stayed trapped inside the bus, bouncing uselessly against windows.
He remembers seeing his father's shirt the same one he had been buttoning minutes ago.
He remembers the red spreading.
He remembers the bus turning the corner.
He never remembers the silence that followed.
He just knows the house was never loud again.
Eugene woke up gasping.
The ceiling above him didn't recognize him.
No smell of breakfast.
No clinking plates.
No footsteps.
Only the low hum of the fan and the faint sound of traffic far away.
He stared at the wall for a long time.
The dream never changes.
Not the car.
Not the push.
Not the way his father disappears into impact.
The only thing that changes is the feeling when he wakes up.
Some days it feels like grief.
Some days it feels like anger.
Today, it felt like nothing.
He turned his head slowly.
The other side of the room was empty, as always.
He sat up.
The bed creaked that was the loudest sound in the apartment.
Years passed after that morning.
His mother stopped smiling first.
Then she stopped talking.
She moved like someone underwater. Slow. Distant. Always tired. The house didn't echo anymore. It absorbed sound.
Eugene tried once when he was younger to talk about that day.
She didn't answer.
Her eyes would always drift somewhere else.
One evening, she packed a small bag.
No talking.
No explanation.
She touched his head gently the way she used to when he had a fever.
"Study well," she said.
That was it.
The door closed.
It didn't slam.
It didn't hesitate.
It just closed.
Eugene waited the entire night for it to open again.
It never did.
He swung his legs off the bed now.
The floor was cold again.
He stood and walked to the small mirror near the cupboard.
He studied his own reflection.
Sharp features. Calm eyes. Controlled expression.
People at school called him disciplined.
Teachers called him prodigy.
Neighbors called him quiet.
Nobody called him lonely.
He preferred it that way.
He brushed his hair back and adjusted his collar carefully.
Perfection was easier than emotion.
If he stayed first in class, nobody asked questions.
If he answered every problem correctly, nobody asked how he was sleeping.
If he didn't complain, nobody noticed there was no one waiting for him after school.
He packed his bag methodically.
Notebook.
Pen.
Water bottle.
He paused for a second before picking up his phone.
No messages.
There never were.
He slipped it into his pocket.
The apartment felt smaller in the mornings.
He locked the door and checked it twice.
There was no one inside to protect, but he locked it anyway.
Habit I'll call.
The bus stop was three minutes away.
Other students stood with their parents.
Some were arguing about unfinished homework.
Some were laughing.
Some were being reminded to eat properly.
Eugene stood slightly apart.
Not awkwardly but
Just... alone.
The bus arrived.
He stepped in.
Same seat near the window.
Same route.
Different life.
He didn't press his face against the glass anymore.
He just watched.
Shops opening.
People rushing.
A dog chasing something invisible.
The world continued normally.
It had continued normally the day after his father died too.
That used to make him angry.
Now it didn't.
School gates opened wide.
Noise, Energy and Chaos.
Eugene stepped into it like someone stepping into a role.
Back straight.
Eyes steady.
Expression unreadable.
He walked past clusters of students.
He heard his name once, someone talking about test scores.
He ignored it.
Inside the classroom, his desk was by the window.
Sunlight fell across it in the mornings.
He liked that.
He placed his bag down carefully.
The seat next to him remained empty for now.
He glanced briefly at the board, already calculating the day.
"Math test results today huh?" He said to himself.
He would come first. He knew.
He always did.
Not because he enjoyed it.
Because control was the only thing he had left.
The bell rang.
Students filled in.
Laughter, Footsteps and Chairs scraping.
Eugene folded his hands neatly on the desk.
He didn't think about the dream anymore.
He didn't think about the car.
He didn't think about the door closing.
He only thought about numbers.
Rank.
Order.
Precision.
And her.
It was easier to solve equations than people.
The teacher entered.
Papers in hand.
"Excellent performance this time," she began.
Eugene didn't look up immediately.
He already knew.
He waited for his name.
He always did.
Because if he was first...
Then at least in one place, he hadn't lost.
Outside the classroom window, the sky was clear. Too clear.
The kind of clear that makes you uneasy.
Eugene finally looked up.
Calm.
Prepared.
Unbreakable.
Or at least...
That's what everyone thought.
