(POV: Leo)
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There's a kind of peace that comes after everyone else has tired themselves out. It's not the kind of silence that's awkward, or even restful—it's more like… the quiet that settles after a thunderstorm. You can still feel the static in the air, even though everything looks calm.
That's where we were.
The café was quieter today. No shouting about my latest weird incident, no Ava pretending to strangle Ethan over a playlist disagreement, no Sophia slapping the table in dramatic disbelief. Just the four of us, sitting together, but finally... quiet.
I liked it like this. Everyone was still talking, just not with their mouths. Ethan's knee bounced with leftover energy, probably trying to remember the name of that song stuck in his head. Ava was sketching something in the corner of her notebook, pretending it wasn't a half-done character design for her fantasy novel. Sophia was sipping her iced chocolate, lazily swiping through her phone like the world had been paused mid-scroll.
And me?
I was listening.
Not to their voices, but to the rhythm of their presence. It's something I've come to appreciate lately. How some people fill a space with energy, and some people make that same space feel like home.
The others talk a lot. I don't. But that doesn't mean I'm not participating. I just... take the scenic route to say things. Or sometimes, I just don't say them at all. Not everything needs to be said out loud.
Still, sometimes they manage to get something out of me. Today's catalyst?
An old photo. Not dramatically old or anything though.
Sophia had been showing us her camera roll. Mostly food pics, travel snaps, a couple of blurry selfies that Ethan kept trying to zoom in on just to make fun of. In the process she was also comparing with the shots others (i.e. us ) took. Naturally my phone also ended up there, cause apparently I take the best shots. Then she swiped one more time — and paused.
"Leo?" she blinked. "Is that… you?"
I leaned slightly to glance at the screen.
Ah. That one.
Me, standing on a bridge, just before dawn. City lights in the background, mist curling low over the water. I was looking away from the camera, holding a disposable cup of coffee like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to the world.
She turned the phone around. "This looks like the poster for an indie film. Why do you look like a philosophical ghost?"
Ethan leaned over. "Wait, when was this?"
"A year ago," I said simply.
Ava narrowed her eyes. "Where?"
"Kyoto."
The three of them collectively short-circuited.
"You went to JAPAN?!" Sophia nearly spilled her drink.
I nodded.
"When?!" Ava asked.
"Last winter break."
Ethan stared at me like I'd just confessed to living a double life. "YOU MEAN WHEN WE ALL THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST GROUNDED FOR BAD WIFI SIGNALS?!"
I sipped my coffee.
"No, I just didn't tell anyone."
Sophia looked betrayed. "So you vanished for a week and didn't think to mention it?!"
I shrugged. "You didn't ask."
Ava narrowed her eyes. "That's not how normal friendships work, Leo."
"You didn't notice I was gone."
"…That's beside the point."
I smiled faintly.
They demanded the story, of course. And I told them—slowly, not because I was hiding anything, but because it was more interesting to see how they reacted.
How I'd booked the tickets last-minute. How I spent most of the trip wandering backstreets with a camera I barely knew how to use. How I ended up in a tiny bookstore after getting lost and spent three hours there just because it smelled like cedarwood and rain.
"How do bookstores even smell like that?" Ava asked.
"They just do," I replied.
"How poetic of you," Sophia muttered, then added, "And mildly suspicious."
"Did you talk to anyone?" Ethan asked.
"Barely. Some lady taught me how to fold a crane."
"With words?"
"No. She just folded one slowly, and I followed."
"That's either wholesome or the start of a spy thriller," he said.
"Maybe both," I said.
They kept asking. About the vending machine I sat by at 2 a.m. About the fox that walked across the road like it owned the city, and didn't even look surprised to see a lost foreigner staring at it. About the night I couldn't sleep and just watched the city lights flicker like fireflies.
"You really are a Studio Ghibli protagonist," Ethan whispered, again.
"Are you secretly a poet?" Ava asked. "Because that entire story felt like a haiku wrapped in mystery."
Sophia just looked mildly emotional. "Leo, that's the most beautiful story you've ever told and also I want to punch you for not sharing it earlier."
I smiled again, quieter this time. "Some things aren't ready to be told until after they've finished breathing."
That earned me a cushion thrown at my face.
"Stop being cryptic and beautiful! It's not fair!" Sophia cried.
I caught the cushion. "It's not on purpose."
But maybe, a little, it was.
Because the truth is—some stories feel like secrets you make with the world. Like tiny pacts between you and the moment. You don't talk about them right away, because once you do, it changes what they were.
They stop being yours.
So I waited. Until now.
And now, as I watched the three of them argue over who would plan our next trip, all overly competitive and chaotic as usual, I realized something simple.
They were home. In the loud, frantic, overdramatic, tea-spilling, joke-flinging kind of way.
"Wait," Ethan suddenly said. "Do you have more photos from that trip?"
I reached into my phone, scrolled a little, and showed them a blurry shot of a ramen bowl.
"…That's it?" Sophia blinked.
"It was good ramen."
"You were in Kyoto, and this is the photo you saved?"
"Food's important."
"I swear," Ava said. "One day we'll all go together, and I'll document every single moment just to balance this nonsense."
"You're assuming he'll tell us before we board," Ethan muttered.
"Next time," I said.
They looked up.
"I'll tell you," I added.
And I meant it.
Maybe it wasn't that I didn't want to share. Maybe I just didn't know how, until they made it feel like the kind of thing worth sharing.
When Ava caught my eye and smiled, when Ethan nudged me to pick a dessert even though I wasn't really hungry, and when Sophia absentmindedly rested her head on my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world—
I knew they already understood.
Even if I never said a word.
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End of Chapter 30.