Alvano walked slowly out of the hospital after finishing dinner with Joshua. His steps were heavy, his body weak even though his stomach was no longer empty. His gaze was blank, yet bit by bit, awareness of reality began to creep back into his mind. Joshua, who had been following behind him, quickly took out his phone and called his personal driver to come to the hospital lobby.
It didn't take long before a luxurious black car stopped right in front of them. Joshua opened the door for Alvano, gesturing for him to get in first. With the last of his strength, Alvano sat in the back seat, leaned against it, and took a deep breath. Within minutes, his body slowly slumped toward the window, his eyes closed, and he finally fell fast asleep.
Joshua stared at him for a moment, then instructed the driver to drive slowly. "Don't rush. Let him sleep a bit. He needs rest," he said softly yet firmly.
The car moved slowly under the faint glow of the streetlights. Joshua pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. It had been vibrating for a while, but he had ignored it—his focus solely on Alvano's condition.
Now, with a little time to spare, he opened the incoming message. His once calm expression slowly changed. His eyes narrowed sharply, his jaw tightened. There was something in that message that shifted his mood entirely.
He stared coldly at the screen. His fingers gripped the phone tighter. A message—clearly unpleasant—had just arrived. Whether it was bad news or something related to tonight's events, Joshua didn't know yet. He didn't react further; he just gazed out the window, letting his thoughts spin in silence as the car continued its way toward Alvano's house.
The trip, taken at a slower speed, took far longer than usual. About an hour and a half had passed since they left the hospital. Yet, not a single complaint was heard. The atmosphere inside the car was peaceful and quiet. Alvano slept soundly, his body leaning slightly to the side, while Joshua's head slowly drooped until he too drifted off to sleep. Unconsciously, their heads came to rest against each other—supporting one another in that calm, unintended position, as if to affirm that in exhaustion and sorrow, they still had each other.
The driver, who drove with steady calm, occasionally glanced at the rearview mirror, seeing the two teenagers fast asleep in the back seat. A faint smile appeared on his face. He knew well that Joshua rarely felt comfortable around others. In daily life, Joshua always appeared mature, independent, and a bit closed off—especially regarding friendships. But it was different with Alvano. The driver could tell that Joshua saw him as more than just a friend; he was someone Joshua truly trusted.
When the fuel began to run low, the driver decided to stop for a moment at a gas station. He got out of the car, filled the tank, and lit a cigarette. In silence, he looked up at the sky, still draped with lingering clouds. The scent of damp earth after rain filled the air, carrying a faint calmness. He took a deep breath, exhaled the smoke slowly, and reflected on how fast time had passed. Joshua, who once was just a small boy, had now grown into a responsible young man. And now, he brought along a friend who seemed to mean a great deal to him.
After finishing, the driver returned to the car and resumed driving. The car glided gently along the damp road that was starting to dry. Outside, the drizzle had completely stopped, and the dark clouds that once loomed heavily were now slowly dispersing. The moonlight began to pierce through the clearing sky, giving the impression that the storm had passed—and perhaps, that hope for tomorrow was quietly beginning to return.
A few minutes before the car reached Alvano's house, Joshua slowly opened his eyes. He rubbed his temple, which throbbed slightly from sleeping in an awkward position. Realizing they were almost there, he turned to look at Alvano, still asleep beside him. Gently, Joshua patted his friend's shoulder.
"Alvano… we're almost there," he said softly.
Alvano blinked, his eyelids heavy, his vision still blurry with sleep. He let out a long sigh before murmuring hoarsely, "We… we've arrived, huh?"
"Yeah. Almost," Joshua replied with a faint smile.
The car finally stopped in front of Alvano's warm, modest home. The rain had stopped completely, leaving only the earthy scent of damp soil and the cold night air. Alvano stepped out wearily, picked up his bag, and stood for a moment, gazing at his quiet home under the dim glow of night.
"Thank you… Joshua," Alvano said, bowing his head slightly.
Joshua nodded. "Get some rest. We'll visit Theo again tomorrow."
"Yeah…"
The car drove off, carrying Joshua home, while Alvano slowly walked inside. The clock showed 10:30 p.m. Most of the house lights were already off. Only the faint glow from the living room remained, giving a sense of calm in the quiet night.
As he opened the door, the house was silent. No sound—only the ticking of the wall clock broke the stillness. Alvano put down his bag, changed his shoes for house slippers, and walked toward the kitchen with quiet steps.
He saw the dining table neatly set. On it sat a pot of warm soup, its aroma still faintly filling the air. Beside it lay a small note written in his grandfather's familiar handwriting.
"If you come home late, eat first before going to bed. The soup's still warm, just heat it up."
Alvano held the note with trembling hands. He stood still for a moment, staring at the simple handwriting with an empty yet emotional gaze. He then opened the pot and saw his and Theo's favorite soup—the same one they used to eat together after school, laughing freely at this very table.
Without a word, Alvano turned on the stove. He reheated the soup slowly, watching the steam rise from its surface. His face lowered, and before he knew it, tears began to fall one by one, sliding down his cheeks.
He sat at the dining table, staring at the gently boiling soup. Every waft of its aroma, every curl of steam, reminded him of the times he shared with Theo—his laughter, his silly jokes as they ate this same meal. Every memory spun painfully in his mind.
Silently, Alvano wept. He spooned the soup slowly, eating between falling tears. It tasted the same, yet there was an emptiness no flavor could fill.
Only memories—and the quiet prayer in his heart—kept him company that lonely night.