When Egemed woke up, that morning, he hadn't thought about Jerelr at all. Part of him expected that he, like everyone else who came and went in his life, would eventually leave, fade away, and disappear into memory.
But then, his phone buzzed. He reached for it out of habit—and there it was. A message from Jerelr.
"Good morning, Brother Ege! Are you awake? I hope you slept well."
Egemed blinked at the screen, a small smile tugging at his lips. Somehow, seeing those words made the morning feel warmer, the sunlight through his window a little brighter. Jerelr hadn't forgotten him—not even for a moment.
He typed back slowly, savoring each word:
"Good morning, Jerelr. Yes, I slept well. Thank you for asking."
Almost instantly, another message arrived:
"What about your cold?"
Egemed chuckled softly. "I'm fine now, after taking medicine yesterday."
"Good, good," came Jerelr's response.
Curiosity nudged Egemed. "Who will come to pick you up?"
There was no reply this time.
Later, as Egemed prepared to step out, he called to his mother.
"Good morning, Mother! I'll be going out today."
His mother's eyes lit up. Seeing Egemed venturing outside again brought her genuine happiness.
"Did I hear that right?" she asked, smiling.
"Yes, Mother. I'll be going out today. What would you like me to buy? Fruits, bread, eggs?"
"Buy whatever you like, dear. Just don't come home too late," she replied.
"Okay."
As Egemed strode along the path to the park, the morning air was crisp, brushing lightly against his face. The sun casting soft golden light across the streets and trees. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, more out of habit than cold, and adjusted his hat.
Egemed's mind, however, was partly with Jerelr. He wondered why Jerelr hadn't responded to his last question. Egemed rarely used his phone, yet this time he found himself checking every hour, half-expecting a message. He reminded himself, let it be; everyone is different. But he couldn't ignore how Jerelr had spoken to him, the care in his words, the earnestness of his wish to be friends. It all felt… serious. Meaningful.
Impulsively, he decided to visit the hospital park again. Perhaps he might see Jerelr before he left. With determination, he left home.
Before entering the park gate, Egemed paused. A flicker of awkwardness passed through him. He couldn't believe he was coming all the way, wanting to see Jerelr again without telling him. And what if Jerelr wasn't there? Shaking off the doubt, he stepped forward. Whatever happens, happens.
—
Egemed went straight to the bench where they had sat the day before. To his surprise, Jerelr was already there, sitting quietly, wearing an olive-green waistcoat, a gentle smile on his face.
Egemed removed his hat and returned the smile.
"I knew you'd come," Jerelr said.
Egemed sat beside him, smiling awkwardly. "Why didn't you reply to my message?"
"My mom took my phone to call my dad in a hurry," Jerelr explained. "She left me with a word: 'I'll come pick you up at three. Your dad needs me urgently.'"
"Oh… it's okay," Egemed said softly. "I came hoping to see you before you leave. I didn't expect you'd already be here."
Jerelr rose carefully, testing his leg without his stick. "See, I'm getting better now," he said with a smile.
Egemed reached out gently. "Sit. Don't walk—it might hurt again. You need another two or three days of rest."
Jerelr chuckled. "Ahh! Brother Ege is very caring."
"No, I'm not," Egemed replied, blushing slightly.
They continued talking as if time didn't exist.
"Brother Ege, how old are you?" Jerelr asked.
"I'm twenty-three. I'll be twenty-four next April."
"Oh… so we're close in age. I'm twenty-two, turning twenty-three next October. One year gap," Jerelr noted, smiling.
Egemed nodded. "So you just turned twenty-two last month, right?"
"Yes. Winter is coming soon."
"It's getting cold these days too," Egemed replied, noticing Jerelr glance at his gloved hands.
"I see you're already wearing gloves," Jerelr observed.
Egemed smiled faintly. "I just like to cover myself—hat, gloves, shoes… everything." He paused, careful not to reveal the real reason: the marks on his hands from past struggles, something he didn't want anyone to see.
"So… you don't like people complimenting your looks?" Jerelr asked gently.
"Yeah, that's part of it," Egemed admitted.
Jerelr felt a slight unease but said nothing. Egemed's calm, soft voice never wavered, yet something about the way he held his hands seemed unusual. He made a mental note but didn't ask—after all, they had only been friends for two days.
"You always speak to me like you've known me for a long time, Jerelr," Egemed said softly.
"I do? I was just saying what I see in you," Jerelr replied.
Egemed chuckled quietly, letting the conversation flow.
. . .
The day passed like a gentle dream. They strolled together in the park, Jerelr leaning on Egemed's arm for support, both laughing and talking as if they had known each other for years. When the clock struck three, Jerelr's mother arrived to pick him up.
They paused at a small street stall for tea, savoring the quiet moment before departure.
"There you are! I've been looking for you inside," Jerelr's mother said, slightly out of breath.
"Oh, sorry, Mother," Jerelr said quickly. "Brother Egemed brought me here for tea before I leave."
Egemed rose and bowed politely. "Good afternoon, Mother. I'm Egemed Mychen, Jerelr's friend."
Jerelr's mother smiled warmly. "Ah… are you the one Jerelr told me about? You look so young, handsome, and innocent."
"Thank you," Egemed replied, bowing slightly.
"Have a seat, Mother. Have some tea with us. I hope you don't mind this small street stall," he added.
"Not at all," Jerelr's Mother said softly.
They talked for a while, sharing tea and laughter. Before parting ways, Jerelr's mother invited Egemed to visit them on Christmas, and he gladly accepted. Jerelr promised he would come to pick him up that day.
. . .
Three weeks later, Egemed's life began to feel lighter. The hours that once dragged with sorrow now passed quickly. He no longer had time to dwell on his old pain, because every morning, a message from Jerelr would appear:
"How are you today? Did you have breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? How is your day? Anything troubling you? I'm here if you need me."
The constant care made Egemed forget the darkness that had haunted him. Hours of chatting, sharing dreams, hobbies, favorite books, and even secrets built a bond neither of them had expected.
Though they hadn't met since Jerelr's discharge, their connection grew stronger every day. Egemed had invited Jerelr to his home, but he politely refused, still recovering from his fracture. Yet through messages, calls, and shared time online, it became clear: Jerelr valued him deeply. Their friendship was real, growing steadily, quietly, and profoundly.
Egemed realized something important: true friendship didn't require constant presence. It thrived in understanding, care, and shared hearts. And for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of belonging—something he had almost given up on.