Ronwa sat on the wooden chair, as the setting sun slowly descended behind the horizon, painting the sky with shades of gold and orange. She stared at the magnificent horizon, smiling, with her favorite book resting on her lap. She gently stroked it as if it were a treasure, then hugged it as though fearing it might be taken away from her.
Lucas sat next to her, floating above the seat with a calm smile, watching her with his familiar, sad eyes.
She whispered softly to him:
"What did he look like? I mean... Mr. Akamori Onkayo?"
Lucas smiled faintly and said:
"He was eccentric, always silent but never stopped thinking. His eyes were dark and filled with contemplation, he would write at night and drink tea at dawn. He often stared at the clouds, as if he saw words in them..."
But suddenly, his voice was interrupted by another voice—soft and cold at the same time:
"Who do you call eccentric?"
Lucas froze in place, slowly turning towards the source of the voice, his eyes widening in surprise.
There, standing before them, was a young man in his mid-twenties. His thick black hair was slightly disheveled, as if the wind had tousled it. His features were stiff and cold, and his eyes were dark, as if swallowing the light. He wore a loose black jacket over a pale blue shirt, a slightly twisted tie, and dark gray trousers, suggesting a touch of formality that had long lost its elegance.
The young man crossed his arms and stared at Lucas with a chilling calmness, then said again, in a quiet yet firm tone:
"Who... do you call... eccentric?"
Silence.
The silence grew heavy suddenly.
Lucas stared at him silently, unsure of what to say, as if caught between the past and the present.
As for Ronwa, her eyes widened in shock.
"Can... he see him?!"
She thought in panic, then looked at the young man, who was staring directly at Lucas.
He wasn't speaking to the air... he was seeing him.
In fact, he was addressing him.
She slowly stood up from the seat, clutching the book tightly, feeling a confusing sensation wash over her.
She said to herself:
"I always thought... I was the only one who could see them."
The young man remained silent for a moment as he noticed her expression, then raised an eyebrow in indifference, as if the silence had annoyed him.
Lucas had still not answered.
On the contrary...
A hot tear fell from his eye.
Then another,
and a third.
Ronwa looked at him quickly, stunned by the scene.
She approached him and whispered:
"Lucas... what's wrong?"
He slowly shook his head and said in a shaky, quiet voice:
"It's... it's him... Mr. Akamori..."
Ronwa's eyes widened further, shocked for a moment. Then quickly, her brows furrowed as she said, in a skeptical tone, crossing her arms and advancing towards the young man:
"Impossible. This is impossible. Mr. Akamori should be old... How... how can it be you?!"
The young man stopped, and with a dramatic gesture, placed his hand on his chest as if wounded, slowly turning his head, then said in an exaggeratedly sad tone:
"Ah... you've broken my little heart, girl."
He then slightly turned his face away from her as if receiving a fatal insult,
but his eyes were watching her expressions with curiosity... and a small, hidden smile formed on his lips.
He was... indeed eccentric.
The young man raised his hand dramatically, as if life itself had decided to crush his heart at that moment, and said in a fake tone between crying and pleading:
"I'm still in my early twenties! Don't age me like this, girl... it's a crime against age, beauty, and eternal youth!"
Ronwa didn't know whether to laugh or get angry . it seemed like he had stepped out of some strange play.
As for Lucas, he was a completely different scene.
He covered his face with his palm and shirt, trying to hold back the tears that wouldn't stop, turning his face away, his shoulder trembling slightly.
"I don't want to see your filthy face," he said in a choked voice, filled with pain and hidden anger.
"Leave me... please."
The young man's expression froze, and all the drama vanished from his face, replaced by a more serious and calm demeanor.
He took a step forward, then knelt on one knee in front of Lucas, who still had his back turned, and whispered his name:
"Lucas..."
But the response came quickly, filled with pain:
"I told you... I don't want to talk to you!"
Silence prevailed.
Then the young man tried again, whispering:
"Please, just a moment..."
But Lucas repeated himself again, in the same tone:
"No."
He seemed angry, or perhaps frustrated... or a mix of both, then sighed, lowering his head, his voice sinking into regret and tension, and said quietly this time:
"I just want to be sure of one thing..."
He lifted his gaze to him, despite the faintness of his voice:
"Do... you remember me?"
It was a simple question,
but it pierced the air like an arrow,
and hung there, suspended between two hearts separated by years of absence,
and a single book... that carried the story,
and bound the soul.