Trigger warning: PTSD

July 29th, 2019, 6:55 P.M.

It finally happened. The day of the trio's interview with representatives of the university they had been hoping to get admitted into. Chandresh was the first one to get interviewed.

The video call window flickered, and Chandresh adjusted his tie, his palms slightly damp. On the screen, two admission officers from Wittenborg University of Applied Sciences smiled politely.

"So, Chandresh," one began, "your academic record is impressive. You've got a strong understanding of pedagogy and an excellent reference from Professor Nishida. But may I ask, why an MBA in Education? Why not an MA in Sociology or Applied Anthropology? You'd fit perfectly there."

Chandresh inhaled deeply. "Because I don't just want to study people — I want to guide them. Sociology and anthropology study society as it is. Education allows me to shape what it becomes. The MBA framework gives me the tools to lead an institution, to create systems where teachers can thrive and students can feel seen."

The officers exchanged a look, intrigued.

"So you see this as administrative leadership, not just pedagogy?" one asked.

"Exactly," Chandresh said, his voice steady. "I want to build schools that are humane and forward-thinking, especially in places where education is often reduced to memorization and test scores."

***

In the next room over, Kenta sat upright, hands clasped, trying to keep his nervous fidgeting in check.

"So you said you're mainly a botanist?" the interviewer asked. "But I see your background in biochemistry and renewable systems is exceptional as well. Why don't you go for Environmental Engineering, then? It seems the natural progression."

Kenta smiled faintly. "I'm applying to Clean Technology because it isn't just about fixing the environment — it's also about transforming how we live with it. Engineering focuses on machinery and systems. I want to focus on philosophy and practice, on how clean tech becomes a sustainable way of life. I'm not just interested in designing reactors or filters. I want to help communities transition to green living, ethically and socially."

The officer nodded slowly. "So your focus is integration and social adoption of technology."

"Exactly," Kenta said, a spark of confidence returning. "Clean energy can't exist in isolation from human ethics."

***

In his room, Johan adjusted his earphones. His body was still healing, but his eyes were sharp.

"We have read your statement of purpose," one of the officers said, " and we agree your story is extraordinary. You're passionate about the intersection of fisheries and climate studies, but now you're interested in International Management. How does this specialization connect to your passion for protecting marine ecosystems?"

Johan leaned forward slightly. "The ocean doesn't just need scientists, it needs advocates who understand markets and people. The fish industry is driven by economics, so if I can work with management systems that promote ethical and sustainable practices, I can make a change from within. Business, when guided by empathy, can be a force for restoration."

The second officer smiled. "That's a refreshing perspective. Have you considered adding a Data Analytics specialization on top of it? It would complement your goal and allow you to measure impact more effectively."

Johan nodded thoughtfully. "That's a great idea. If the numbers tell the story, I want to make sure they're telling the right one."

***

Each interview ended differently — one with quiet relief, one with visible excitement, one with tears held back. Yet all three shared a quiet certainty: they were ready for this next chapter of their intertwined journey.

Later that night, the smell of chamomile tea filled the trio's small living room. Chandresh had loosened his tie, Kenta had already changed into a sweatshirt, and Johan sat cross-legged on the couch with a blanket over his lap.

The tension from the interviews had finally begun to lift, replaced by the gentle quiet of shared exhaustion.

"Well," Chandresh said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "if I have to hear myself say 'leadership through empathy' one more time, I might start to sound like an inspirational quote poster."

Kenta chuckled. "You should've seen my interviewer's face when I said ethics and clean tech are inseparable. I think she was either impressed or deeply confused."

That earned another laugh, soft and tired but genuine. Johan smiled at both of them, a thoughtful look settling over his face.

"I'm really glad I listened to your Papa-ji, Chandresh," he said finally. "Remember when he told us to refine our purposes instead of just memorizing answers?"

Chandresh nodded. "He said our statements should sound like they come from our lives, not our resumes."

"Exactly," Johan said. "If he hadn't said that, I don't think I'd have known what to tell them. They asked why I chose to apply to the International Management department. Instead of freezing, I just talked from the heart."

Kenta leaned closer, smiling softly. "That's the Johan I know. You've always been good at that, at finding the human side of things."

Johan chuckled, lowering his eyes. "It's strange, isn't it? Months ago, I was struggling to even hold a spoon. Now I'm sitting here talking about global business and ocean advocacy."

Chandresh reached over to pat his shoulder. "That's called growth, Johan. Not the flashy kind, but the kind that has deep roots."

For a moment, the three sat in comfortable silence, the rhythmic sound of the rain outside filling the space between them.

Kenta broke it gently. "So, if we get in, what's the first thing we do in the Netherlands?"

Johan thought for a moment, his eyes softening. "Find caramel stroopwafels," he said. "And just breathe."

***

August 15th, 2019

An email notification came just before dawn. Johan was still half-asleep when he saw the subject line — "Congratulations on Your Admission to Wittenborg University of Applied Sciences."

For a moment, he just stared. The words didn't quite feel real. Then his breath hitched, and before he knew it, he was laughing through tears — loud, disbelieving, joyful laughter that startled Kenta awake.

By the time the sun rose, everyone knew about the good news. Over the phone, Clara promised to treat Johan to something good on the weekend.

***

Clara went all out. The kitchen was full of bottles of soy sauce and tubs of chili oil. Lemongrass and galangal were scattered everywhere on the counter. She had spent her Saturday afternoon tracking down rare Indonesian spices from three different markets.

When Johan arrived at her doorstep, he was greeted by the smell of beef curry, spicy vegetable stew, and stir-fried green beans. Clara handed him a wooden spoon like a trophy.

"You got in, honey! For this, we feast!" she declared, eyes shining.

Johan laughed, his chest tight with affection. "Mom, you didn't have to—"

"Of course I did," she said, waving him off. "You've worked so hard. Let me celebrate you properly."

He ate until his stomach hurt, surrounded by warmth and chatter, every bite tasting like home.

***

Two days later, Johan met Navrita and Kiran at a café by the station near the Dhillon house. They had told him to come "dressed casually," but when he arrived, they were already waiting with two neatly wrapped boxes.

"Surprise," Kiran said, pushing the packages across the table.

Inside were business-casual outfits — crisp shirts, tailored trousers, even a smart blazer. Johan ran his hands over the fabric, speechless.

"You didn't have to get me all this," he murmured.

"Of course we did," said Navrita. "You're going to represent yourself and, in a way, all of us. We wanted you to feel confident when you walk into that classroom."

Kiran added softly, "It's not extravagance if it's done out of pride."

Johan smiled, humbled, his throat tight. "You two always know what I need before I do."

***

When Johan returned to his tiny apartment that evening, Nardho and Nardhia were waiting for him, grinning from ear to ear.

"Johan! We got you something!" they squealed in unison.

They handed him a neatly wrapped box. Inside was a sleek daily planner bound in imitation leather, embossed with gold letters.

"It's beautiful," Johan said, flipping through the crisp pages. "But, where did you two get the money?"

The twins exchanged a look before Nardhia said proudly, "We saved our allowances. We didn't buy snacks for weeks because we were betting you'd get in!"

Nardho nodded. "And we were right! We told Mom you would."

Johan burst out laughing, pulling them both into a hug. "For a pair of 11-year-olds, you two are way too mature."

"We learned from the best," Nardhia said matter-of-factly, and Johan swore his heart couldn't take it.

***

The next weekend, Chandresh and Kenta woke Johan up with mischievous smiles.

"Pack light," Chandresh said. "We're going out."

Johan frowned. "Where?"

"Universal Studios," Kenta said. "You deserve a day to be a kid again."

The whole day felt like a breath of fresh air — laughter on roller coasters, silly selfies, candy bought just because. Chandresh teased him for screaming during the Jurassic Park ride, and Kenta bought matching keychains for all three of them.

As they watched the sunset from the park's exit, Johan said quietly, "I think I'll remember today more than anything else about getting in."

Kenta leaned on his shoulder. "That's the point."

***

After a full day of laughter, Johan had said goodnight early — eyes heavy, voice soft with the kind of exhaustion that comes after joy. Kenta and Chandresh cleaned up the remains of takeout boxes and souvenir bags, happy to finally see him rest after sleepless nights of editing essays.

"He really needed this," Chandresh said, putting away leftover candies from Universal Studios.

Kenta nodded, smiling faintly. "Yeah. Maybe now he can finally sleep properly."

But when Kenta woke up in the middle of the night — the kind of half-conscious stirring that comes from instinct rather than noise — something felt wrong. The air felt too still.

He tiptoed toward Johan's room.

The light from the corridor spilled onto Johan's bed as Kenta's breath caught.

Johan was writhing and thrashing around, his face contorted in pain, his hands clutching the blanket. Sweat dampened his hairline. His breaths came out in ragged, uneven gasps — the kind that sounded halfway between a sob and a scream.

"Johan?" Kenta's voice shook as he rushed to Johan's side. "Hey, what's going on?"

No response. Johan's body jerked once, twice.

For one terrifying second, Kenta thought seizure.

"Chandresh!" he yelled. "Get up! Something's wrong with Johan!"

Chandresh came running, eyes wide. They moved in sync — Kenta grabbed the thermometer while Chandresh checked Johan's pulse.

"He's burning hot. He... He's got a fever," Kenta stammered. "What if—what if it's something neurological? He just recovered from a brain hemorrhage, didn't he?"

Chandresh didn't answer. He just helped lift Johan upright. "We're calling a taxi and taking him to the hospital. Now."

***

In the Emergency Room, the fluorescent lights were cold and merciless. Johan was lying on the MRI scanner, breathing shallow, eyes unfocused. Nurses and doctors rushed around him; Kenta and Chandresh stayed by Johan's side, hearts hammering.

Then, without warning, Johan started screaming.

"Dad, please no!" His voice was raw, strangled, as if dragged from somewhere deep inside him. "Don't—don't stab me! Stop! Why are you so evil?"

The nurses froze for half a second before one of them gently held Johan's arm down to prevent him from fighting the ER doctors as they secured the electrolytes drip.

Kenta's knees nearly gave out. Chandresh grabbed his shoulder to steady him.

"It's okay, Johan," Kenta whispered, voice trembling. "You're safe. No one's here to hurt you. You're safe."

But Johan didn't seem to hear. His body trembled violently, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Then, as suddenly as it began, the fit faded. His muscles went limp. His breathing evened out into exhausted sobs.

Another doctor stepped in, calm but firm, checking his vitals. After a few minutes, he asked Kenta and Chandresh to step aside.

When Kenta and Chandresh were finally allowed back in, the doctor spoke gently, carefully choosing his words.

"It's not epilepsy," the doctor explained,  pointing to the brain imaging scan. "And there's no sign of an infection that would explain the fever. Based on what we've seen — the panicky movements, the screaming, the emotional content — it's most consistent with psychogenic non-epileptic seizures, or PNES."

Kenta blinked, dazed. "So... no epilepsy?"

"Not in the neurological sense," the doctor said. "It's the body's reaction to unresolved trauma. The brain is protecting itself — expressing distress physically when words can't. It's not fake. It's not voluntary, either. It's real pain, but psychological in origin."

Chandresh folded his arms, jaw tight. "He's been through a lot. More than he ever says out loud."

The doctor nodded. "That fits. These events often appear when a person finally feels safe enough for their body to release what it's been holding."

Kenta looked toward Johan, lying pale and motionless under the thin hospital blanket, utterly unaware that he had just survived an episode of dissociative seizure. His chest rose and fell slowly.

"I thought he was getting closer to making his dreams come true. He should be at his happiest... He doesn't deserve to be scared senseless like this."

Chandresh placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes the body remembers long after the heart's tried to move on."

***

In the morning, the white ER curtains were still drawn, soft sunlight filtering through in slivers.

Kenta hadn't slept. He sat by the bed, hands clasped, thumb tracing the edge of the blanket where Johan's hand rested. Chandresh was dozing in the chair by the door, neck bent awkwardly, exhaustion written all over him.

Johan stirred.

A low groan slipped from him as his eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding his gaze. He blinked slowly at the ceiling, then turned toward Kenta. The moment his eyes focused, shame flickered across his face.

"Hi," Kenta said softly. His voice was steady but quiet, as if afraid to startle him. "Are you okay now?"

Johan swallowed hard. "I... I remember nothing. Why am I here?"

"You had an anxiety attack episode," Kenta explained gently. "They said it's something called PNES. It's... not epilepsy. Just your body reacting to everything it's been through."

There was a pause, the kind of silence where words felt like glass. Then Johan's face crumpled.

"Kenta," he whispered, voice thick, "I'm sorry. I keep making everyone so worried."

"Hey, now—"

"I hate my body," Johan blurted out, clutching the blanket like he was holding himself together. "Every time I think I'm getting better, it just—" his breath caught, "—reminds me that I'm not. That I'm still broken somewhere inside."

Kenta felt his throat tighten. He leaned forward, taking Johan's trembling hand in both of his.

"You're not broken," he said firmly, even though his voice wavered. "You survived something no one should have had to. Your body isn't betraying you, Johan. It's just catching up. It's trying to let go of everything you had to hold in."

Johan stared at him, eyes glassy. "Then why does it hurt so much?"

Kenta exhaled shakily. "Because healing isn't gentle."

For a long moment, there was no sound except the faint beeping of the pulse monitor clipped onto Johan's index finger. Then Kenta reached out, brushing Johan's damp hair off his forehead.

"I know you hate that it happened," he murmured, "but please don't hate your body for feeling pain. It's still the same body that carried you through everything. The same body that pulled your family to safety. You're still the same person I love wholeheartedly."

Johan's breath stuttered — a quiet, broken sound. He didn't say anything, but his hand tightened around Kenta's, grip weak but certain.

From the chair, Chandresh murmured drowsily without opening his eyes, "I second that."

Kenta let out a breathy laugh through his tears. Johan's eyes flicked toward Chandresh — a faint, dazed smile forming on his lips.

"See?" Kenta said softly. "You don't have to apologize for existing."

***

Hospital Consultation Room, Late Afternoon

The small room smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee. Kenta and Chandresh sat across from Dr. Mizuno, the hospital psychologist assigned to Johan's case. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, cutting gentle stripes across the files on her desk.

She flipped open Johan's chart and took a measured breath.

"Based on the episode last night and his trauma history," she began, "we don't recommend Cognitive Behavioral Therapy or Dialectical Behavioral Therapy as first-line interventions. They rely heavily on rational restructuring, but Johan's trauma response is physiological — his body reacts as if danger is still present, even when his conscious mind knows he's safe."

Kenta frowned slightly. "So... He can't just talk it out?"

Dr. Mizuno gave him a small, kind nod. "Not yet. His nervous system is still wired for survival, not reflection."

She slid a small pamphlet across the table. The heading reads 'EMDR and Bilateral Auditory Stimulation: Pathways to Reprocessing Trauma.'

"Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing," she continued, "is a structured method that helps the brain refile traumatic memories — so they stop triggering the same physical panic. The bilateral auditory version does something similar, but instead of moving the eyes, the patient listens to alternating sounds in both ears. It's gentler for people who struggle with visual focus or migraines."

Chandresh leaned forward, brow furrowed. "So what's actually happening in the brain when that works? I'm not dismissing it. I just want to understand."

Dr. Mizuno's lips curved in appreciation. "That's a good question, Dhillon-san. The best theory we have is that it mimics what the brain does during REM sleep. When we process memories at night, the hemispheres of the brain communicate more fluidly — almost like passing files back and forth. EMDR creates that same bilateral communication while the patient consciously revisits the memory."

Kenta glanced at the pamphlet, quietly tracing the diagram of the left and right hemispheres connected by arrows. "So it's like... helping the brain finish a job it got interrupted doing?"

"Exactly," said Dr. Mizuno. "The trauma froze that process. EMDR and bilateral auditory stimulation help restart it."

Chandresh nodded slowly. "That actually makes sense. The goal isn't to erase the memory, just to take away its ability to hijack his body."

"Yes," she said softly. "That's right. The goal is to help Johan remember his memories without physically re-experiencing them."

"Is it painful?" Kenta asked cautiously.

"Sometimes it can be emotionally painful" Dr. Mizuno admitted. "But the pain comes with control. Johan will be grounded, supported, and taught to step away when it gets too much. It's the opposite of what he experienced before. This time, he'll have safety."

There was a silence, the kind that was full but not heavy.

Finally, Chandresh asked, "When can he start?"

Dr. Mizuno closed the chart gently. "As soon as he feels ready. Healing works best when the patient chooses the pace."

Kenta exhaled, slow and careful. "Then we'll make sure he knows he's not doing it alone."

***

Trauma Therapy Office, Mid-Morning

The next day, the air smelled faintly of green tea and sandalwood. Johan sat in a comfortable recliner, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Across from him is Dr. Akiyama, a therapist specializing in trauma recovery. Beside him, Kenta sat quietly with his notebook, there for moral support.

Johan took a steadying breath before speaking. "Dr. Akiyama, may I ask something before we start?"

"Of course," she replied with an encouraging smile.

He glanced at the softly glowing light bar on the table and the small headphones resting beside it.

"I've read about EMDR and... I just want to know... How is this different from hypnosis? I mean, both seem to deal with memory and the subconscious."

Dr. Akiyama nodded, clearly pleased by the question. "That's a good observation, Johan. You're right, they both involve relaxation and focused attention. But there's a key difference."

She picked up the headphones and set them gently on the desk. "Hypnosis aims to alter your state of consciousness. The therapist leads, and the mind follows. EMDR doesn't do that. You'll be fully awake, fully aware, and you lead. My role is just to guide the process and keep you grounded."

Kenta listened intently as Johan nodded, still unconvinced.

"So I won't lose control?"

"No," she said firmly. "You'll always have control. In fact, if at any point something feels too intense, you can stop the session instantly. EMDR is about giving you power over how you process what happened."

Kenta added softly, "Think of it like walking through a memory with a safety rope tied around your waist. You decide when to move and when to rest."

That earned a faint smile from Johan. "Okay... I like that image."

Dr. Akiyama smiled back. "During the session, we'll focus on a memory that still feels distressing. You'll briefly recall it while the bilateral tones and lights stimulate both hemispheres of your brain. The goal isn't to erase the memory but to help your mind realize it's over. That the danger has passed."

Johan's expression softened, curiosity replacing tension. "So... it's like teaching my body what my brain already knows?"

"Exactly," Dr. Akiyama said gently. "Your body learned fear so deeply that words alone can't unteach it. EMDR helps bridge that gap."

For a long moment, Johan just breathed, letting that sink in. Then he looked at Kenta. "Would it be alright if you stayed in the waiting area while I try?"

Kenta's smile was small but steady. "Of course. I'll be right outside. Take your time."

Johan nodded, determination flickering through his tired eyes. "Okay then. Let's begin."

***

The room was quiet except for the soft, alternating tones in Johan's headphones — left, right, left, right. His eyes followed the moving light bar on the desk. Dr. Akiyama's voice anchored him gently.

"Just notice whatever comes up, Johan. You're safe here."

He nodded faintly, his hands gripping the armrests. At first, there was only a blur behind his eyes, then shapes started to form — the humid air of an old living room, the faint buzz of a ceiling fan, the smell of fried shallots wafting from the kitchen.

He was thirteen again.

Petrus towered over him, the sharp scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his shirt.

"Stop spending so much time with that Kinoya boy," Petrus snapped, voice gravelly.

"Why?" young Johan asked, confused. "Kenta's my best friend."

"Because boys can't date boys. I don't want people thinking you're—"

"Thinking I'm what?"

"Gay," Petrus spat, like the word itself was dirt. "Gayness spreads. Stay away from him."

The light bar kept moving. Left, right, left, right. Johan's breathing quickened.

"But Dad," young Johan said softly, "how can someone spread who they are? It's not like there's a sign or a smell or something. You can't tell who's gay just by looking."

Petrus' face twisted with anger. His hand slammed the table.

"Don't talk back to me."

Adult Johan flinched, his muscles tightening even though he knew he was in a different room, eight years away from the memory. His chest ached — a mix of fear, shame, and grief that never had a place to go.

"Notice what's happening in your body," Dr. Akiyama said quietly.

He swallowed hard. "It feels... tight. Like I can't breathe."

"That's okay," she said. "Let the feeling be there. You don't need to push it away. Just remind yourself — you're not thirteen anymore. You're 21, in this room, and you're safe and free."

The tones continued: left, right, left, right.

The memory blurred again, colors softening. Young Johan faded into the background, his eyes wide and unsure, and adult Johan whispered under his breath:

"You didn't do anything wrong by liking Kenta."

His pulse slowed. The ache in his chest loosened a little.

After several more rounds, Dr. Akiyama stopped the light bar. "Take a deep breath. How does it feel now?"

Johan exhaled shakily. "Lighter. But... also sad. Like I want to tell that boy he's not broken."

"That's an important part of healing," she said gently. "You're beginning to separate who you were told to be from who you truly are."

***

Later, when Johan stepped out into the waiting area, Kenta rose instantly. Johan's eyes were red, his posture tired but peaceful.

Kenta asked quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later," Johan murmured, leaning briefly against him. "Right now, I just want to go somewhere quiet."

"Okay," Kenta said. "Let's go home."

For the first time in years, Johan let someone else lead him out of the darkness.

***

Back at the apartment, the lights were low. A pot of miso soup simmered softly on the stove. Johan sat at the table, hair still damp from his shower, his posture heavy but calm.

Chandresh set down three bowls and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Johan. I'm sorry your dad said those things to you — about gayness being some kind of sickness."

Johan didn't answer right away. His hands were folded in front of him.

Chandresh went on, voice steady but warm. "He probably heard things without understanding them. When the HIV epidemic was at its worst, a lot of people mixed up cause and correlation. They thought being gay caused the illness, when the truth was just that the illness spread faster among marginalized groups because society refused to give them proper care."

Kenta ladled soup into the bowls and added, "And statistically speaking, the majority of new cases later on weren't even among gay men. They were among married women who didn't know their husbands were unfaithful. So... yeah. The whole idea of equating orientation with disease was wrong from the start."

He set a bowl in front of Johan, then sat beside him. "Your father didn't know better, but that doesn't make what he said any less cruel."

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet clinking of spoons. Johan finally exhaled and said, "It just... makes me wonder how much of me he hated. Or how much of himself."

Chandresh gave a small nod. "Maybe both. But you're here, and you're learning to unlearn what he planted. That's brave work."

Kenta squeezed Johan's shoulder gently. "And it's work you don't have to do alone. We'll keep reminding you that there's nothing to fix, okay?"

Johan nodded, eyes glistening. "Okay."

They ate in silence after that — not an empty silence, but one that felt like safety. Outside, the rain started to fall, faint and rhythmic, almost like the soft bilateral tones from the therapist's office.

***

A bit later that night, the rain hadn't stopped. It drummed softly against the window, a slow, steady rhythm that filled the silences between their breaths.

Kenta sat beside Johan on the couch, legs drawn close, a blanket over both their laps. The steam from the half-finished tea on the table curled upward, faint and ghostlike.

Kenta glanced down at their hands — Johan's larger, rougher from years of lab work and manual tasks; his own smaller, warm against Johan's palm. "You know," Kenta said quietly, "I'm thankful you never pushed me away. Even after everything your dad said. I was afraid those words might have planted something in you. Doubt, or... resentment."

Johan's eyes stayed on the rain, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, Kenta wondered if he had heard him at all. Then Johan turned, gaze soft but steady.

"I simply can't stop loving someone who never stops loving me," he said.

It was said so quietly that it almost disappeared into the sound of the rain. But to Kenta, it was heavy, grounding, and real all at once.

Kenta's eyes stung. He leaned in until their foreheads touched, breathing in the faint scent of menthol bodywash on Johan's skin.

"Then we'll keep loving each other through the noise," Kenta whispered.

Chandresh, from his seat across the room where he had been reading, looked up briefly. He didn't speak. He just watched the two of them with a small, knowing smile before returning to his book. As the tea was cooling, the sound of turning pages mingled with the rain and the quiet rhythm of hearts that had chosen to stay.

***

10:55 P.M

Chandresh sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, a notebook open on his lap, the dim bedside lamp casting a warm halo over the page. Outside, the rain had softened into a gentle drizzle.

He paused, pen hovering, thinking about Johan and Kenta. The way Johan quietly admitted his love, the way Kenta held on and reassured him, even in the aftermath of fear and trauma — it struck Chandresh harder than any drill or discipline he had ever known.

Bravery takes many forms, he wrote. I used to think I had to be like Papa-ji — trained in traditional Punjabi martial arts, fearless in the face of danger, hardened by the army. I thought I needed to deserve my turban, my steel bracelet, even the small blade I carry, as if they only mattered if I were bold enough in the conventional sense.

He sighed, tracing the ink with a fingertip.

But tonight I see that love itself is brave. To care for someone in a world that can make that love dangerous, to stay present even when it's easier to hide, to fight quietly for another's safety and trust — that is courage too.

Chandresh leaned back, looking at the ceiling, letting the thought settle. He could feel an outward-spreading warmth deep in his chest. In this moment, he understood that his own acts of loyalty, care, and patience were just as worthy as the bold feats he once admired from afar.

Tonight, I am learning a new kind of courage. And it is enough.

Chandresh closed his notebook softly, the pen tucked neatly between the pages. The air felt lighter now, as though his thoughts had exhaled along with him. He left his room, careful not to wake anyone, and walked toward the fridge to refill his water bottle.

But as he turned the corner, he stopped.

On the couch, Johan and Kenta were fast asleep. Johan's head had slumped to one side, cheek resting against Kenta's shoulder. Kenta's hand, even in sleep, still rested protectively over Johan's arm — as if guarding him from whatever dreams might come. The television was still on, its volume low, casting flickering light across their faces.

A small smile spread across Chandresh's face. There was something sacred in the stillness, something that reminded him that love, in all its forms, could become a prayer in motion.

He stood there for a long moment, just watching them breathe. The quiet hum of the refrigerator, the soft rain against the window, the rhythm of their breathing — all of it folded into one tender, wordless peace.

Under his breath, he whispered a prayer:

Waheguru... I don't know what waits for me after this life. If I am not good enough to merge with You yet and must return, please let me find these souls once more. Let me walk beside their essence, no matter what forms we take next time.

He closed his eyes briefly, palms pressed together in gratitude. When he opened his eyes, he took one last look at his two sleeping friends and felt a deep stillness settle in his heart.

Whatever happens next, he thought, I've already been blessed beyond measure.

***

8:45 A.M.

The morning sunlight spilled gently across the living room. Chandresh stepped in quietly from the kitchen, carrying a small tray. The warm aroma of cardamom tea drifted ahead of him.

"Here," Chandresh said softly, setting the cup down in front of Johan. "Drink slowly. It's just warm tea, not a miracle elixir, but... You might feel a little magic anyway."

Johan lifted the cup, inhaling the scent, and then met Chandresh's eyes. His lips curved into a small, tired smile. "Chandresh..." he began, voice low and awed. "I... I dreamed last night. I was diving, but the ocean... it wasn't like anything I've seen before. It didn't even feel like Earth." He paused, sipping the tea carefully, letting the warmth seep into him. "It was ethereal. Beautiful. And... I wasn't afraid. You and Kenta were there too. We were diving together."

Chandresh smiled, trying to keep his own eyes from glistening. "Sounds like a dream worth remembering," he replied softly. "Maybe it's a sign you're ready to see new oceans, both in the real world and in your mind."

Johan nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Yeah. It felt like... like the ocean knew me. And that no matter what happened, you both would be there."

Kenta approached him, carrying a small plate of toast. He set it down gently, then sat next to Johan. "We'll always be there, Jo. Even when you're not dreaming. Even when the waves feel too big."

Johan exhaled, letting himself lean into both of them, feeling safe in a way he hadn't in years. Outside, a gentle breeze echoed the dream he just left, as if the world itself was whispering reassurance.