By the time I reached the edge of Kowloon City, I could barely feel my legs.

Rainwater clung to my clothes, making every step heavier than the last. My hands were numb from the cold, and exhaustion blurred the streets together until every alley looked the same.

Three times I got lost.

Three times I ended up wandering into dead ends or unfamiliar corridors before forcing myself to turn back.

At some point, fear stopped feeling sharp.

It just became another weight I carried quietly.

Still, I kept walking.

Because no matter how lost I became, home was somewhere ahead of me.

Eventually, through the rain and darkness, familiar buildings finally emerged from the shadows. Rusted balconies. Flickering signs. Cracked concrete walls stained by years of damp air.

Kowloon.

Relief hit me so suddenly it almost hurt.

When I finally reached our apartment door, my hand trembled as I knocked weakly against the wood.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Xin Chen stood there silently.

His expression didn't change when he saw me. No anger. No relief. Nothing.

Just those unreadable eyes watching me carefully, as though he'd already lived through this moment long before I arrived.

Without saying a word, he stepped aside and let me enter.

And immediately, something felt wrong.

Part 2: The Table

The apartment was too quiet.

Not peaceful quiet.

Heavy quiet.

The kind that presses against your chest until breathing feels unnatural.

Everyone sat around the table waiting.

My aunt.

My grandmother.

None of them spoke when I walked in. They only looked at me with hollow expressions that made my stomach tighten immediately.

My mother wasn't there.

I forced myself to smile anyway.

"I bought a cake," I said softly, lifting the small damaged box in my hands. "Tomorrow's my birthday, so I thought maybe we could—"

Nobody reacted.

The silence stretched longer than it should have.

"I'll wake Mom," I added quickly.

Before I could move, Xin Chen grabbed my shoulder.

Not aggressively.

Just firmly enough to stop me.

"Don't wake her," he said quietly. "She took her medicine."

Something inside me twisted painfully.

But I was too exhausted to understand why.

"Sit down first," he continued. "You need to eat."

So I did.

Part 3: Forgotten

Dinner felt unbearable.

Forks touched plates softly while nobody spoke.

No one asked about the concert.

No one asked why I came home soaked from rain.

No one remembered my birthday.

At first, I waited for the moment someone would suddenly smile and say it.

Happy birthday.

But the words never came.

And slowly, the excitement I'd carried home with me disappeared piece by piece until only exhaustion remained.

The cake sat untouched near the center of the table.

I stared at it while trying to ignore the strange pressure building inside my chest.

Maybe everyone was just tired.

Maybe tomorrow would feel normal again.

I held onto that thought desperately.

Part 4: The Sentence

After dinner, I carefully cut a slice of cake and wrapped it for my mother.

She always loved sweet things.

Even when money was tight, she'd smile over something small like strawberry frosting.

For the first time since coming home, I almost smiled too.

Then Xin Chen spoke.

"Don't bother."

His voice cut through the room cleanly.

I looked up slowly.

"No need to save any for people who are gone."

For a second, I genuinely didn't understand him.

The words felt disconnected from reality.

"What?" I asked quietly.

Nobody answered.

The silence terrified me more than shouting ever could.

Xin Chen looked directly at me.

"Your mother took her life a few hours after you left."

Everything stopped.

The room.

The noise.

My breathing.

It all disappeared instantly, like the world itself had gone silent.

I waited for someone to correct him.

To say he was lying.

To tell me I misunderstood.

But nobody spoke.

My aunt lowered her head.

My grandmother started crying quietly into her hands.

And suddenly the truth became unavoidable.

Part 5: Nothing

The knife nearly slipped from my fingers.

I couldn't feel my hands anymore.

Or my legs.

Or anything.

The cake in front of me looked ridiculous now. Pathetic. Meaningless.

Hours earlier I had been walking through neon lights thinking about music and dreams and growing older.

And while I was gone—

My mother died alone.

The thought tore through me so violently I thought I might collapse.

But somehow I stayed standing.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to destroy something.

I wanted to beg reality to reverse itself.

Instead, I just stood there staring blankly at Xin Chen while tears burned behind my eyes.

How could she leave without saying goodbye?

How could I not see it?

Every memory suddenly felt dangerous.

Every conversation replayed differently now.

The exhaustion in her eyes.

The quiet pauses.

The way she smiled even when she looked completely drained.

How had I missed all of it?

The guilt crawled inside my chest like something alive.

And worst of all—

Part of me knew I would never forgive myself for leaving that night.

Part 6: Her Room

"You should spend time with her," Xin Chen said eventually. "The neighbors are helping prepare the cremation."

Cremation.

The word sounded unreal.

Like something that belonged to another family.

Another life.

Not mine.

I walked toward her room slowly, barely aware of my own body moving.

When I opened the door, the first thing I noticed was the silence.

Not ordinary silence.

The kind that only exists where someone used to be.

My mother lay peacefully beneath a thin blanket.

At first glance, she looked asleep.

And somehow that made everything worse.

I sat beside her carefully, afraid that even breathing too loudly would destroy whatever remained of her presence in the room.

Memories flooded me immediately.

Her laughter.

Her hands fixing my clothes when I was younger.

The way she pretended food wasn't expensive so I would eat more.

And then her voice echoed inside my head clearly enough to hurt.

"Li Wei, my son... dreams are the light that guides us."

I broke then.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just quietly.

Tears fell while I stared at her motionless face, realizing too late how much pain she must have hidden behind her smiles.

"I should've stayed," I whispered weakly.

The words barely existed once they left my mouth.

"I should've noticed."

Rain tapped softly against the window behind me.

The same rain that had followed me all night.

Part 7: Eighteen

Morning light slowly crept into the room while I sat beside her.

My eighteenth birthday had finally arrived.

But adulthood didn't feel like freedom.

It felt like loss.

Like standing in the ruins of the person I used to be.

The cake still waited untouched outside.

The candles remained unlit.

And somewhere deep inside me, the version of myself that believed life would eventually become gentle disappeared quietly beside her.

Still—

As painful as it was—

I held onto one thing.

Her words.

Her sacrifices.

Her belief that my life could become something larger than suffering.

So I leaned closer one final time and whispered through trembling breaths:

"I'll keep going, Mom."

Even if I didn't know how yet.

"I promise."