Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 143: Where Memory Rests

Chapter 143: Where Memory Rests

The sun peeked through the trees, golden and warm, casting soft light across the dew-damp grass.

The village stirred slowly — roosters calling, footsteps on gravel, the sound of water sloshing into basins.

Inside the old house, the smell of brewed tea and frying yam filled the kitchen.

Mr. Dand stood over the stove, humming under his breath, flipping pieces of yam in a pan. A teapot steamed gently beside him. The table had already been set — two mugs, three plates, a quiet kind of welcome.

Mark sat at the far end, hands wrapped around a cup. His eyes rested on the glass, but he wasn’t really seeing the morning beyond it.

The soft creak of the stairs caught both their attention.

Artur appeared in the doorway, his shirt slightly wrinkled, hair tousled like he hadn’t slept much — or had only just fallen asleep.

But he was there.

"Morning," he said quietly.

"Morning, son," Mr. Dand replied with a smile, gesturing toward the table. "Come sit. Tea’s hot."

Artur moved to the chair beside Mark, nodding once. He didn’t meet eyes, not right away. But he sat. That was something.

"You didn’t come down last night," Mr. Dand said gently as he brought the pan to the table.

"Wasn’t hungry," Artur mumbled.

Mr. Dand said nothing. Just placed food in front of them like he always did. No questions. No pressure.

Mark passed Artur the tea without a word.

A few minutes passed like that — soft chewing, clinking cutlery, quiet sips.

Then Artur finally spoke, his voice low:

"I might go to the field today. Start clearing the lower end. The weeds are creeping up again."

Mr. Dand nodded approvingly.

"That’s a good idea. Rain’s expected tomorrow."

Mark said nothing, just glanced sideways, watching him — the way Artur’s hand gripped the cup too tightly, the way he avoided looking up.

"I can help," Mark said softly. "If you want."

Artur gave a faint nod.

"Sure."

Just that. No more. No less.

Mr. Dand reached across the table, setting a bowl of fruit near them.

"After breakfast, you two take your time. Work if you want, rest if you need. The day will be here either way."

Another quiet moment passed.

Then Artur finally looked at Mark.

Just briefly.

"You’re still here."

"For a little while," Mark said.

Artur’s gaze lingered for a second longer than it needed to — then dropped. "Okay."

And for now, that was enough.

The sun had risen fully, warming the air with the scent of wet soil and smoldering morning fires.

Artur stepped out first, gloves already tucked into the back of his pants, a quiet focus in his stride.

Mark followed, sleeves rolled up, not talking much — just being there.

Mr. Dand stood on the porch, wiping his hands on a cloth, watching them with a silent kind of fondness.

"Don’t let those weeds win," he called out.

Artur managed the faintest smile, one that barely touched his lips.

"They never do."

Mark looked over, his voice light but careful.

"You sure you want to start at the lower end? It’s a mess down there."

Artur nodded, still walking.

"It’s work. It’ll help."

The two of them moved across the grass side by side, not quite touching, not quite apart. Birds called overhead. A dog barked far in the distance.

"Thanks," Artur said quietly, as if the word had been resting in his chest since morning.

Mark didn’t ask what for.

He just answered:

"Anytime."

And the village faded behind them, the field ahead.

And miles away, under sterile lights and soft beeps, another morning waited.

The silence was different here. Sterile. Controlled. No birdsong, only the faint hum of air vents and the soft wheels of carts rolling past the door.

Billy sat upright on the bed, hospital gown loose at his shoulders, while a nurse gently checked his pulse.

Another nurse noted something on a clipboard by the window.

"Everything looks steady," she said kindly. "Doctor Harris will stop by again this afternoon."

Billy nodded, eyes drifting toward the window.

"Thank you."

The first nurse smiled at him, professional but warm.

"You’ll be okay, Mr. Sandoval. You’re young and strong. Just rest today."

"I’ll try," he murmured.

As they left, closing the door softly behind them, Billy leaned back against the pillow.

His gaze found the sketchbook on the table — still open to the drawing of Artur beneath the tree.

He didn’t touch it.

But his eyes lingered.

Tomorrow was coming.

But for now... he let the quiet hold him.

The soft knock came first — just a tap, followed by the quiet creak of the door.

Billy looked up.

Camila poked her head in, smiling like she didn’t want to disturb anything, but couldn’t help it.

"You look like someone who didn’t eat the hospital breakfast," she said, lifting a paper bag with a victorious grin. "So I brought real food."

Billy’s lips tugged upward, the faintest relief crossing his face.

"You read my mind."

She stepped in fully, wearing her usual oversized cardigan, hair tied up in a loose bun. The smell of egg sandwich and something sweet wafted into the room.

"Got your favorite. Or... I think it’s your favorite," she said, placing the bag on the side table. "Still figuring you out, Mr. Amnesia."

"You’re doing a pretty good job," he murmured.

Camila paused, eyes softening at the sound of his voice.

"How’re you feeling?"

Billy shrugged faintly, glancing toward the IV in his arm.

"Like tomorrow’s waiting for me to blink."

She sat on the edge of the chair beside him, unwrapping the sandwich.

"Then don’t blink yet. Eat first."

He smiled — a tired, grateful kind.

"Thanks for coming."

Camila looked up, suddenly serious.

"You really think I’d let you sit here all morning without backup?"

She passed him the sandwich, then sat back and picked at a small pastry of her own.

"You want me to stay for a bit?"

Billy took a bite, nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Just... don’t talk too much."

She grinned.

"No promises."

And for a little while, the room was filled with warm food, gentle teasing, and the quiet comfort of someone who knew when to sit beside you — even if the words were few.

The remains of their breakfast sat on the side table now — half a sandwich, an empty coffee cup, a crumpled napkin with a doodle Camila had made while chatting.

Billy leaned back against the pillows, hands resting on the blanket, eyes half-closed but awake.

Camila was curled up sideways in the chair, legs tucked under her, flipping slowly through the sketchbook he left open earlier.

She didn’t say anything about the drawing at first. Just turned the page quietly, letting her fingers brush the edges like she knew it meant something.

"You draw soft," she said finally.

Billy looked over.

"Soft?"

"Yeah. Like... you’re not trying to show off. Like it’s just something already inside you."

Billy glanced toward the window, sunlight spilling in across the foot of the bed.

"It helps. When I can’t sleep."

Camila nodded, turning another page.

"Do you remember when you started?"

He shook his head slowly.

"No. But I remember how it feels."

Her eyes flicked up to him — searching, gentle.

"You’re scared, aren’t you?"

Billy hesitated.

Then, quietly:

"Yeah."

Camila set the sketchbook down and stood up. Walked over. Sat on the edge of his bed, careful, and reached for his hand.

"I joke a lot, I know. It’s easier than sitting in the fear."

She squeezed his hand.

"But I’m scared too. For you. Not because I think you won’t be okay, but because I hate not being able to protect you from this."

Billy’s throat worked, but he didn’t speak.

"You don’t have to be strong for us. Or smile. Or pretend like this isn’t terrifying. Just... let yourself feel what you need to feel."

She paused, then added with a soft grin:

"But I’m still going to bring you croissants tomorrow, because I’m the fun sibling."

Billy laughed quietly — just a breath of sound — but it was real.

"Promise?"

"On my good eyebrow," she said dramatically, pointing at her reflection in the mirror.

A silence followed — but this one was warm.

Safe.

"You staying?" he asked.

Camila checked her phone.

"I have a class in the evening. But I’ll be back before sunset, and I’ll stay the night, okay?"

Billy nodded, eyes already softer.

She stood, ruffled his hair gently, and kissed the top of his head.

"Get some rest. I’ll tell Mom you’re doing okay."

"Tell her not to freak out."

"You know she will anyway."

As she left, pulling the door shut behind her, Billy leaned back and exhaled.

The room was quiet again.

But not empty.

Not really.

The silence returned like a tide.

Not cold, not empty. Just... still.

Billy shifted slightly in the bed, resting his head back against the pillow, the corner where Camila had ruffled his hair still warm.

The late afternoon light bled gold through the blinds, striping across the room in soft, uneven lines. Outside the window, a few birds fluttered past, their silhouettes casting flickers across the wall.

Billy’s eyes lingered on the sketchbook Camila had left behind — now closed but still nearby, like a secret that had been shared and placed gently back down.

He reached for it without thinking. Opened it again to the lake scene.

Artur beneath the tree.

The shading wasn’t perfect. The lines a little shaky in some corners. But it was alive. Not just a memory — a piece of something that felt more real than anything else.

He traced the edge of the tree trunk lightly with his finger.

Then closed the book and rested it on his lap.

"What if I forget you tomorrow?"

The thought came like a whisper, unspoken but heavy.

Billy leaned his head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling now.

"What if I wake up and I don’t even know what’s missing?"

His voice cracked, barely audible. fr\eewe.bn(o)v\el.c(o)m

Would there still be a hollow space where Artur used to be? Even if he couldn’t name it?

His hand pressed lightly over his chest, just above where the tattoo would eventually be.

"Will something inside me still reach for you?"

Silence.

The kind that didn’t answer, only listened.

He stayed like that for a long while, breathing in slowly. Breathing out.

Outside, the sun dipped lower.

Inside, the shadows lengthened.

He reached for the remote and clicked off the overhead lights.

The world turned amber and blue — half-light, half-dream.

He let his eyes close, just for a moment.

And just before sleep pulled him under, he felt it — a warmth in his hand, like someone remembering him back.