Sol immediately went to bathe after we reached the hotel room.

Sitting by the window from the previous night, I watched Ren and Eli walk off after sending us back.

Ren pulled Eli into a bear hug, then lifted him off the ground and spun him around with a mischievous grin. Eli shouted and hit him in protest, but he didn’t seem to mind Ren’s antics.

I huffed and pulled the curtains shut.

When I turned away from the window, I was met with Sol’s face. Water from his un-dried hair dripped onto my clothes.

“We can do that too,” he suggested playfully.

“We are not doing what they did.”

“Why? Are we not closer than they are?” He was still taunting me.

I chucked a pillow at him. “Don’t make me answer that.”

Rolling his eyes, he caught it and launched himself onto his bed, giggling under the blankets.

The marigold had been in my hand the whole night. By now, it was dry and ashen.

I traced its stem one last time before setting it down on the desk.

It felt like laying something to rest.

For a moment, I thought I had woken earlier than Sol. I was disheartened.

When I sat up, he was already dressed, napping by the window.

Waking up early just to nap—it’s amusing.

Sunlight spilled across his lap, but he didn’t seem to mind.

I went through my morning routine quickly. I didn’t want to keep him waiting.

After waking Sol, we got ready to leave.

At the door, I glanced back. The marigold sat where I left it. Grey and brittle, basking in the light as its petals fell.

No amount of light would save it.

I closed the door behind me.

Sol told me we’d be visiting Mae’s parents at their house before her funeral.

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s their request.”

Stopping in front of Mae’s address, we were greeted by a looming condominium. Turns out her family lived in the penthouse.

Inside, the lobby was decorated with baroque paintings. Black marble stretched beneath us, etched with ornate patterns that made the space feel ethereal.

The elevator ride up felt long.

Sol stared out at the glass walls.

“It’s getting higher… and colder.” He sneezed. “We’re in the clouds.”

I inched closer. The town below had shrunk into something like an architect’s model. Tiny, but still detailed.

The air did feel cooler up here.

The elevator opened into a carpeted foyer.

One side was all glass, stretching from floor to ceiling. The other wall held polished alcoves, each with a vase set neatly inside.

A maid, who was conveniently cleaning the windows, motioned for us to follow and led us through a sleek ebony door.

Walking past a spacious living room, I noted that photos of Mae were plastered around.

Most modern homes like this felt cold, curated. This one was homey.

Her parents were seated at the dining table.

I expected something long and polished—marble, excessive. Instead, it was a round table. Small. Too small for anything grand, but just enough for something intimate.

When we came into view, they locked eyes with us, evaluating us from head to toe.

By the time we sat down, it felt like their scrutiny had bore a hole through my skull.

Sol introduced us to the couple, shaking their hands, complimenting them. Oozing charisma. I followed suit, though stopping after the handshake.

They introduced themselves as the Lornes.

Mrs Lorne gestured to the muffins on the table. “Please, have some dessert.”

Her tone carried a hint of authority, but Sol didn’t hesitate to grab one.

“The muffin designs,” he said between bites, “why do all the animals have small flaws?”

The horse was missing an ear. The chicken had two beaks. These mistakes felt intentional.

Mrs Lorne’s eyes twinkled, pleased that someone had noticed.

“A long time ago, I made a mistake. A cow with both udders and horns. Mae told me they couldn’t have both.” She chuckled softly. “When I asked if she didn’t like it, she told me to keep doing it. Because everyone is imperfect.”

She looked fondly at one of the muffins—a cartoonish side profile of a cow, complete with both horns and udders.

Without thinking, I reached for a muffin, careful to avoid the one with the cow.

Mrs Lorne seemed delighted to have us both try her food.

All I could hear was my own chewing. And Sol reaching for seconds in the hushed dining room.

Then Mr Lorne spoke. His voice was a rich baritone. Dependable, almost protective.

“We thought you’d want to read this.” He slid a notebook across the table. “It’s her diary.”

The book was wrapped in brown leather, worn and cracked with age. A small latch kept it tightly shut.

“To be honest, it’s a little selfish of us…” Mr Lorne trailed off.

He gave me an amicable smile.

Understanding his intentions, I accepted the diary.

“Does Mae like taking pictures?” I asked.

Earlier, I had noticed that most of the photos on display were from her childhood. She wasn’t in any of the recent ones.

“She used to love being in them,” Mr Lorne said. “Later on, she couldn’t stand it. Though she did pick up photography.” He mused.

Sol, already on his third muffin, suddenly spoke up. “Could we go to her room?”

The parents exchanged a glance, then shrugged. They didn’t see why not.

The hallway leading to her room was unremarkable, bare of any clutter.

Her room was different.

Photographs covered the walls. Not of family, not even of people, but of birds.

Sol slid open the balcony door, letting fresh air rush in and break the stillness.

I hadn’t noticed it before, but the stagnant air, paired with the bright birds on the white walls, made me feel nauseous.

I joined Sol on the balcony. A hammock chair sat beside a standing lamp, a pair of binoculars resting on its padded seat.

A small table stood nearby, shelves lined with potted plants. String lights draped along the edges.

It felt like a quiet escape.

Sol marvelled at the space, running his fingers lightly over the surfaces.

After a moment, he stepped back into the room, unwilling to disturb any further.

Neither was I.

We prepared to leave, offering our farewells as we made for the exit.

At the door, the Lornes exchanged a few final words with us.

“See you later at Mae’s funeral,” I said.

Mrs Lorne held my gaze. She wore the same affectionate look she had when speaking about the muffins.

Beside her, her husband’s fists were clenched—not tightly.

“Take care of yourselves.” He gave me a small nod.

On the way down in the lift, Sol stared straight ahead, his expression blank. Passing clouds reflected in his eyes.

“It hurts to see someone so completely broken,” he said. “They’re alive, but not living.”

“I felt bad too.”

“Ha…” He traced a smiley face on the fogged glass with his finger.

I watched him draw. He wasn’t thinking.

Two dots. An upward curve.

He hesitated, finger tapping lightly against the glass. Then he stopped, his arm falling to his side.

On cue, the clouds parted, and the town came back into view.

We watched the ground rise to meet us in silence.

We returned to the same café for a small snack before the evening.

Eli and Ren were already seated inside.

Ren lit up when he saw us and rushed over, pulling Sol into a hug that nearly knocked him over, making him shriek in protest.

As I sat down, I found myself wondering why Ren was never that rough with me.

“He’s scared of you,” Eli whispered.

Watching Ren more closely, I realised he couldn’t bear to meet my eyes. Whenever he did, he looked away.

He joked easily with Eli and Sol, but with me, he was careful.

We weren’t close. He knew it.

Resting my hand on my sling bag, where Mae’s diary laid, I stared absentmindedly at my faint reflection in the café window.

I felt my facial muscles shift, trying to form a smile. I always did it like this.

But my reflection stayed deadpan.

I tried again with more effort. Now it looked forced.

It used to be much easier.