Mr and Mrs Lorne shook my hand once the service ended. Mrs Lorne sniffled softly, refusing to let go for a while.

“You’re strong,” I told her.

“Why?”

“You haven’t cried this entire time,” I said mutedly.

“That’s because she’s here,” she murmured. “And I need to be strong while she can still see me.”

She was being delusional.

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I stayed silent.

Mr Lorne remained just behind his wife, close enough to steady her at any moment.

I turned back toward Mrs Lorne.

After a long pause, I spoke carefully.

“Don’t hide your emotions.” I softened my expression a bit. “If she’s here… then let her see how much you love her.”

I stopped.

“If she’s here, then show her.”

She lowered her head.

“Don’t bow to me. I don’t—”

Her thanks came out barely audible before she walked away with Mr Lorne, her head still lowered.

Only then did I realise it was to hold back her tears.

The couple returned to the front row, facing Mae’s casket.

Promptly, those intense eyes appeared before them.

Haru said something I couldn’t hear before inclining his body into a deep bow—just as he had the day before.

Sol pulled me out of the chapel. “I think he waited to be the last one. Let’s just go.”

Through the narrowing gap as the doors closed, I caught a final glimpse inside. Mrs Lorne was weeping as Haru turned to leave. Mr Lorne, usually so steady, let her lean into him as her shoulders shook.

I had a feeling he was falling apart too.

The walk back to the hotel was mostly uneventful.

Partway through, Ren started pleading with us to buy something from the streetside vendors.

“No one’s stopping you,” Sol sighed in exasperation. “Just go.”

Since we were going to wait for Ren anyway, the rest of us ended up buying something too.

Ren and Eli ended up sharing an ice cream cone.

“Who eats ice cream at night?” Sol asked, sounding genuinely appalled.

Ren responded by sticking his tongue out at him.

I ordered a lemonade. Sol got the same thing.

As we walked, the street reminded me of the night before.

It was lively without being too crowded. Noisy, but softly so. The sort of hour where everyone hurried home just to rest.

An adolescent boy crashed into me mid-run, sloshing lemonade across the pavement.

Embarrassed, the boy stopped to apologise profusely.

“I didn’t mean to.” “I’m sorry.” The same phrases I’d heard countless times before.

I waved him off. It was only a drink.

As the boy hurried away, Sol scoffed lightly.

“All that apologising and he still didn’t offer to buy you a new one.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“It’s just a drink,” Sol teased.

Gingerly, he dabbed at the stains on my clothes with a handkerchief.

“That kid apologised so much because he didn’t want to pay you back. Children can be surprisingly honest like that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, perplexed.

“An adult would’ve offered to pay,” he said, handing me his lemonade. “Because it’s easy that way.”

“Who knew Saint Sol, paragon of wisdom, would be blessing me with such insight today?” I joked.

He tilted his head a little.

“It’s only human to put your own interests first.”

Then he tapped a finger lightly on my chest.

“You should too.”

Being taught how to live felt insulting, even demeaning. Yet Sol said it with such care that I couldn’t believe he meant any harm. Still, his words reminded me how flawed I was.

I took a loud sip of my newly acquired drink and let out a small, refreshed breath.

“Alright.”

Back in the hotel room, I pulled Mae’s diary from my sling bag.

Across from me, beside the window, Sol eyed the marigold that had been lying there since the night before. I didn’t want to dispose of it.

While I read, he watched the streets below. His tired eyes blinked slowly before eventually closing altogether. Leaning against the wall, he let himself rest.

I knew he wasn’t asleep.

Mom still makes those muffins. I like eating them. She says it’s sentimental. I eat them because she made them.

It was a haunting opening. Quietly static.

Iris tells me it’s tiring being around Vera. Hearing her confide in me makes me strangely glad that I’m the better alternative.

When I praise Iris, she beams. When I thank her, she grins. She could become so much more if she didn’t seek approval so constantly.

It pains me to coddle her, but encouragement is the first step.

And I’d be lying if I said I disliked the attention she gives me.

I looked up at Sol.

Without moving from where he rested against the wall, he cracked one eye open. His arms remained folded.

“What’s up?”

I quickly shook my head and buried myself back in the book.

Now I understand. Vera can’t stand being alone.

Today she told me I’m the only person who truly appreciates her after some classmates gave her a birthday gift—a small bracelet the three of them pooled together to buy.

She dismissed it as networking. Said they only wanted something from her.

I didn’t correct her.

She laughed after saying it, so I laughed too. As though I’d heard a joke.

The earlier entries followed the same pattern.

Mae wrote often about the love her family gave her, yet never directly about loving them in return. There were more stories about Iris, and more frustration toward Vera’s wilful blindness.

I found myself searching for any mention of Sora.

Sora got along well with everyone. Of course, it made Vera jealous. Her brother waited at the school gates to fetch her home every day. The closest thing Vera had to that was her chauffeur.

Even after Vera’s failed attempt at “befriending” Sora, she still kept hanging around us.

Maybe it was because I spoke well of Vera to her.

I held my breath as I flipped through the pages.

I know Sora is uncomfortable around us.

But Vera may have crossed the line today.

A careless comment about Sora’s brother finally pushed her over the edge. She screamed right into Vera’s face. Vera’s stunned expression was quite funny.

When Sora stormed off, Vera looked furious. This awful grin spread across her face.

She said she wanted Sora to know what it’s like to be alone.

Anger makes people frighteningly impulsive.

Closing the diary, I slid it across to Sol.

He rubbed at his eyes before reluctantly opening it.

“I hate reading,” he muttered with a small pout.

Sol remained calm as he read, settled comfortably within his quiet little sanctuary. Outside, the streets had emptied of life, save for the occasional rat darting beneath the streetlights.

“If everyone is as selfish as you say…” I interrupted softly, “wouldn’t that make you a hypocrite?”

He paused, though he didn’t look up from the diary.

Turning the page, he answered simply.

“Then I hope I’m not.”

He read in silence, his brows furrowed into a stern expression. His eyes moved steadily across the pages, yet his face revealed nothing.

At last, he finished the diary and carefully set it back down on the table.

“You would’ve liked her,” he blurted out.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Sol tapped his chin. “I don’t think you would’ve hated any of them.”

“Of course not. Hate’s a strong word.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, fastening the latch shut. “We can return it tomorrow morning.”

Already dressed in his pyjamas, Sol flopped onto the bed.

Beside the window, the marigold had begun falling apart. I should throw it away soon. Another petal drifted from the marigold onto the desk. I left it where it fell.

On the bed, my tired partner had already fallen asleep. His breathing settled into the steady rhythm I’d memorised by now.