The silence in the car was suffocating.

  Yasmi’s hands were locked on the steering wheel, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white. The rhythmic hum of the tires against the road filled the void between them, but it did nothing to ease the tension. Outside, the world passed in streaks of neon and shadows, streetlights flashing like pulse points in the dark.

  Ren sat rigid in the passenger seat, his head resting against the cool glass of the window. His reflection stared back at him, but he barely recognized it. His mind was a battlefield, the remnants of his hallucination clinging to him like oil. Victor’s sneer. His uncle’s growl. Gloria’s disdain. His mother’s shattered mind. The echoes still rang in his skull, whispers slithering through the cracks of his thoughts.

  The weight of Yasmi’s presence beside him was undeniable. She was here. She pulled me out. But was that enough? Could he even be pulled out at this point, or was he too far gone?

  The guilt gnawed at him. He knew she had been calling him, worrying, searching. And yet, he had chosen to drown. To sink deeper into whatever abyss had been clawing at his mind.

  The silence stretched, heavy and thick. He could feel Yasmi wanting to speak, to demand answers, but for once, she held back. Maybe she was waiting for him to talk first. Maybe she thought he needed time.

  He didn’t know what he needed. But he knew he needed something.

  His fingers curled against his jeans. His breathing was uneven, his chest tight. The hallucination had felt too real, too visceral, and now, in the dim glow of the car, reality felt just as uncertain.

  He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper when it finally broke the silence.

  “Are you real?”

  Yasmi’s head snapped toward him, her brows knitting in concern. “What?”

  Ren exhaled, his grip tightening around the fabric of his jeans. “You,” he said, his voice unsteady. “This. Any of it. Are you real?”

  A flicker of pain crossed Yasmi’s face before she turned back to the road. Her voice was quiet but firm. “Yes, Ren. I’m real. And so are you.”

  He wanted to believe her. He really did. But the shadows in his mind told a different story.

  Yasmi let out a shaky breath, her hands tightening around the wheel. And then, finally, she broke. “What were you thinking, Ren?” Her voice wavered between anger and something softer—fear. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”

  Ren didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat felt constricted, like something inside him was too afraid to let the words out.

  Yasmi’s voice hardened, though her eyes glistened under the streetlights. “I’m telling Dad about this.”

  Ren flinched. He didn’t know why that hit him harder than anything else, but it did. Maybe it was because their father rarely involved himself in his life. Maybe it was because Yasmi was the only one who ever tried to save him. And now, even she was reaching for reinforcements.

  She turned toward him again, her voice quieter this time, but still heavy with emotion. “I don’t care how much you push me away, Ren. I’m not letting you do this to yourself.”

  Her voice cracked slightly, and for a moment, she looked less like the strong, unwavering force that had always held their broken family together—and more like a sister who was exhausted from fighting alone.

  Her grip on the wheel loosened just a fraction, her next words barely above a whisper. “I can't lose you too.”

  The weight of her words sank into his chest like a stone. He had been spiraling, caught in his own misery, but Yasmi—she had been fighting for him even when he had stopped fighting for himself.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  His lips parted, but the words felt stuck. He lowered his head slightly, his fingers trembling as he forced them into his lap. Finally, his voice broke through, raw and almost inaudible.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It came out fractured, like a confession and a plea all at once.

  Yasmi’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, her hand, steady despite everything, reached over and gripped his tightly.

  Ren didn’t pull away.

  For the first time in a long time, he let himself hold on.

  The silence settled between them again, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t empty. It carried weight, a quiet understanding.

  As they neared the outskirts of the city, Yasmi finally spoke again, her voice soft but firm. “Just promise me you will not ghost me anymore.”

  She gave him a small, tired smile.

  his eyes glittering like a snowfall in that little globe of glass as he nod firmly.

  "Dida... why did you stop here?" Ren asked, his voice laced with confusion as the car came to a halt in front of a small convenience store. The neon sign flickered weakly, casting a dim glow onto the quiet street. It was well past midnight, the city mostly asleep, but Yasmi had pulled over as if drawn by some invisible force.

  She didn’t answer immediately, just leaned back in her seat with a small, knowing smile. "Come on," she said, stepping out of the car. "You’ll see."

  Ren sighed, rubbing his tired eyes before reluctantly following her. The moment he stepped outside, the night air felt crisp against his skin, cutting through the haze in his mind. And then, as he looked at the store, recognition hit him like a wave.

  "No way," he muttered under his breath.

  Yasmi shot him a teasing glance over her shoulder as she pushed open the glass door. The soft jingle of the bell overhead was painfully familiar. This place... It was the store where they used to hang out as kids, a tiny shop tucked away in the outskirts, unremarkable to anyone else but them.

  And the reason?

  Dora cakes.

  Not the actual ones from Doraemon, but pancakes stuffed with red bean paste, just close enough to the ones they had idolized in the cartoon. It had been their thing, their tiny slice of joy when the world felt too heavy.

  Ren stood frozen in the doorway, his gaze scanning the aisles stacked with dusty shelves and the hum of an old refrigerator in the back. It smelled the same—like paper-wrapped candies and slightly stale bread.

  "You’re actually serious about this?" he scoffed, watching Yasmi stride straight toward the counter like she owned the place.

  "Dead serious," she replied, already fishing out some cash. "Two Dora cakes, please."

  The shopkeeper, a man who looked half-asleep, barely glanced at them as he reached into the display case, pulling out the golden-brown pancakes wrapped in plastic. Yasmi turned to Ren, grinning as she tossed one toward him.

  "Catch."

  He barely caught it, fumbling for a moment before shaking his head. "I can’t believe you still remember this."

  "Of course, I do. You used to throw the biggest tantrums if we didn’t stop here after school," she teased, unwrapping her own and taking a bite.

  Ren narrowed his eyes. "Lies. I was a very reasonable child."

  Yasmi snorted. "Sure. Very reasonable—except for the time you cried right there—" she pointed dramatically at the exact spot near the door "—because they were sold out."

  Ren groaned, tearing open the plastic. "I was, like, eight!"

  "And still embarrassing," she shot back, laughing.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, Ren found himself smiling—really smiling. It was effortless, unguarded. The warmth of the pancake in his hands, the taste of nostalgia on his tongue—it all felt like a moment stolen from a better time.

  They sat on the curb outside, swinging their legs slightly like they used to as kids, lost in easy conversation. For a little while, the weight pressing on Ren’s chest felt a little lighter.

  As Yasmi took another bite, she nudged him with her elbow. "See? You look less dead inside already."

  He scoffed, shoving her lightly. "Shut up."

  She grinned. "Never."

  The night stretched on, the air filled with quiet laughter and crumbs of memories. And for the first time in a long time, Ren let himself breathe.

  But in the silence of the parked car, reality still lurked, waiting.

  The phone, resting abandoned on the passenger seat, buzzed sharply against the leather. Once. Twice. The screen came alive, illuminating the dark, an unrelenting reminder of the life Ren was trying to forget.

  Mom’s Brother.

  The name pulsed against the screen, demanding attention, the sound barely muffled in the stillness. A persistent, mechanical hum in the background of Ren’s temporary escape.

  Buzz.

  Buzz.

  The glow flickered like a heartbeat in the shadows, casting jagged patterns inside the car. It was a call that wouldn’t be ignored forever. A thread tied to something inevitable, something waiting to pull him back in.

  But outside, Ren only leaned his head back against the cool night air, closing his eyes for a fleeting second, exhaling softly. He didn’t see the phone. Didn’t hear it.

  Didn’t know that something—or someone—was trying to reach him.

  And in the dim reflection of the car window, for the briefest moment, the screen flickered, distorting, as if a shadow had passed over it—one that wasn’t really there.