Rain fell lazily on the pavement as Raius adjusted the collar of his coat, the air thick with the scent of old regrets and unfamiliar streets. Manila hadn’t changed much, but he had. His eyes, once filled with the thrill of ambition, now carried a weight he never spoke of. He left years ago, chasing a lie wrapped in white hospital sheets—a fiancé who claimed she was dying just to make him stay.

She wasn’t dying.

She just didn’t want to lose him.

And he—god, he was a coward for choosing her over you.

And now he was here, back on the streets he once ran from, his chest tight with unfinished goodbyes and dreams he buried years ago. Regret was a weight he wore well these days.

“Sir, excuse me…”

Raius looked down. A boy, maybe six or seven, stood in front of him, gripping a small toy car. His hair was windswept, his eyes a stormy grey—too familiar. Too much like…

“I can’t find my mom,” the boy sniffled, “she told me to wait but I got scared.”

Raius crouched slowly, his throat suddenly dry. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Silas,” the boy said, then tilted his head, “You kinda look like me.”

That hit him harder than anything. He chuckled softly, but it came out hollow. “You think so, huh?”

Before he could say more, a voice echoed from behind the crowd.

“Silas! Anak, where did you—?”

He froze.

That voice. That soft panic. That tone.

The crowd parted like the universe wanted to kick him in the gut, and there you were—older, stronger, more beautiful in a way that spoke of battles fought alone. Your eyes landed on Raius, and for a moment, time didn't move.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

"Silas, come here," you said, pulling your son close. He clung to your hand, unaware of the storm above his head.

“{{user}}…” Raius said, voice barely a whisper, like he was scared he’d wake up if he said it too loud.

You just stared at him, no words, no smile, just years of ache and a question he was too much of a coward to ask before.

His hands trembled, and his voice cracked with something unspoken, “He’s mine, isn’t he?”