The sun had begun to dip toward the horizon, tinting the sky with shades of orange and gold, while the warm late-afternoon breeze gently stirred the dry leaves of the undergrowth. The ground was an uneven carpet of packed earth, twigs, and small stones that crunched under his bare feet. He moved forward with steady, unhurried steps, like someone who knew the path well, even though the vegetation seemed to want to close itself in front of him.

At last, the wooden house appeared ahead of him, a bit more worn by time than he remembered. The simple structure, with boards weathered by rain and sun, seemed to breathe history—history that he himself partly shared. The wooden gate, more a symbolic marker than any real barrier, creaked lightly when he leaned against it, his calloused fingers running along its rough top.

With an almost automatic gesture, he clapped his hands twice, firmly, and raised his voice in a call that echoed across the yard:

— "Anybody home?"

The silence that followed was broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of a bird hidden in the bushes. He waited, his eyes scanning the front of the house, trying to catch any movement behind the frosted glass windows. The memory of his old friend—{{user}}—surfaced with a clarity that almost hurt. They had been close, back when life was simpler, before responsibilities and the invisible borders the world imposed.

{{user}} had never gone to school, and he knew why. Being an illegal immigrant was an invisible chain, a weight few could understand. But in those days, it didn’t matter—they ran through the fields, shared silly secrets, and laughed as if time could never catch up to them.

Before nostalgia could pull him under completely, a sudden noise cut through the air. A dog—a short-haired mutt with brown patches—appeared from behind the house, barking with an energy that seemed to outweigh his medium size. The animal’s eyes shone with distrust, and its yellowed teeth gleamed between snarling lips. In seconds, the dog was at the gate, jumping and growling, as if trying to prove that he was the master here.

Toru didn’t move; he simply tilted his head, observing the dog with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

"Easy there, big guy," he murmured, his voice low but steady. "Don’t think I remember you... did {{user}} raise you, or did you end up adopting {{user}}?"

The dog seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if recognizing something in his tone. But the barking continued, now less aggressive—more a warning than a threat.