The Summer He Never Spoke About - The Distance Between Two Glances - Part 6
“So what happened the next day?” the boy asked quickly.
Grandpa didn’t answer immediately.
He was looking at the ground now, as if the memory had weight.
“I didn’t go,” he said.
The boy blinked in confusion.
“You didn’t go? After all that?”
Grandpa nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
“Because I was afraid.”
The answer came calmly.
Too calmly.
“Afraid of what?” the boy asked.
Grandpa let out a slow breath.
“Afraid that she might not look at me again.”
The boy frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense. If you don’t go, you’ll definitely not see her.”
Grandpa smiled slightly.
“Yes,” he said.
“But at that time… not going felt safer than knowing.”
The boy shook his head. “You really overthought even back then.”
Grandpa chuckled softly.
“Some habits don’t change.”
“So you just stayed at home?” the boy asked.
“Yes.”
“And thought about her?”
Grandpa didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.
“The whole day felt… strange,” he continued.
“I tried to do normal things… help around the house… talk to people…”
“But every small moment kept pulling me back to that road… that glance…”
“That ‘almost’ smile.”
The boy watched him carefully.
“You liked her that much… just from that?”
Grandpa looked at him.
“It wasn’t about how much,” he said.
“It was about how deeply it stayed.”
The night breeze grew cooler.
“So what happened the day after?” the boy asked.
Grandpa’s expression shifted slightly.
“I went back.”
“Of course you did,” the boy grinned.
“But this time… everything felt different,” Grandpa said.
“How?”
“I wasn’t just going to see her anymore,” he explained.
“I was going to see… if she would see me.”
The boy nodded slowly. “That’s more pressure.”
“Yes,” Grandpa said.
“And that pressure… made every step heavier.”
“The church was quieter that day,” he continued.
“Fewer people. Less noise.”
“I stood there… waiting.”
“And?” the boy leaned forward again.
Grandpa’s fingers tapped lightly against the arm of the chair.
“And she didn’t come.”
The boy froze.
“Oh…”
“I waited longer than usual,” Grandpa said.
“Long enough for the light to start fading… for people to leave…”
“But she didn’t come.”
“What did you feel?” the boy asked softly.
Grandpa smiled faintly.
“Empty,” he said.
“Not sad… not angry… just…”
“Like something I had just found… disappeared.”
The boy didn’t interrupt.
“That’s when I realized something,” Grandpa continued.
“What?”
“That I had no right to expect her to come.”
The boy sighed. “That’s true… but still…”
Grandpa nodded.
“Yes. Still…”
“I walked back slowly that day,” he said.
“The road felt longer… quieter…”
“And for the first time… I noticed how ordinary everything was.”
“Did you think that was the end?” the boy asked.
Grandpa looked at him.
“I told myself it was.”
“But?” the boy pushed.
Grandpa’s eyes shifted slightly… almost amused.
“But life…” he said,
“…doesn’t always listen to what we decide.”
The boy leaned closer again.
“So you saw her again?”
Grandpa didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looked up at the night sky.
And smiled.
“Not where I expected.”
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