Chapter 174: Chapter 174

They walked the path home at an unhurried pace, the sun sinking behind the hills, stretching shadows across the dirt trail.

Mr. Dand walked a little ahead with his bike, his hand resting lightly on the handlebar as it rolled beside him.

Artur and Billy followed just behind, the sound of their steps mingling with the soft rustle of wind through the trees.

For a while, no one said a word.

It wasn’t an awkward silence, but a thoughtful quiet—one that settles after something unspoken stirs.

Billy glanced sideways at Artur, his brows faintly drawn—like he was walking in two worlds at once: the one around them, and the one behind his eyes.

"You ever picture yourself in a classroom?" Billy asked gently, tone light but not teasing.

Artur’s mouth curved slightly, but the smile didn’t quite form. "Not really. Used to wait outside the gates for Mom to finish work. That was enough of a classroom for me."

Billy nodded. "But you didn’t say no back there."

"I didn’t," Artur murmured. He glanced up at the dusky sky. "Didn’t feel like the kind of offer you just shut the door on."

Mr. Dand slowed a little to match their pace, not interrupting, just there—listening in the way only a father could.

"Your mom used to say teaching wasn’t about chalk and blackboards," he said suddenly, still looking ahead. "She said it was about staying long enough in one place to show the kids someone cared."

Artur blinked, surprised by the memory. "She said that?"

Mr. Dand nodded once. "To me. On one of those evenings she came home with a headache and ink on her hands."

Artur chuckled softly under his breath. "Sounds like her."

Billy smiled faintly at the image.

They passed the old mango tree at the bend of the path, the one with initials carved into its side—names long faded, some forgotten, others still whispered in the village now and then.

A breeze caught the hem of Billy’s shirt as they reached the slope behind the house, the lamps flickering on in the windows.

It wasn’t dramatic. Nothing about the moment asked for a spotlight.

But something had shifted—just a little.

A thought left open. A door no longer locked.

And as they stepped into the warm light of home, the quiet between them felt full, not empty.

The room was dimly lit, the soft hum of the lantern casting flickers against the walls.

Outside, the evening air had settled into stillness. Crickets had taken over the silence.

Inside, Mr. Dand remained seated at the dining table, one hand resting on the wooden surface, the other gently swirling a half-empty cup.

His eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular—just tracing thoughts, letting them simmer.

From the small kitchen corner, Billy stirred a pot while Artur folded warm flatbread into a clean cloth.

Their shoulders brushed now and then in the tight space, but neither pulled away.

"It’s not raining yet," Artur murmured as he peeked through the window. "Sky looked heavy earlier, though."

Billy didn’t reply—he was listening to Mr. Dand, who let out a quiet breath before speaking.

"The elders might shift the festival," Mr. Dand said, voice low but carrying clearly across the room. "Rainforest watchers said the winds are turning early this year."

Billy turned slightly, spoon still in hand. "Change the date?"

"Maybe. Or move some of it indoors." Mr. Dand leaned back a little, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. "They’re worried it’ll pour on the main day. You know how it gets when the clouds break up there—water rushes down like the heavens themselves have things to say, carrying the sharp scent of wet earth into every doorway.

Artur came over with the bread and set it down gently. "Would that be the first time the festival moves?"

Mr. Dand nodded. "First in fifteen years, if I remember right. Last time, they danced in the school hall and had to tie the drums to the beams so the roof wouldn’t echo too loud."

Billy smiled faintly at the image. "I kind of want to see that."

"It’s different," Mr. Dand said, a hint of nostalgia brushing his tone. "Less wide open, but still... the heart of it stays."

Artur sat beside him, stretching out his legs under the table. "So nothing’s decided yet?"

"They’re talking again tomorrow." Mr. Dand rubbed his forehead, eyes half-closed. "Old folks don’t move fast. But when they do, you feel it."

Billy brought the food over, setting the bowls down carefully.

The steam rose between them like gentle fog, curling into the air, bringing with it the earthy scent of cooked herbs and warm grain.

"Well," Artur said, serving Mr. Dand first, "as long as there’s dancing, and food, and those little lights they string up on the trees... I think we’ll survive."

Mr. Dand gave a quiet grunt of agreement. "Mm. You’ll see. No rain ever stopped this village from celebrating."

Billy glanced between the two of them as he took his seat, the clinking of cutlery beginning softly between the low chatter.

And just like that, the evening folded into itself—another ordinary night made quietly beautiful.

They ate in silence. Not an awkward one—just the kind that settled when the day had said enough.

Only the quiet clink of spoons and the soft shifting of chairs filled the room.

Billy’s gaze dropped to his bowl, half-finished. Artur chewed slowly, eyes unfocused, while Mr. Dand stared ahead, absent-mindedly wiping his mouth with a folded cloth.

When the last of the food was gone, Mr. Dand stood with a low grunt, pushing his chair back.

He didn’t leave right away—he paused, standing beside the table, one hand resting lightly on the back of his chair.

His eyes went to Artur.

"That principal," he said, voice low, calm, "he hasn’t given up, you know."

Mr. Dand continued, "Still hoping you’ll take your mother’s post. Even after all this time."

Artur gave a tired half-smile. "Yeah. He brought it up again today."

Mr. Dand nodded slowly, then let out a quiet breath. "I know it’s not what you planned, son. I know you’ve been doing things your own way since... since she passed. But maybe... maybe it’s time to think again."

Artur’s smile faded, replaced by something unreadable. He didn’t answer, just watched his father with steady eyes.

Mr. Dand looked at him a moment longer, then gave a short nod—as if to say, I’ve said what I needed to say.

He turned and headed toward his room.

His footsteps were soft on the old wooden floor, fading with each step.

Just before his door, he stopped and added, without turning around:

"You’re good with people, Artur. Always have been. That school... it could use someone like you. And maybe you could use it too."

Then he disappeared into the hallway, the soft click of his door closing behind him.

The quiet returned—but this time, it wasn’t as peaceful. It hung heavier.

Billy shifted slightly in his seat, glancing at Artur—but didn’t say a word.

Artur remained still, staring at the dark window ahead, unreadable and quiet, as if trying to catch a glimpse of something he’d long since put away.

The water ran warm as Billy rinsed the last plate, passing it to Artur who stood beside him, drying.

The quiet rhythm of dishwashing had become familiar—hands moving in sync, no need for words.

Billy glanced at him once or twice, catching that same faraway look lingering in Artur’s eyes since dinner.

Something was on his mind.

When the sink was empty and the counter wiped, they switched off the light and padded softly down the hallway.

Their room welcomed them in a hush.

The breeze from the slightly cracked window stirred the thin curtain.

Artur sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slightly hunched, his fingers laced loosely between his knees. He didn’t say anything at first.

Billy stood beside him, watching for a moment. Then he sat too—close enough for their arms to brush.

"You’re thinking about what your dad said," Billy murmured.

Artur gave a low hum, half a nod. "Yeah."

Billy rested his hands in his lap, gaze forward. "You never really talked about why you turned it down."

Artur hesitated, then sighed. "Back then, I wasn’t ready. It felt... too close. Like stepping into her shadow instead of finding my own path."

Billy looked at him softly. "Maybe it’s not about stepping into her shadow. Maybe it’s about carrying a piece of her forward. In your way."

Artur turned, surprised by the words—but he didn’t argue.

Billy smiled faintly. "You’d be a great teacher. You listen. You’re patient. The kids would like you... Probably even fear you a little."

Artur chuckled under his breath. "Fear me?"

"You have that ’stern but gentle’ energy," Billy teased, nudging him.

Artur shook his head, but his smile lingered.

Billy leaned back on his palms, looking up at the ceiling. "You know... I’ve been thinking too."

"The future. Us." He paused. "I’ve always loved books. And music. I keep imagining this place—small, warm bookstore... with a piano tucked in the corner. Maybe near the town square."

Artur looked over at him, interest flickering in his eyes.

Billy continued, "You’d be at the school during the day, and I’d be at the shop. Evenings, maybe you’d come over after class, and I’d play something while the tea’s brewing."

Artur was quiet, but his gaze hadn’t left Billy. His voice came gently, almost careful: "That sounds... really nice."

Billy gave a soft, hopeful laugh. "Yeah. I think I want that. A place that feels like ours. Something steady."

Artur nodded slowly. Then, after a pause, said, "I’ll think about the offer. Seriously this time."

Billy looked at him, eyes warm. "Okay."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The silence was calm again, not heavy this time, but filled with quiet possibilities.

Artur’s hand reached out and rested on Billy’s knee—just a simple touch. Reassurance. Understanding.

They sat like that for a while, not needing to say much more.