CHAPTER-5 HAPPINESS

SLAP!

The sound was so loud that it instantly jolted me awake.

I sat upright in bed, my heart racing.

For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming.

Then I heard the heavy silence outside my room and realized I wasn't.

The house felt different.

Wrong.

I climbed out of bed and slowly walked toward the door.

My small hands trembled as I pushed it open just enough to peek outside.

Mom and Dad were standing in the living room.

Mom's hand was still raised in the air.

Dad's cheek had turned red where she had slapped him.

I froze.

I had never seen anything like this before.

Not once.

Not ever.

Dad looked furious.

Mom looked angry too, but there were tears in her eyes.

Neither of them spoke.

They just stared at each other.

For a few seconds, it felt as if time itself had stopped.

I didn't understand what was happening.

I was only five years old.

To me, Mom and Dad were the strongest people in the world.

They fixed everything.

They knew everything.

Seeing them like this felt impossible.

Finally, Dad looked away.

Without saying a single word, he grabbed his keys and walked toward the door.

Mom didn't stop him.

She didn't even try.

A moment later—

BANG!

The front door slammed shut so hard that I flinched.

The entire house fell silent.

I thought Mom would cry.

But she didn't.

Instead, she looked at me.

"Reyansh."

I immediately stood straight.

"Y-Yes?"

"Get ready for school."

That was all she said.

Normally, Mom helped me get ready every morning.

She brushed my hair.

Fixed my uniform.

Made sure I finished breakfast.

But today felt different.

Her voice sounded tired.

As if something inside her had broken.

I wanted to ask questions.

A lot of questions.

But somehow, I knew I shouldn't.

So I quietly went to the bathroom and got ready.

---

By the time I reached school, my mood had improved a little.

School was my favorite place.

There were no arguments there.

No tension.

No silence.

Only classes, games, and friends.

Most importantly—

Hazel.

The moment I entered through the school gate, I spotted her.

She was standing beside her father, holding his hand.

Her hair was tied into two neat braids.

As usual, she looked ridiculously cheerful.

Like she had never experienced a bad day in her life.

The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up.

"Reyansh!"

She ran toward me.

I couldn't help smiling.

"I made a drawing yesterday!" she announced proudly.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You didn't show me."

"I'll show you now."

"Class is about to start."

"So?"

I stared at her.

Hazel had a special talent.

She could say "so?" to absolutely anything.

And somehow win every argument.

A few minutes later, we were running around the playground together.

For a while, I completely forgot about the fight at home.

Forgot about Mom.

Forgot about Dad.

Forgot about everything.

Whenever Hazel was around, the world felt lighter.

Simpler.

Safer.

That day was no different.

We played so much that I even forgot about Rihan for a while.

Rihan was our friend.

He had disappeared a few days ago.

Everyone said he would probably come back.

Maybe he had gone somewhere.

Maybe he was hiding.

Maybe he was with relatives.

Neither Hazel nor I knew the truth.

We still believed everything would be okay.

Children always do.

---

During recess, Hazel came running toward me again.

She looked unusually excited.

"Look!"

She stretched out her wrist.

The friendship band was still there.

The same friendship band I had given her.

I had seen it before.

But today, it somehow felt different.

Maybe because of the way she looked at it.

Like it was something precious.

"I showed it to everyone at home."

She smiled.

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

I don't know why, but instead of listening to her words, I found myself staring at her face.

At her smile.

At the way her eyes sparkled.

A strange feeling stirred inside me.

Warm.

Comfortable.

Nice.

I didn't know what it was.

I was only five.

I didn't know what love was.

I only knew that seeing Hazel happy made me happy too.

"I showed it to Mom too."

The lie escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

Hazel blinked.

For a second, she went quiet.

I immediately regretted saying it.

The truth was, I hadn't shown the band to anyone.

Not even Mom.

I didn't know why I lied.

Maybe I wanted her to smile more.

Maybe I wanted to seem important.

Or maybe I simply wanted her to think the band mattered to me as much as it mattered to her.

Hazel eventually smiled again.

But something felt different.

A little less bright.

A little more distant.

For the rest of the day, I kept wondering.

Had she caught my lie?

Or had I said something wrong?

I never found the answer.

---

When I got home that evening, Dad was there.

Holding three ice creams.

My favorite flavor.

Chocolate.

"One for my champion."

He grinned.

I immediately ran toward him.

As if the morning had never happened.

As if there had never been a fight.

As if everything was normal.

Mom was in the kitchen.

Dad was in a good mood.

The television was on.

The house felt warm again.

That evening, we sat together and ate ice cream.

Later, Dad joined me on the floor and helped me build a castle using blocks.

"This tower will fall."

He pointed at my construction.

"It won't."

"It definitely will."

"It won't."

"It will."

"It won't!"

Two seconds later, the tower collapsed.

Dad burst out laughing.

I laughed too.

At the time, it felt like just another ordinary moment.

I didn't know that one day it would become one of my most precious memories.

If I had known...

Maybe I would have held onto that evening a little longer.

Maybe I would have paid more attention to every smile.

Every laugh.

Every word.

Because sometimes, you don't realize you're living through a goodbye until it's already over.

---

Then came the exams.

And according to five-year-old me, life became absolutely terrible.

For almost a month, Mom turned into a strict teacher.

Study.

Study.

Study.

And then some more studying.

Whenever I wanted to play, she refused.

Whenever I wanted to visit Hazel, she refused again.

"Hazel is probably studying too."

"But I want to play."

"Finish your lessons first."

"I don't want to study!"

Mom gave me a look.

And I immediately stopped talking.

Even seeing Hazel became difficult.

Most days, we only exchanged a few words at school.

That was it.

I hated it.

One evening, I finally exploded.

"I'm not studying anymore!"

I slammed my book shut.

Mom stared at me.

"I mean it!"

The next second—

SMACK!

The slap stunned both of us.

I stared at her.

She stared at me.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then I ran to my room.

Angry.

Hurt.

Embarrassed.

I refused to speak to her for the rest of the night.

The next morning, however, my favorite breakfast was waiting for me on the table.

Mom didn't apologize.

Neither did I.

But somehow, we both understood.

Sometimes apologies aren't spoken.

Sometimes they're hidden in small acts of love.

And children understand those things better than adults realize.

---

Finally, the exams ended.

The next day, I slept almost the entire afternoon.

When I woke up, evening had already arrived.

Mom was at the clinic.

Dad had been gone since morning.

I didn't think much of it.

Adults were always busy.

That was normal.

What wasn't normal...

Was what happened next.

Miles away, at the clinic, the phone rang.

A call from an ambulance driver.

An emergency case.

A road accident.

The patient was critical.

Mom initially refused.

The clinic was about to close.

But the driver's voice carried urgency.

Desperation.

The kind doctors could never ignore.

After a long pause, she sighed.

"Fine. Bring him in."

A few minutes later, the ambulance arrived.

Mom stepped out of her office and headed toward the emergency ward.

She looked exhausted.

The day had already been long.

She wasn't prepared for what she was about to see.

The ward doors opened.

Two paramedics rushed a stretcher inside.

Mom walked toward the patient automatically.

Like she had done thousands of times before.

Then she saw his face.

And the world stopped.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

Her breathing froze.

No.

No.

This wasn't possible.

Slowly, she stepped closer.

Then closer still.

Her hands began to shake.

The man lying on the stretcher...

Was Cassian.

Her husband.

My father.

Blood covered most of his face.

His clothes were torn.

His body barely moved.

For a moment, Athena couldn't breathe.

"Cassian..."

The whisper barely left her lips.

Around her, the world continued moving.

Doctors shouted.

Machines beeped.

Footsteps echoed.

But Athena heard none of it.

Because the man fighting for his life on that stretcher wasn't just a patient.

He was her entire world.

"Mam!"

Someone called out.

No response.

"Mam!"

Another voice.

Still nothing.

"Mam, please! We need instructions!"

Athena finally blinked.

Reality crashed back into her.

The room spun.

Her vision blurred.

The patient wasn't just any patient.

He was her husband.

The father of her child.

The man she loved.

And at that moment, Athena didn't know what she was supposed to be.

A doctor.

Or a wife.

"Mam! Please!"

"We are losing him!"

The voices echoed around Athena, but they sounded distant.

Muffled.

As though she were trapped underwater.

Her eyes remained fixed on the man lying on the stretcher.

Cassian.

Blood covered his face.

His shirt was soaked red.

The steady beeping of medical equipment filled the room.

Yet all Athena could hear was her own heartbeat.

This couldn't be happening.

Just this morning he had been alive.

Just this morning he had walked out of the house.

Just this morning they had argued.

And now...

Now he was lying in front of her, barely breathing.

"Mam!"

A nurse grabbed her shoulder.

The touch snapped her back to reality.

Athena inhaled sharply.

She was a doctor.

No matter what happened, she had to be a doctor first.

"Prepare the operating room."

Her voice trembled.

"Move!"

Everyone sprang into action.

The stretcher was rushed toward the emergency operating room.

Athena followed.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

Every second felt like an eternity.

---

The surgery began immediately.

For the first thirty minutes, Athena managed to suppress her emotions.

Years of training took over.

Orders.

Procedures.

Assessments.

Blood pressure.

Internal injuries.

She focused on numbers instead of feelings.

Machines instead of memories.

If she stopped for even one second, she knew she would break.

But the situation was worse than anyone had expected.

Far worse.

The damage was extensive.

Critical.

Life-threatening.

A nurse exchanged a glance with another doctor.

Athena noticed.

And she hated it.

She knew that look.

Every doctor knew that look.

The look people shared when hope was slipping away.

No.

Not yet.

Not Cassian.

"Keep going."

Athena said firmly.

No one argued.

No one stopped.

The room continued moving.

But fear had already entered.

And once fear enters an operating room, it never truly leaves.

---

An hour passed.

Then another.

Athena's hands were shaking beneath her gloves.

Sweat ran down her forehead.

The staff around her looked exhausted.

Yet nobody gave up.

Not while she was still fighting.

Not while Cassian was still breathing.

Suddenly—

A number dropped on the monitor.

Then another.

Then another.

Athena's stomach twisted.

The room grew colder.

The sound of the machines seemed louder.

More urgent.

More desperate.

A nurse looked toward her.

"Ma'am..."

Athena ignored her.

"Continue."

"Ma'am..."

"I said continue!"

The nurse immediately fell silent.

Nobody spoke again.

But everyone knew.

The battle was being lost.

---

Then it happened.

A long, continuous tone filled the room.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

Every person froze.

Athena slowly looked toward the monitor.

A straight line.

Her heart stopped.

No.

No.

No.

Not him.

Not Cassian.

Not today.

"Restart."

Her voice was barely audible.

Nobody moved.

"Restart!"

This time she shouted.

The staff immediately obeyed.

They tried again.

And again.

And again.

Minutes passed.

The straight line never changed.

Athena felt her entire world collapsing around her.

She remembered their wedding.

She remembered Cassian carrying Reyansh on his shoulders.

She remembered family dinners.

Movie nights.

Birthday celebrations.

The future they had planned together.

The future they would never have.

"Please..."

She whispered.

For the first time that night, she wasn't speaking as a doctor.

She was speaking as a wife.

"Please don't leave me."

But the dead never answer.

Eventually, one of the senior doctors lowered his head.

"Time of death..."

Athena never heard the rest.

Her hand slowly reached for Cassian's.

It was cold.

So cold.

Just a few hours ago, that same hand had been warm.

Alive.

Now it felt empty.

Lifeless.

Gone.

Athena broke.

Completely.

---

"I couldn't save him."

Those words became her prison.

Over and over again.

Like a broken recording.

"I couldn't save him."

"I couldn't save him."

"I couldn't save him."

People tried to comfort her.

Nothing worked.

Because there are some wounds no words can heal.

---

Back at home, I knew nothing.

I was watching television.

Waiting for Dad to return.

The way he always did.

I eventually fell asleep on the couch.

Later that night, someone woke me up.

I opened my eyes.

The house was full of people.

Relatives.

Neighbors.

Friends.

Everyone looked strange.

Their voices were quiet.

Their eyes were red.

As though they had all been crying.

I didn't understand.

I searched for Mom.

She was sitting in a corner.

Motionless.

Her eyes were swollen.

Red.

Broken.

"Mama?"

I walked over and grabbed her hand.

The moment she looked at me, tears filled her eyes again.

"Mama?"

I frowned.

"What happened?"

No answer.

She pulled me into her arms.

So tightly that I could barely breathe.

"Mama?"

I asked again.

Still no answer.

Only tears.

At five years old, I didn't know what death looked like.

But I knew something terrible had happened.

---

The next morning, Dad wasn't home.

That wasn't unusual.

Sometimes he worked late.

Sometimes he left early.

I wasn't worried.

Not yet.

I sat at the breakfast table and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually, I looked at Mom.

"When is Dad coming home?"

Athena froze.

The spoon slipped from her hand.

A tiny sound.

Yet somehow it filled the entire room.

"When is Dad coming home?" I repeated.

Athena's lips trembled.

She opened her mouth.

Then closed it again.

How do you explain death to a five-year-old?

How do you tell your child that someone he loves is never coming back?

How do you destroy his world?

Athena didn't know.

So she did the only thing she could do.

She hugged me.

And cried.

---

The funeral took place two days later.

People came from everywhere.

Some I had never seen before.

Some I barely recognized.

Everyone seemed sad.

Everyone looked at me with pity.

I hated it.

I didn't understand why.

I just wanted Dad.

Then I saw him.

Lying peacefully.

As if he were sleeping.

I smiled.

For a moment, relief washed over me.

Dad wasn't gone.

He was right there.

"Mama."

I pointed excitedly.

"Dad is sleeping."

The entire room went silent.

Athena covered her mouth.

People looked away.

Nobody knew what to say.

I walked closer.

"Dad?"

No response.

"Dad?"

Still nothing.

I reached out and touched his hand.

Cold.

Colder than anything I had ever touched before.

I immediately pulled my hand back.

Confused.

Scared.

"Mama?"

My voice shook.

"Why won't Dad wake up?"

That was the moment.

The moment reality finally reached me.

Not completely.

Not all at once.

But enough.

Enough to hurt.

Enough to leave a scar.

Dad wasn't sleeping.

And somehow...

Deep down...

I knew he never would again.

---

That night, the house felt emptier than it ever had before.

Which made no sense.

There were still people everywhere.

Relatives occupied every room.

Voices filled every corner.

Yet the house felt hollow.

Because one person was missing.

And that one person had somehow been holding the entire world together.

I woke up in the middle of the night.

Without thinking, I walked toward Dad's room.

I pushed open the door.

Darkness.

Silence.

His books were still there.

His watch still rested on the table.

His clothes still hung in the closet.

Everything remained exactly where he had left it.

Everything except him.

I slowly climbed onto the bed.

His pillow still smelled like him.

I buried my face into it.

And for the first time since the accident...

I cried.

Quietly.

Alone.

Because a part of me still believed that if I didn't cry...

Maybe this wouldn't be real.

Maybe tomorrow I would wake up.

And Dad would be home.

Smiling.

Laughing.

Telling me everything was okay.

But deep inside...

I already knew the truth.

And the truth hurt more than anything I had ever felt before.

After Dad died, time stopped making sense.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

But to me, everything felt exactly the same.

Gray.

Silent.

Empty.

The world kept moving forward.

Mine didn't.

At first, people visited our house every day.

Relatives.

Friends.

Neighbors.

They would sit in the living room and talk quietly.

Sometimes they cried.

Sometimes they sighed.

Sometimes they would look at me and immediately look away.

As if seeing me reminded them of something painful.

I hated it.

I hated the pity in their eyes.

Most of all, I hated the fact that nobody would tell me the one thing I wanted to hear.

That Dad was coming back.

Because nobody could.

---

Mom changed.

Completely.

Before the accident, she had always been busy.

She laughed.

She worked.

She scolded me when I did something stupid.

She smiled whenever Dad made terrible jokes.

Now she barely spoke.

Most days, she stayed inside her room.

The curtains remained closed.

The lights remained off.

The door remained shut.

At first, I thought she was sick.

So I tried helping.

One morning, I drew a picture.

A simple picture.

A house.

A tree.

A bright yellow sun.

And three people.

Me.

Mom.

Dad.

I was proud of it.

I ran to her room.

"Mama, look!"

Athena slowly lifted her head.

I handed her the drawing.

For a few seconds, she simply stared at it.

Then her eyes landed on the little stick figure I had drawn beside us.

Dad.

The smile disappeared from her face.

Her lips trembled.

And suddenly—

She started crying.

I froze.

My stomach dropped.

"Mama?"

I looked down at the drawing.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Athena immediately pulled me into her arms.

"No."

Her voice broke.

"No, sweetheart."

"Then why are you crying?"

She didn't answer.

Because some questions don't have answers that children can understand.

And some pain cannot be explained.

Only endured.

---

Months passed.

Then one day the truth about the accident appeared on television.

At least part of the truth.

I didn't understand most of it.

But Mom did.

And the moment she saw the news, her expression changed.

The car responsible for the accident belonged to the family of a powerful politician.

The news channels repeated the same story again and again.

"The driver was behind the wheel."

"He lost control."

"It was an unfortunate accident."

That was it.

Case closed.

Everyone moved on.

Everyone except Mom.

Because she didn't believe it.

Not for a second.

Neither did I.

Not that I understood why.

I just knew something about it felt wrong.

---

A few days later, Mom took me to meet a lawyer.

I sat outside his office with a coloring book while they talked inside.

The door wasn't fully closed.

So I could hear fragments of their conversation.

"I want to file a case."

Mom's voice was calm.

Too calm.

The lawyer remained silent for several seconds.

Then he sighed.

"Mrs. Athena..."

"I don't want to give you false hope."

Silence.

"They're powerful people."

"I don't care."

"I know you don't."

The lawyer rubbed his forehead.

"But power matters."

His voice became heavier.

"They have money."

"Influence."

"Connections."

"The media."

"The police."

"They can bury the truth before it ever reaches a courtroom."

Athena clenched her fists.

"They killed my husband."

The lawyer looked down.

For a moment, genuine sympathy appeared on his face.

"I know."

"And I'm sorry."

"Then help me."

His eyes drifted toward the waiting area.

Toward me.

I was sitting there coloring a cartoon dinosaur blue.

Completely unaware that my future was being discussed.

The lawyer lowered his voice.

"If you pursue this..."

"...you won't be the only one paying the price."

Athena's expression hardened.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean your son."

The room fell silent.

My mother stopped breathing for a moment.

The lawyer continued.

"They can destroy careers."

"They can create problems."

"They can make life difficult."

"You may be willing to fight."

"But is your son ready for that fight?"

Athena said nothing.

Because she already knew the answer.

No.

I wasn't.

I was only five years old.

When we left the office, Mom didn't say a word.

Neither did I.

But for the first time, she looked defeated.

Not angry.

Not grieving.

Defeated.

And somehow that scared me more.

---

That night, I woke up thirsty.

The house was dark.

Everyone was asleep.

As I walked toward the kitchen, I noticed a light.

Mom was sitting alone at the dining table.

A photograph rested in front of her.

Dad's photograph.

She stared at it as if she expected it to speak.

As if she expected him to answer.

I stood there quietly.

Watching.

Listening.

And then I heard her whisper.

"You promised."

Her voice cracked.

"You promised you wouldn't leave me alone."

The words hit harder than any scream.

Because she wasn't angry.

She wasn't shouting.

She sounded broken.

Completely broken.

I had never seen my mother look so small.

So fragile.

And for the first time, I understood something.

Dad hadn't only been my father.

He had been her entire world too.

---

A few months later, Mom made a decision.

"We're moving."

I blinked.

"What?"

"We're leaving."

"Why?"

Athena forced a smile.

"A fresh start."

The answer made no sense to me.

A fresh start?

What was wrong with the old one?

Our house was here.

My school was here.

My memories were here.

Hazel was here.

The moment I thought about Hazel, my chest tightened.

Suddenly, moving didn't sound exciting anymore.

It sounded terrifying.

---

The day before we left, I asked Mom if I could see Hazel one last time.

To my surprise, she agreed.

That evening, we met at our favorite park.

The same park where we had spent countless afternoons playing together.

The same park where everything had always felt simple.

But not today.

Today felt different.

Today felt heavy.

Hazel was already sitting on a bench when I arrived.

She stood up the moment she saw me.

Neither of us smiled.

Not really.

"My mom told me."

Her voice was unusually quiet.

"You're leaving."

I nodded.

For a few moments, neither of us spoke.

Which was strange.

Hazel and I almost never ran out of things to say.

But today...

Words felt useless.

Then she held out her hand.

A phone number was written across her palm in blue ink.

"My home number."

I stared at it.

Then slowly raised my own hand.

My number was written there too.

For the first time that evening, we both laughed.

Just a little.

As if two children were trying their best to fight against distance.

"Call me."

She said.

"I will."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

She nodded.

And once again, silence returned.

Because neither of us knew how to say goodbye.

Nobody teaches children how to lose people.

---

Eventually, it was time to leave.

We stood facing each other.

Two children pretending to be brave.

"Goodbye, Hazel."

"Goodbye, Reyansh."

That was all.

No dramatic speech.

No grand promises.

Just a single word.

Goodbye.

Funny how such a small word can hurt so much.

I turned around and started walking away.

One step.

Two steps.

Three.

My heart pounded inside my chest.

A strange feeling filled me.

Hope.

I hoped she would call my name.

I hoped she would run after me.

I hoped she would turn around one last time.

I stopped walking.

Then looked back.

Hazel was walking away too.

She never turned around.

Not once.

I stood there for several seconds.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Maybe now.

Maybe now.

Maybe now.

But she kept walking.

Further.

Further.

Further.

Until she disappeared into the crowd.

And just like that—

She was gone.

I don't think I fully understood what separation meant back then.

I was only five.

But I understood enough.

Enough to know that something important had ended.

Enough to know that some people leave pieces of themselves behind.

And take pieces of you with them when they go.

---

That night, we left the city.

I sat beside Mom in the car.

Streetlights passed by outside the window.

One after another.

Like memories fading into darkness.

The park disappeared.

My school disappeared.

The streets disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

I rested my head against Mom's shoulder.

And slowly closed my eyes.

I didn't know it then.

But I was leaving more than a city behind.

I was leaving my childhood behind too.

And somewhere out there...

Without realizing it...

Hazel was doing the same.

TO BE CONTINUED

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