Later that day…
"Shhh… don't make a sound, okay?" Marco whispered as he tiptoed into the house, clutching something warm and wriggly under his shirt. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from excitement. Nestled against his chest was a puppy that he found at the park, with fur like soft caramel and eyes that sparkled with curiosity.
He had always dreamed of having a pet. But his father had made it clear—'no animals in the house.' Still, Marco couldn't help it.
Being a single child sometimes feels so lonely. Having no one to play or talk, truly make the place so empty. Maybe because of that, he loved to have a pet.
Gently, he pulled the puppy out from under his shirt once they reached his room. "This is our room," he said, his voice barely more than a breath, his eyes gleaming with affection. "Do you like it?" The puppy gave a small yip and wagged its tiny tail.
"What should I call you?
Ginger... Do you like the name?" Happily, the puppy once again wagged his tail.
For two whole days, he did everything he could to keep the puppy hidden—fed it in secret, played with it in whispers, even tucked it under his bed when footsteps echoed outside his door. But secrets, no matter how carefully guarded, have a way of unraveling.
It happened on the third morning. His father, De Moda, stood at the door, arms crossed, eyes stern. The moment he saw the puppy, his face hardened.
"Dad, please," Marco pleaded, his voice cracking as he stepped protectively in front of the pup. "Can't I keep him? I'll take care of him all by myself, I promise. He won't be any trouble."
But De Moda didn't soften. His voice was like ice. "Marco, you can't have him and that's final. No one here has the time for a dog. Find someone else to take care of him and end this matter."
The words hit like a hammer. Marco didn't argue again. He just sat down on the edge of his bed, cradling the puppy in his arms. He doesn't have the heart to give the puppy to anyone.
At De Vilan Constructions, the late afternoon buzz was broken by a sudden ring. Adam glanced at the caller ID—and sighed.
Edward Roger, Eron's father.
He picked up the call, bracing himself.
"Adam," Edward's voice came through, cold and sharp. "When are you sending my son back? It's been few months, and I haven't received a single proper reply."
Adam leaned back in his chair, already feeling the tension build in his shoulders. "Edward, we talk to Eron. He doesn't seem interested in going with you."
There was a short pause. Then Edward chuckled, bitterly. "Children don't always know what's best for them, Adam. That's where we step in. Adults make the hard decisions."
Adam's jaw clenched. The irony of hearing this from Edward—the same man who abandoned his son years ago.
However, Adam didn't interrupt, though. He let the man speak.
"You came to my doorstep once, asking to take him back. Now I'm the one willing… so what's the hesitation? Isn't this better for both of us? You get to rid yourself of that burden—once and for all."
Something snapped. Adam sat forward, voice calm but loaded with quiet fury.
"Eron isn't a burden, Edward. So, stop talking like that."
He took a breath, trying to rein in the anger rising inside him.
"If I'm to think like a responsible adult, then this conversation shouldn't go any further than it already has. Tell me, in the past seven years, did you even try to reach out to your son? Once? A call? A letter? Anything?"
"Adam—"
"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" Adam cut in sharply. "But that's not the point right now. If you're serious about being a part of Eron's life, then talk to him. Properly. Like a father should."
His voice softened as he prepared to end the call. "I'm busy at the moment. I'll let you know when there's time for a proper conversation."
Before Edward could reply, Adam ended the call.
He leaned back in his chair, trying to steady the fire building inside. His gaze drifted to the framed photo on his desk—Eron and Aryan, side by side, smiling on a summer day.
Adam's expression softened, a quiet sorrow settling in.
At home...
Aryan knocked on Eron's door. No response.
He pushed it open gently and stepped inside. The quiet sound of running water told him Eron was in the shower. With a sigh, Aryan sat down on the edge of the bed, letting his eyes wander across the room.
A light breeze floated in through the half-open window, brushing against his skin. As he moved to close it, something caught his eye—a tall canvas leaning against the wall, covered by a white sheet that fluttered slightly with the wind.
Curiosity tugged at him.
'What did he draw this time?' He walked toward it, hand reaching out to lift the veil—
But before his fingers could find the edge, the bathroom door creaked open.
"Brother…" Eron's voice was calm but sharp. His hair was still damp, water clinging to his skin. He paused when he saw Aryan. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to call you down for dinner." Aryan smiled, then nodded toward the canvas. "By the way, what's this one about? Hiding it like it's some kind of treasure?"
He moved toward the painting again, hand extended, playful curiosity in his eyes.
But before he could reach it, Eron was already beside him, grabbing his wrist firmly.
"You can't look at it," he said quickly.
Aryan blinked. "Why not?"
"It's not finished. And I don't want anyone to see it until it's complete."
"It's fine," Aryan laughed softly, "I won't judge. Let me just peek."
"No," Eron said, more firmly this time, stepping between Aryan and the canvas. "You can't. It's a painter's privacy… You shouldn't interrupt it."
Before Aryan could argue further, Eron pushed him out of the room. "I'll show you when it's done!"
The door shut in his face.
"Okay, okay!" Aryan shouted through the door, laughing. "But come down soon—I'm starving!"
He turned and headed downstairs, still slightly confused—but more intrigued than ever.
Back in the quiet of his room, Eron slowly walked back to the canvas. His fingers hesitated for a moment, then he gently lifted the veil.
Seeing Aryan's figure, raised his heartbeat. That day, he draws the painting immersed in his thoughts, never expecting it turn out to be Aryan. The answer for all his questions...