While I wept quietly in a shadowed corner, drowning in grief, he approached me with quiet footsteps. Without saying a word, he extended a handkerchief, offering me comfort I hadn’t even known I needed.
His lips were thin, pressed into a firm line as if he were holding back unspoken thoughts. The soft glow of sunlight streamed through the window, casting gentle highlights on his face.
“Here, wipe your tears,” he said, his voice calm.
“The departed have already moved on. If they could see you now, they wouldn’t want you drowning in sadness.”
I took the handkerchief he offered without hesitation, using it to dab my tears and, embarrassingly, to blow my nose. Realizing what I’d just done, I froze, glancing at him in awkward embarrassment.
The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as if a smile was just about to surface when suddenly, a loud wail shattered the fragile quiet of the room.
His expression shifted in an instant, his attention drawn elsewhere. Without a word, he turned and hurried away, disappearing into the hall without even leaving his name.
The next time I saw him, it was on the bustling first day of university.