It rained gently.
Not a downpour, not dramatic. Just soft, steady droplets that hung in the air like the world itself was mourning with me.
The funeral was quiet. Just as Mama and Dad would've wanted.
No loud hymns. No overdrawn speeches. Just close family, a few of Dad's old engineer mates, Mama's favorite nurse colleagues from the clinic, and some cousins I hadn't seen in years.
The cemetery in *Richmond* was calm—rows of headstones standing guard like sentinels of memory.
I stood close to the front, beside the two identical caskets. My suit was plain black, the white shirt clinging to my chest from the dampness. My fingers curled and uncurled inside my pockets, trying to hold back what still hadn't quite surfaced.
Laura was there too.
I'd seen her arrive late. She stood towards the back, alone under a black umbrella. She didn't approach, didn't try to speak. Her presence was like a ghost—just there, visible, but without form.
As the priest said his words, I didn't hear them.
I was watching the wood of the coffins.
Mama's had a single garland of jasmine across the top. Dad's had a photo of him in Goa, laughing at a family barbeque, cigarette in hand, hair wind-blown and eyes squinting from the sun.
"Seventeen years," I thought to myself. Seventeen years I had them. Every second with them is etched into me."
Then the ropes lowered them into the ground.
That moment… wasn't cinematic. There was no background music. No slow motion. Just the sound of rope against wood, and soft soil moving under weight.
I didn't cry.
Not because I wasn't broken.
But because I wasn't empty.
They had filled me with so much.
---
After the last handfuls of dirt were scattered and the guests started to drift away, offering pats on the back and murmured condolences, I stayed behind.
Just me and the fading light.
Laura stayed too.
She approached slowly, cautiously, her black heels digging into the soft grass. She stopped a few feet away, umbrella still raised.
I turned to her.
She didn't speak.
I did.
"I spent seventeen years on this planet," I said, looking back at the graves. "And all seventeen… were with two of the best people anyone could ask for."
A pause.
"I'm not sad, Laura. I'm grateful."
Her eyes glistened. I think she wanted to say something. But I wasn't interested in her words anymore. Not now.
"And I forgive you," I added. "Because holding onto that… it won't bring anything back."
She stepped forward. "Noah, I—"
"But this is the last time we'll ever speak," I cut her off gently. "So goodbye." I smiled. A smile from my heart.
The wind rustled the trees behind us. For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then I walked past her.
I didn't go home.
Couldn't.
The house felt too loud even when it was silent. Every chair still held their shape. Every room breathed their absence.
So instead… I got on the Overground Line. I didn't even check the map. I just got off at Camden Town.
The streets were buzzing like they always were—people with purple hair, vintage jackets, stalls blaring indie music, smoke curling from vape shops and jerk chicken stalls.
It smelled of chaos. Of life. Of distraction.
I slipped into a dim café tucked between a comic shop and a leather jacket vendor. The place was warm. Smelled of hazelnut and cardamom.
I ordered a black coffee.
No sugar.
Then I sat by the window and watched people live.
Laughed to myself quietly when two skater kids wiped out trying to jump the curb. Smiled faintly when a group of old men started dancing to a steel drum cover of a famous ginger hair man.
And in that moment… I didn't feel lost.
Just drifting.
Not broken.
But searching.
Mama had said in my dream I could conquer anything.
Right now, I didn't feel like a conqueror.
But maybe that would come.
Maybe pain was a battlefield too.
And maybe the first war was just making it to tomorrow.