CHAPTER 141: THE CALL THAT CHANGED THE LIGHT

The sky was a soft blur of pale gold and blue, morning light filtering through the branches of the old fig tree overhead.

Birds chirped lazily, wings fluttering somewhere near the rooftop.

At a round wooden table set in the small yard, Noel and his grandmother sat side by side.

Steam curled gently from their plates.

The meal was simple—fresh bread, slices of soft cheese, scrambled eggs with herbs from the garden.

A pot of tea rested between them, and the mismatched cups clinked softly as they toasted mid-laugh.

His grandmother had been talking the whole time. About the cat that wandered into the yard last week.

About the neighbor’s garden. About how she still didn’t trust the man who sold her onions at the market.

"And I told him—don’t try that trick with me, young man, I’ve been buying onions since before your mother even thought of you," she said, eyes gleaming.

Noel snorted into his tea, covering his mouth.

"Did he flinch?"

"He nearly choked on his own spit!" she said proudly, tapping the edge of her plate. "Next time he’ll weigh them properly."

They both laughed again, the kind of laughter that didn’t need a reason to linger.

Just then, a familiar voice called out from behind the hedge. "Noel?"

They turned. It was Mrs. Halberg, their neighbor from across the way, holding a brown paper bag in one hand and fanning herself with the other.

"Good morning!" his grandma beamed. "Come, come, don’t just stand there."

"I heard Noel got in last night. Thought I’d drop by before the heat sets in," the woman said as she stepped closer.

Noel stood up politely, pulling a chair out for her.

"You heard right," he said with a soft grin. "Still shaking off the travel dust."

Mrs. Halberg placed the bag down on the table. "I brought something sweet. My daughter baked too much again. You know how she is."

"Too much is exactly the right amount," his grandma said, already reaching for the bag.

As they opened it, the buttery smell of warm pastries filled the air.

Mrs. Halberg settled in with a sigh, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Feels good here. Peaceful. I miss this kind of morning."

"It’s the tree," Noel said. "Keeps everything slower."

"No, it’s your grandmother," she replied, laughing. "You could put her in the middle of a thunderstorm and somehow it’d feel like spring."

His grandma clicked her tongue. "Flatter me all you want, I still won’t give you my pie recipe."

More laughter followed.

Noel leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting up through the branches above. Here, everything felt rooted. Easy. Real.

A far cry from the quiet edge he carried back in the city.

The morning rolled on like a lazy stream, unbothered by time.

Noel leaned his elbow on the table, the rim of his teacup resting against his lower lip, catching fragments of his grandma’s conversation with Mrs. Halberg like bits of sunlight slipping through tree branches.

"You remember Mr. Alton from the hardware shop?" his grandma asked.

"The one who always wears that creaky belt?" Mrs. Halberg raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, that one. Said he might finally sell the shop and go live with his daughter in the city. I told him good luck finding peace in all that noise."

"He’ll last two weeks," Noel muttered, smiling into his cup.

His grandma pointed a playful finger at him. "Exactly what I told him! This one knows. The city eats men like him for breakfast."

Noel laughed quietly, shaking his head.

Mrs. Halberg sighed, peeling the paper back from one of the pastries. "Still... the idea of just... starting fresh somewhere. I think about it sometimes."

"You wouldn’t survive two days without this table and my tea," his grandma said, nudging her gently.

"You’re right," she chuckled. "Who else would scold me for walking too fast or using store-bought jam?"

"I only scold when it’s deserved," his grandma replied, lifting her chin with a mock-haughty air.

Noel leaned back slightly, watching the two women with quiet admiration.

There was something magical about the way they moved through conversation—teasing, overlapping, finishing each other’s thoughts without ever stepping on them. It was rhythm. Harmony. Like a duet they’d been singing for years.

A breeze stirred through the yard, rustling the leaves above. Somewhere, a dog barked lazily.

Mrs. Halberg turned to Noel. "You look well, dear. Taller maybe."

"I think it’s just the chair," he said.

"Don’t argue when someone calls you handsome," his grandma said, nudging him with her foot under the table.

He grinned and let the compliment land.

"I still remember you running around here barefoot, chasing after that squirrel that stole your sandwich," Mrs. Halberg said, laughing.

"It was my favorite sandwich," Noel replied, placing a hand over his heart in mock pain.

"Oh, he sulked for a week," his grandma added, wiping her eyes from laughter.

"Because you kept bringing it up," Noel muttered, but he was laughing now too.

The table grew quiet for a brief, sweet second, the kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled.

Then his grandma reached for the teapot. "More tea?"

"Please," Noel said, holding out his cup.

As she poured, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, a gesture that said more than any words: You’re home. You’re safe. Breathe.

Plates scraped clean and cups nearly empty, but the conversation never slowed.

Mrs. Halberg and Grandma had shifted gears, now deep in a story about someone’s niece marrying a boy "with too many earrings and no steady job." Their hands moved with the rhythm of their words—cups refilled, heads nodded, and chuckles rising now and then.

Noel smiled faintly, folding his napkin.

"I’ll be back in a bit," he said, rising.

"Where to?" Grandma asked, not glancing up as she reached for a biscuit.

"Just a walk," he replied.

"Don’t forget your sunscreen this time," she warned, still mid-conversation.

"I won’t," he called over his shoulder, already slipping through the small wooden gate.

The village greeted him with a hush different from the city—roosters far off in the distance, wind teasing the laundry lines, a child’s laughter echoing faintly from somewhere unseen.

Noel walked slow, hands in his pockets, toes nudging the gravel as he wandered without direction.

He passed the old water pump, still rusted and stubborn.

The bakery was closed, its windows fogged, probably prepping for lunch orders.

A tabby cat sat on someone’s fence, tail flicking, eyes half-lidded in the morning sun.

He reached the small ridge near the back of the village, where the path curved between tall grasses and overlooked the quiet stretch of fields.

Standing there, with the world softened around the edges, he pulled out his phone.

He hesitated just a second. Then tapped.

Calling: Luca

A few rings.

Then a voice—still a little groggy, but familiar in a way that made his heart shift a little.

"Hey."

Noel smiled softly. "You sound like you just woke up."

"I did," Luca said with a small yawn. "Sort of. I’m standing near the pool. My feet are wet."

"You sound so... city-boy." Noel chuckled. "I’ve been up since six, helped Grandma slice herbs for stew, got lectured about posture, and sat through two full gossip cycles."

Luca’s laugh came through, low and warm. "Sounds like you’re surviving."

"Barely." Noel paused, gaze sweeping across the gold-tinged hills. "It’s quiet here. In a good way."

Luca didn’t answer right away. Then, softer, "I miss your noise."

Noel bit the inside of his cheek, hiding the sudden flutter. "You’re the noisy one, remember?"

"Maybe I need you to balance it out."

Silence stretched—comfortable, not heavy.

Then Noel spoke again, voice a touch more playful. "Wanna trade? You take over gossip duty, I’ll go soak my feet in your pool."

"I’ll consider if there’s tea involved."

"There’s always tea here."

"I’ll book a train," Luca joked, then sighed. "Wish I could."

Noel’s lips curved. "Me too."

The breeze rustled through the trees as they just stayed on the line a moment, neither rushing to end it.

Noel stayed quiet for a moment, listening to Luca’s breathing on the other end.

He let the silence sit between them—unspoken comfort, the kind that didn’t need filling.

Then, almost shyly, he pulled the phone away from his ear.

Tapped.

Switch to video call?

A moment passed.

Then Luca’s face filled the screen, sunlight spilling across his cheeks, casting soft shadows.

His curls were still slightly damp, a towel tossed lazily over his shoulder.

He blinked against the light and then smiled—slow, sleepy, and crooked.

Noel’s heart tugged.

"There you are," he murmured.

Luca smirked, rubbing his neck. "I’m not that much of a mess, right?"

"You always look like that when you’re half-awake. Kind of like... a cat that forgot how to function."

Luca snorted. "Charming."

Noel shifted his phone, framing his own face as he walked slowly through the narrow path, golden sunlight dancing behind him. "I just wanted to see you."

Luca’s smile softened. "You’re glowing. Is that village lighting or are you in love with the air here?"

"Bit of both." Noel tilted the screen to show him the field behind. "Look. Peaceful, right?"

Luca leaned closer to the camera, like he could smell it through the screen. "I can almost hear the grass moving."

"It does that," Noel said quietly. "When the wind hits just right."

A beat of quiet again.

Then Luca added, "You look... calm. Like you’re breathing different over there."

Noel nodded. "It’s the first time in weeks my head’s not buzzing."

"I’m glad," Luca said, his voice gentle now. "But I still wish I was there."

Noel looked at the screen, taking in the boy he’d gotten used to seeing up close, in late-night chats and hurried breakfasts.

"I miss you," he said. Not dramatically. Just like a truth.

Luca blinked—then nodded. "Yeah. Me too."

Noel angled the phone down for a second to avoid the sudden heat in his eyes, pretending to adjust it. "Anyway," he muttered with a small smile, "Grandma and Mrs. Halberg are still dissecting someone’s wedding. I escaped."

"Should I call back later?"

"No." He raised the screen again, locking eyes through pixels. "Stay with me for a bit."

Luca’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Always."

Luca’s smile lingered as he watched Noel stroll, the sunlight catching in his lashes, the camera swaying gently with each step.

"Your hair’s grown longer," Luca said suddenly, softer than he meant to.

Noel looked up at the screen, eyes warm. "Yours too. You look older."

Luca tilted his head, playful. "Wiser?"

Noel chuckled. "Sleepier."

Just then—a sudden bump from behind jolted the camera. Noel staggered slightly, turning around.

A voice rang out, light and familiar.

"Hey, Noel?"

A girl stood behind him, maybe a year younger, windblown and smiling wide, dressed in soft pastel linen and worn sandals. Her eyes lit up like she’d just found something she wasn’t looking for.

Her fingers brushed his shoulder—a gentle, familiar tap that pulled up a hundred small, half-forgotten memories.

"Still turning corners like they owe you something," she laughed, eyes crinkling. "Classic Noel."

Noel blinked. "Amelia?"

She grinned. "In the flesh."

Luca watched from the screen. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

The camera dipped slightly as Noel adjusted the angle. His voice had changed—just slightly. Warmer. That kind of warmth you don’t plan.

"Wow... I haven’t seen you in... what, three years?"

"Four," she corrected, nudging him.

They both laughed. Easy. Familiar.

Luca’s hand slowly lowered from the back of his neck.

The towel on his shoulder slipped, forgotten. His eyes were still fixed on the screen, but the light behind them dulled just a little.

Then, as if realizing something, Noel glanced down at the phone in his hand.

His smile faded.

"Oh..." His smile faltered. For a split second, his eyes darted between Amelia and the screen. "Luca... I—I’ll call you later, okay?"

He didn’t wait for an answer. The screen went black.

Luca sat in silence, the black screen reflecting a version of himself he barely recognized.

Still holding it, like Noel might flicker back.

Outside, birds chirped. The pool rippled. Nothing changed—

except the sudden hush inside his chest.