CHAPTER 150: NOT FORGOTTEN

The soil was warm beneath their boots. Bees buzzed lazily in the distance, flitting between wildflowers at the edge of the fields.

Artur knelt near a row of new seedlings, brow furrowed as he adjusted the placement of a few fragile stems.

His motions were practiced, quiet, but there was a tension in his back that hadn’t eased in days.

The sound of footsteps behind him didn’t make him turn—he already knew.

"You guys done whispering?" he said dryly, not looking up.

Mark and Jay exchanged a brief glance behind him. Jay shrugged.

"Didn’t want to interrupt your dramatic soil therapy," Jay said, nudging Mark with a teasing smirk.

Artur exhaled through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite annoyance. Just something in-between.

Mark stepped beside him, crouched down, and pulled on a pair of gloves.

"You missed a few weeds," he murmured, eyes on the soil.

Artur raised an eyebrow without glancing at him.

"You want to do it, go ahead."

Jay sighed and plopped down on the other side, tugging at loose roots.

"No complaints here. Better this than sitting around waiting for dinner."

They fell into rhythm, quiet at first.

Dirt shifted beneath their hands. The soft shuffle of fabric. The click of a wooden basket being set down nearby.

No one brought up Billy.

No one asked why Mark’s jaw was tighter today.

They just worked.

Jay rolled his sleeves up higher.

"Remember how this used to be our punishment?" he muttered, chuckling. "Late homework, too much noise in class, and boom—field duty with Miss Evelynn."

Artur smirked faintly at the memory.

"You always found a way to get out of it."

"Charm," Jay replied with a wink. "Or at least that’s what your mom called it."

Mark shook his head, unable to stop a smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"More like distraction."

"’Still worked.’ Jay brushed dirt off his palms."

The silence returned, but this time it felt lighter. Familiar.

Artur let his gaze wander toward the trees at the far end of the field—where the lake shimmered in the distance, its surface like glass.

He didn’t say it aloud, but something inside him whispered: You’d hate missing this, Billy. You’d say the sun looked too perfect not to paint.

And for just a second, his hand paused over the soil.

Then he kept working.

The light shifted—warm and low, casting long shadows over the tall grasses as they walked.

Artur, Mark, and Jay moved side by side, each carrying baskets or tools slung over their shoulders.

Their boots left soft prints in the dirt, trailing behind them like threads leading back to the field.

No one spoke for a while.

Just the sound of crickets rising from the edges of the road, the faint rustle of leaves, and the distant bark of a dog somewhere further in the village.

Jay was the first to break the silence, voice low and thoughtful:

"Funny how some things never change. The walk home always feels longer when you’re tired."

Mark let out a quiet breath of agreement.

"But the sky always looks better."

Artur didn’t say anything—his eyes were on the path ahead, face unreadable. But his pace was steady, like being with them gave his thoughts somewhere to settle.

As they neared the wooden fence of Mr. Dand’s house, the scent of cooked food drifted faintly through the air.

Something warm. Familiar. Like stew simmered with fresh herbs and roasted yams.

Jay perked up slightly.

"Tell me that’s dinner."

"It’s always dinner," Mark replied dryly.

Artur opened the gate, holding it for the other two. His fingers lingered on the wood, rough and smooth from years of weather.

"Let’s just eat," he said softly. "Then you guys can argue about the past all you want."

Jay grinned. "Deal."

They stepped through the yard together, dust and golden light still clinging to their shoulders.

Inside, the front porch lamp was already on. The door creaked open as Mr. Dand poked his head out with a warm smile.

"Took your time," he said. "Go wash up. Dinner’s waiting."

Artur’s voice was quiet as he passed him, brushing dust off his sleeves.

"We didn’t forget."

And behind them, as the door shut softly, the sky turned from gold to a soft, deep blue.

The room smelled of spiced stew and roasted plantains, the kind of scent that wrapped around the chest like an embrace.

Light from the hanging bulb above cast a soft glow over the wooden table where bowls, plates, and a steaming pot were already set out.

Artur was the last to sit, towel slung over his shoulder from washing up.

He slid into his usual seat beside Mark, who already had a spoon in hand but hadn’t touched anything yet.

Jay was leaning back in his chair with an arm draped over the backrest, watching Mr. Dand serve.

"You’ve outdone yourself again, Pop," he said, grinning.

"It’s just food," Mr. Dand replied, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his pride. "Eat it before it gets cold."

Bowls were passed around. Artur helped scoop yam porridge into Mark’s bowl without saying a word.

Mark gave a small nod of thanks. Their movements—casual, habitual—spoke of how many times they’d sat at this table before.

As they started eating, the quiet was comfortable.

Jay was the first to fill the silence with a mouthful of food:

"So... Artur, you planning to dig up the whole hillside tomorrow, or just half?"

Artur didn’t lift his eyes. Just muttered:

"Depends on how annoying you get."

Jay laughed and almost choked on his stew. Mr. Dand chuckled softly.

Mark smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching before he went back to his food.

The conversation stayed light. Small jokes. Bits of memory. Mr. Dand asking about the farmwork, nodding thoughtfully at their responses.

But even in the calm, Artur’s eyes occasionally drifted to the window. Beyond it, the night sky loomed—quiet and endless.

Jay noticed once but didn’t say anything.

Instead, he nudged Mark’s foot under the table and tilted his head, silently suggesting he’s thinking about him again.

Mark shook his head gently. "Let him have his silence."

The meal continued, and laughter eventually filled the room, but not loudly. Just enough to hold the silence back. Just enough to feel normal.

For now.

Bowls clinked in the sink as water hummed in the background. Overhead, the light flickered once before settling into a warm glow above the three of them.

Mr. Dand had already said goodnight with a quiet pat on Artur’s shoulder and disappeared down the hall, slippers scuffing gently against the wooden floor.

Now it was just Artur, Mark, and Jay.

Jay leaned lazily against the counter, sleeves rolled up but barely helping.

"You know," he said, passing a rinsed spoon to Mark, "I don’t remember volunteering for dish duty."

"You never do," Artur muttered, rinsing the next bowl without looking up.

Mark, drying the spoon with a hand towel, smirked.

"We let you sit here for dinner. That was already generous."

Jay grinned.

"True. Guess I’m just the charming guest."

The water kept running. A few more bowls. Quiet laughter.

Then Artur’s hands slowed, his expression softening as he placed the final plate on the drying rack. He turned off the tap.

"I’m heading out. Early morning tomorrow."

Jay glanced at him, brows lifting as if about to say something—but Artur didn’t wait.

He pulled off his towel, tossed it onto the counter, and gave them both a short nod before heading to the back room. His footsteps faded.

Jay watched the empty space for a second, lips pressed together.

"He’s been quieter than usual."

Mark folded the towel neatly, eyes still on the sink.

"He’s trying not to fall apart."

Jay didn’t ask anything more.

The moon hung above them as Mark and Jay walked side by side through the soft dirt path. The lanterns lining the distant porches flickered gently like fireflies.

"You sure you’re okay walking back alone?" Mark asked.

Jay shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"It’s not that far. I’m used to walking under the stars. Helps me think."

They slowed a little near Jay’s place.

"Thanks," Jay said suddenly, "for not pushing Artur. For being patient."

Mark didn’t respond right away. He looked up at the stars.

"He’d do the same for me."

Jay nodded. Then, with a small grin:

"You ever think we’d end up like this? You and me not fighting like before?"

Mark scoffed quietly.

"Still not too late."

They both laughed softly, the kind only old friends could share.

Jay reached his door and leaned against it.

"Goodnight, Mark."

"Night, Jay."

And Mark turned back toward the house, the path before him bathed in moonlight, quiet and still.

The village night wrapped around him like a soft whisper, calm yet heavy with thoughts unspoken.

Each step felt slower, not from weariness, but from the weight of something unnamed clinging to the silence.