Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 111: When the Past Knocks

Chapter 111: When the Past Knocks

The air was cool now, a soft breeze brushing his face as he walked.

Lamps were being lit in windows, shadows stretching across porches, children’s laughter faint in the distance.

When he neared the guest house, the front light was already on, a quiet welcome.

Billy paused outside for a breath, then stepped up to the door and knocked.

A second later, it opened.

Mr. Frank stood there, the expression on his face a complex thing—relief, worry, and something like awe. Like he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

"Hi," Billy said, voice low.

Mr. Frank let out a breath he’d been holding. "You came."

Billy nodded. I figured we should talk.

Mr. Frank stepped aside. Come in, Leo.

Billy didn’t correct him. Not tonight.

The guest house was modest, a single light pooling across a wooden table set near the window.

Mr. Frank led Billy in gently, offering a seat without a word.

The kettle hissed softly in the background, but neither of them moved toward it.

Billy sat down, hands resting on his knees, eyes flicking to the unfamiliar space. Then, finally, to the man in front of him.

Mr. Frank pulled a chair closer but didn’t sit immediately.

He looked at Billy as if he were still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream.

Then he reached into his pocket and slowly drew out his phone.

I thought I’d wait," he said, voice steady but soft. Let you come when you were ready.

Billy looked up at him, saying nothing.

Mr. Frank unlocked his phone and tapped on something. There’s a lot I could say, Leo. But maybe this... maybe this will say more.

He turned the phone around, holding it out.

Billy leaned forward, hesitant at first, but the moment his eyes landed on the screen, his breath hitched.

It was a photo. A candid one. A woman with dark, wavy hair and warm eyes stood smiling in a kitchen, one hand midair as if caught mid-laugh.

A girl stood beside her, younger—maybe twenty-two—with the same nose, the same cheekbones. The same eyes. A family. His family.

Billy’s breath hitched. His eyes locked on the photo—her smile, the curve of her cheek, the softness in her eyes.

"Who are they?" he whispered.

Mr. Frank sat down now, the phone still in Billy’s hands.

Your mother," Mr. Frank said gently, "and your sister—Camila. That was just last summer.

Your dad too. He’s... more complicated. But he’s around. This—this is your family, Leo.

Billy blinked, hand grazing the screen. "She looks like me," he murmured, touching the screen lightly. "They both do."

"You used to joke no one needed a DNA test," Mr. Frank said, smiling faintly.

Billy chuckled faintly, a sound full of surprise. "I have a sister?"

"She’s been asking about you every day. Your mom... she hasn’t slept right since that night."

Billy’s brow furrowed. "Why didn’t Mark tell me everything earlier?"

"He was being careful," Mr. Frank said gently. "He wanted to make sure you weren’t overwhelmed. You’ve been through enough."

Billy looked up slowly, eyes darker now, full of something deeper. "Why didn’t you take me the moment you saw me?"

There was no accusation in his voice, just curiosity.

Mr. Frank’s expression softened. "Because you looked... different. Not just the clothes or the name. You looked... peaceful.

I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt that. Maybe I was selfish, maybe I was scared.

But seeing you happy, really happy, made me realize—this wasn’t about dragging you back. It was about giving you a choice.

Billy looked back down at the photo, his throat tightening.

"They’re waiting for you," Mr. Frank added. "But they’ll stay where you are—for as long as you need."

Billy stared at the image for a few seconds longer, then slowly handed the phone back. His voice was quiet. "I want to meet them. But I’m not ready to leave... not yet."

Mr. Frank nodded, murmuring softly. "Then we’ll meet you where you are."

Mr. Frank didn’t rush him. He let the silence stretch between them, the air thick with unspoken weight.

Then, after a long pause, he gently asked, "Would you like to talk to them? Just for a moment?"

Billy’s shoulders stiffened. His gaze dropped to his hands resting in his lap.

I... I don’t know what to say," he admitted quietly. "What if I say the wrong thing? What if they expect me to remember everything?

Mr. Frank leaned forward, his voice warm and low. "You don’t have to say anything right. Just... be there. Let them see your face. That’s enough. That’s more than enough."

Billy hesitated, fingers curling slightly around the edge of the chair.

The thought of seeing the woman from the photo live, blinking and breathing on a screen—it stirred something inside him. Not quite fear. Not quite hope either. Something in between.

He gave a small nod.

Mr. Frank smiled gently and opened his phone again. "Just sit with me, alright?"

Billy scooted his chair a little closer, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor. He could feel his pulse in his throat.

The screen rang once. Twice.

Then the call connected.

At first, there was just the ceiling of a room—white, with a single hanging light. Then the camera lowered slightly, and a woman appeared on screen.

Her breath caught the second she saw him.

"Leo..."

Billy’s heart clenched. Her voice was soft, trembling. Her dark eyes were wide, glassy. She lifted a hand to her mouth, as if the sight of him knocked the air from her lungs.

Billy swallowed, his lips parting slightly. "You’re... my mom?"

She nodded slowly, tears brimming over, spilling down her cheeks. "Yes. I am. My baby... Oh, my baby, I thought I lost you."

Billy’s brows pulled together, his own chest tightening with unfamiliar weight.

He didn’t remember her—but something in her voice hit deep, like a song he’d forgotten but still recognized.

"I don’t... remember anything," he said, voice small.

She wiped her face, trying to smile even through the tears. "That’s alright. That’s okay. You’re alive. That’s all that matters. Look at you..." Her fingers reached for the screen, trembling. "You still have that birthmark on your jaw. I used to kiss it every night before bed."

Billy’s hand instinctively brushed the edge of his jaw.

"I always thought you looked like me," she whispered.

Billy blinked back the tears threatening to rise. He didn’t want to cry in front of a stranger—yet somehow, she didn’t feel like one.

"I don’t know how to be who I was," he admitted. "And I don’t know if I want to be. I’ve lived a different life now... I’ve felt peace."

"You don’t have to be," she said. "You just have to be you. That’s enough for me."

From behind her, a girl peeked into the frame. Her face lit up the moment she saw him.

For a beat, neither of them spoke.

His sister’s face filled the screen, framed by a messy ponytail and the soft glow of a lamp behind her.

Her expression froze.

Then her lips parted, eyes widening—first in disbelief, then pure shock.

"Leo?" she breathed.

Her hand shot up, as if she had to physically touch the screen to believe it. "Oh my god bro. You’re—"

She cut herself off, voice breaking.

"You’re alive," she whispered, the words escaping like a held breath.

Billy’s throat tightened. He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the silence.

"I Am," he said quietly.

Her fingers trembled as she adjusted the phone, pushing it closer to her face.

But Billy leaned forward, his voice softer now. "What’s your name?"

"Camila," her smile faltering just a little. "I’m your sister."

He looked at her for a long moment. Then nodded slowly.

Hi, Camila.

She smile faintly Do you still like sour candy? I ate yours ’cause you said you didn’t want it, and then you chased me with a broomstick for an hour!"

Billy blinked—then laughed. A real, sudden laugh, caught between confusion and wonder.

"I did that?"

She nodded with mock pride, raising her chin. "You were so dramatic about it! You even made Mom write a whole ’sibling candy contract’ because you said I violated snack trust."

Billy leaned back slightly, hand covering part of his face as the laughter softened into a smile.

Something about her—her energy, her voice, the ease in the way she remembered him—made everything ache in the best and worst way.

"You remember all that?" he asked, quieter now.

Her expression gentled. "Of course I do." A pause. "You remember any of it?"

Billy’s gaze flicked away for a second, as if the truth might sting less when not said directly into her eyes. He shook his head.

But then he looked at her again—and added, "No. But... I kind of wish I did."

She didn’t push. Didn’t ask the questions she probably wanted to.

Instead, she just smiled again. Smaller this time, but no less bright.

"That’s okay," she said. "I’ll remember enough for both of us."

Their mother gently pulled her back. Let’s not overwhelm him.

She beamed.

And just like that, something inside Billy shifted. He didn’t know what it meant yet, or what he would do next—but this... this was a beginning.

Mr. Frank placed a hand on Billy’s shoulder. "Take your time," he said quietly, watching the screen fill with the gentle noise of a family trying not to cry too loud.

The screen dimmed to black as the call ended. The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it pressed gently around them like soft cotton, thick with unshed words.

Billy sat still for a long time, staring at the darkened screen. His hands remained in his lap, fingers loosely laced. He wasn’t trembling, but something inside him felt... rearranged.

Mr. Frank didn’t speak. He simply reached over and placed the phone face-down on the table between them, then leaned back in his chair, giving Billy the space he hadn’t even asked for.

"I didn’t think I’d feel anything," Billy finally murmured, his voice low, almost distant. "But I did."

Mr. Frank glanced at him, nodding gently.

"She looked like me," Billy said. "And her voice... it felt like something warm I forgot I needed."

Mr. Frank smiled faintly. "That’s your mother. She hasn’t stopped looking for you since that day. None of us have."

Billy’s throat tightened. "I don’t remember them. Not really. It’s like trying to hold smoke in my hands. Everything fades before I can make sense of it."

"You don’t have to remember everything now," Mr. Frank said softly. "You’re still you. And the people who love you... they just want you safe and happy. The rest can come slowly."

Billy looked down at his palms. "She cried so hard."

"Of course she did," Mr. Frank said, voice catching just slightly. "We thought we’d lost you for good."

Billy swallowed hard. "I didn’t mean to disappear."

"I know," Mr. Frank whispered. "You don’t need to explain that to anyone."

There was a long pause.

"I don’t know what I’m supposed to do," Billy admitted, lifting his eyes toward the window, where the light had grown soft and golden with early evening. "I’ve built something here. With Artur. With Dand. With... the quiet."

"You’re not being asked to leave it all behind," Mr. Frank said gently. "But maybe... just don’t shut the door yet. Not to them. Not to her. Let them find their way to you."

Billy nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Another beat passed, softer now.

"Camila said I used to chase her with a broom," he murmured, half-smiling. "Sounds like something I’d do."

Mr. Frank chuckled. "You were dramatic even as a kid. Always had a flair for the scene."

Billy let the silence settle again, then stood. "I think I need some air."

"Of course," Mr. Frank said. "I’ll be here if you want to talk."

Billy stepped outside, the evening breeze wrapping around him like a slow exhale.

He looked up at the sky, now dusted with streaks of orange and violet. His chest felt strange—hollow and full at the same time.

He didn’t know what would happen next. But for the first time, he was willing to ask.

And somewhere, in the stillness of his chest, a name stirred—no longer foreign.

Leo.

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