Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 132: The Version That Stayed

Chapter 132: The Version That Stayed

The glass doors slid open with a whisper.

Billy stepped out first, blinking as the light greeted him — warm, but not blinding.

The street hummed softly, distant cars rolling by, a vendor’s bell clinking far down the sidewalk. Life moved on, unfazed.

But inside him, something had paused.

Camila followed quietly, letting the door ease shut behind them.

They walked a few steps in silence.

Billy’s hands slid into his pockets. His face was unreadable — not cold, just still. Like he was listening to something only he could hear.

Camila glanced at him, then back at the street.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

He gave the smallest shrug.

"I’m... thinking."

She nodded, not pushing.

They walked a bit farther, toward the edge of the parking lot where the sun stretched shadows across the concrete.

Billy stopped there, under a tall tree whose leaves barely rustled.

"I didn’t expect that," he finally said.

Camila leaned beside him.

"Neither did I."

A long pause.

Then Billy looked down at the pavement, voice low.

"What if it doesn’t work? What if I lose the only memories I have now?"

Camila’s eyes softened.

"Then we fight for new ones. One at a time."

He looked at her.

"And if I change?"

She smiled faintly.

"Then we’ll change with you. You’re not a memory, Billy. You’re still you, no matter how much you remember."

His throat tightened at that. He looked away, lips pressed into a line.

"I don’t know if I want to go back... or just stay who I am now."

"Then don’t rush it," she said. "Let yourself be for a while. Breathe. Choose on your terms."

He nodded slowly, the tension easing just a little from his shoulders.

Camila stepped forward, nudging him lightly.

"Come on. Let’s grab something sweet before we head home."

"Like what?"

"Chocolate milkshake," she grinned. "Brain fuel."

Billy cracked a soft laugh — the first in hours.

"That’s... scientifically questionable."

"So is your hairstyle, but we’re not judging."

He rolled his eyes but followed her as they walked back toward the car, not quite healed — but moving.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

The café wasn’t crowded — just a soft lull of late lunch chatter, the clink of silverware, the hum of distant jazz drifting through ceiling speakers.

Billy sat by the window, a tall chocolate milkshake in front of him, condensation trailing slowly down the glass.

Across from him, Camila stirred a spoon into hers, then leaned her chin on her hand, watching him like she used to when they were younger — curious, fond, patient.

"Not bad, right?" she asked.

Billy took a small sip, the chill hitting the roof of his mouth. He nodded.

"Tastes like something I’d like," he said quietly.

Camila smiled.

"You did. You used to make me walk here after every music lesson. You’d pretend it was for me, but you always drank yours in two minutes flat."

He looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"I did?"

"Mm-hmm," she said, taking a long sip through her straw. "You were annoying. But sweet."

Billy stared at his milkshake for a moment, his finger absently tracing the condensation. "Sometimes I wonder if I’d like the old me," he murmured.

Camila leaned forward, voice soft.

"You would. But I like this version too."

He looked at her.

"Which one do you like more?"

She didn’t hesitate.

"The one sitting across from me now. The one who’s still here."

His chest tightened, but it didn’t hurt. It felt more like... grounding.

They sat in quiet for a few minutes, watching the people pass by outside. Billy traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip.

"Thanks for not rushing me."

Camila smiled again, softer this time.

"You’ve been gone a long time. I’m not in a hurry to lose you again."

He reached for his glass, took another sip — slower this time, letting the taste linger.

Outside the window, a dog barked. Somewhere near the counter, a child laughed.

And for a little while, the heaviness of the day didn’t feel so heavy.

The front door creaked open as Camila stepped in first, balancing the leftover milkshake cups in one hand and tossing her keys into the bowl on the console.

Billy followed, quiet, shoulders just slightly tense.

The house smelled faintly of spices and fresh laundry — lived-in, comforting, familiar in a way his memory couldn’t trace.

But a framed photo on the wall caught his eye—his own face, younger, with eyes he didn’t recognize.

Their mother looked up from the dining table. She wasn’t dressed for work anymore — just a soft blouse and her hair loosely tied, as if she’d been sitting there for a while.

Waiting.

Her eyes went straight to Billy. Not searching. Just seeing.

"Welcome home," she said gently.

Billy offered a faint smile, one corner of his mouth tugging.

"Hey, Mom."

She stood slowly, crossing over to him. Her arms didn’t reach out right away — she paused, giving him space.

Then, with quiet certainty:

"Dr. Harris called. He said he spoke to you already."

Billy nodded.

"Yeah."

She studied him for a moment — not for answers, but for emotion. Something beneath the words.

"We’ll talk whenever you’re ready," she said softly. "No pressure. Just... whenever."

He met her eyes. There was so much he couldn’t say. So much he didn’t even know how to feel.

But her presence — the calm steadiness of it — anchored something in him.

"Thanks for not asking right away," he murmured.

She reached for his hand then — warm, reassuring — and squeezed gently.

"You’ve had enough questions for one day."

Camila cleared her throat behind them.

"Also, he drank half my milkshake. So I deserve a crown."

Their mother turned with a light chuckle.

"That sounds about right."

Billy exhaled — the kind that made his shoulders finally drop just a little. A small moment. But real.

"I think I’ll lie down a bit," he said.

His mom nodded.

"Dinner will be ready soon."

Billy headed toward his room. As he passed the hallway mirror, his reflection caught his eye.

He paused for a second, studying the face in the glass. Still unfamiliar in flashes... But slowly becoming his own.

The room held a hush — the golden light of late day spilling across the bedspread, soft shadows stretching long across the floor.

Billy sat at the edge of his bed, still dressed, shoulders slightly hunched. One shoe dangled off his foot, untied — as if he’d meant to move, but couldn’t.

The house murmured faint sounds from the kitchen — a drawer opening, the clink of silverware, Camila’s quiet voice somewhere in the background.

But here, in this small space, it felt still. Suspended.

His eyes drifted to the small canvas bag beside the desk. The same one he’d carried back from the village. His fingers reached into it absently, brushing over folded fabric... then paper.

A jotter — frayed at the edges, the kind of thing meant for grocery lists or fleeting thoughts.

He opened it.

Only two numbers written in that page — slightly smudged from the rain on the day they left.

Mr. Dand Mark

Billy’s fingers hovered over the names. Then, slowly, he picked up the old phone Camila had brought him. The same one he hadn’t touched since returning.

He stared at the screen for a long moment before typing the number in. His thumb hesitated over the call button.

What if he sounds hurt? What if he sounds okay?

He pressed it.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Click.

"Hello?"

It was Mark.

Billy stayed quiet for a heartbeat. Then—

"Hey. It’s me."

Mark paused — not in surprise, just in understanding.

"Hey, Billy... It’s good to hear from you."

Billy swallowed.

"Sorry. I know it’s late."

"It’s fine," Mark said softly. "We were just finishing dinner. What’s up?"

A silence followed.

Billy looked at the jotter again, then toward the window.

"I just wanted to ask..." he began, voice low. "How’s Artur?"

Mark didn’t answer immediately. Then—

"He’s okay," he said gently. "Still keeping busy. Trying to act normal. You know how he is."

Billy’s lips pressed into a line.

"Yeah."

Another pause.

Then Mark asked, careful:

"Do you... want to talk to him?"

Billy shut his eyes.

"No," he said quickly. Then softer: "Not yet."

Mark didn’t push.

"Alright."

"I just... I needed to know if he’s okay," Billy said, barely above a whisper. "That’s enough."

Mark’s voice softened even more.

"He misses you. Even if he doesn’t say it. He... watches the road sometimes."

Billy let out a breath — shaky, fragile. His hand curled tightly around the edge of the bed.

"Don’t tell him I called," he said. "If I hear his voice right now... I don’t know if I can hold it together."

Mark’s silence was understanding.

"Okay," he said. "I won’t. Just know... you’re not forgotten here."

Billy nodded, though Mark couldn’t see it.

"Thanks. For picking up."

"Always."

The line disconnected.

Billy sat there for a while, phone resting in his palm, the room around him silent once again. His eyes shimmered faintly, but no tears fell. Not yet.He reached over and flipped the jotter closed — not an ending, just a pause.

He just lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

One hand still holding the phone. The other gently resting over his chest — where the ache lived quiet, steady.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.