{THE MOVEMENT BEFORE MEETING SILAS AT NIGHT }
Ding!
His phone lit up with a single message.
sating in his chair reading a book, he heard the notification and his eyes immediately went to the table beside him. Closing the book, he picked up the phone. It was the same person who had saved Silas.
[Young Master, someone has gone to meet that boy in his room.]
Without replying, the boy stood up and began to leave.
....
The morning sun was beginning to rise, its golden rays gradually spilling across the dark blue sky. The city, still half-dreaming, was slowly stirring to life. The air was filled with the distant hum of people waking up, shops opening, and the first sounds of a bustling day ahead.
It was just past six in the morning. Silas was awake, sitting on his bed, his gaze softly fixed on the window. His eyes, gentle and lost in thought, absorbed the first light of day when, suddenly, the door creaked open. Someone entered. Silas turned his head, his heart giving a quick, almost imperceptible skip. Standing in front of him was someone he never expected to see.
"How... How are you?"
It was Dylan, his voice still carrying that familiar hesitation, that shyness in his tone—just like always.
But it wasn't just Dylan standing there. There was someone else with him—the same person who had helped Silas yesterday.
How do you feel now?" the boy asked. He was holding a shopping bag, its contents hidden inside, but the gesture seemed strangely considerate.
The two of them stepped forward, walking closer to Silas, the air around them shifting with a quiet anticipation. The atmosphere was thick with an unspoken connection.
Silas was staring at Dylan intently, his eyes not missing a single detail of the boy's face. There was no visible sign of injury or bruising. Considering how he had been in the clutches of those thugs, the rough, violent men, Silas never expected Dylan to walk out of there unharmed, let alone return safe.
"I I was so worried about y you when I heard what happened… Are you really o okay now?" Dylan asked, his concern clearly written across his face. His voice was soft, almost fragile, as if the weight of his words matched his emotions.
Silas simply nodded, giving a quiet response. "Yeah, I'm fine."
His gaze shifted to the boy standing next to Dylan. Without a word, Silas looked at him with a cold, distant stare. It wasn't out of anger—just an unreadable indifference, as if he were analyzing him from afar.
The boy, feeling the intensity of Silas's cold gaze, seemed to realize something. His eyes widened slightly, and with a soft exhale, he spoke, clearly embarrassed.
"Oh... I forgot to introduce myself," he said, his voice full of energy, a burst of enthusiasm that contradicted his earlier awkwardness. His tone was warm and sincere, full of life—a clear sign of someone who carried a brave, fearless spirit.
"I'm Matthew,"
The boy continued, extending his hand toward Silas in a gesture of friendship, eager to connect. His face was bright with excitement, but Silas remained silent, still holding his gaze on him, not moving. Matthew looked down at his hand, noticing that it remained suspended in the air without any reciprocation. He stood there, not pulling it back, but unsure of how to proceed.
There was an odd tension in the air, as if both boys were caught in the weight of the moment, with no one quite knowing how to bridge the gap. Matthew, after a brief pause, spoke again, trying to break the silence. His tone had softened, but there was still that undeniable spark of determination in it.
"By the way, did you have some kind of personal grudge against those thugs? The ones who were after you... I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you—"
Silas didn't understand what Matthew meant. His words were confusing. How did he know about the fight? Did he have any idea of what had happened? Silas's expression faltered, a subtle confusion creeping into his features. He didn't quite know how to respond, his mind spinning with questions.
"What do you mean... hard?" Silas cut Matthew off before he could finish his sentence.
"Hah..."
Matthew froze at Silas's response, as if he couldn't believe it. It was as if Silas had no memory of the help he had received.
"What do you mean? You don't remember what happened?" Matthew asked, his hand slowly lowering, his expression one of disbelief.
Silas shook his head slightly. "I don't remember much... I just remember fighting those guys," he replied, his voice distant, almost lost in the haze of his fragmented recollections.
Matthew glanced over at Dylan, who stood quietly beside them, his innocent silence a stark contrast to the tension in the room. Dilaen was listening intently, but saying nothing. Silas's eyes shifted between the two boys, his confusion growing with each passing second. He could feel something was off, but he couldn't quite place it. What were they trying to tell him?
...
"So, you helped me?" Silas asked, his voice calm, almost detached.
Matthew's face broke into a grin as he started to explain, his tone light but tinged with a hint of frustration.
"Yeah, who else? You know, nowadays, kindness is a rare thing. People help, but then they forget. It's like they never even did"
Matthew said, pouting slightly, as though the world had become a little unfair.
Silas, who had been in a fog of confusion, suddenly felt a wave of clarity wash over him. It was starting to make sense now. He had always assumed that Ashir was the one who had brought him to the hospital, who had helped him when he was unconscious. His mind had created that memory, because the first face he saw upon regaining consciousness was Ashir's. But that wasn't true. The person who had actually helped him, who had brought him there, was Matthew. It was all just an illusion—a false memory his mind had created.
As the realization dawned on him, Silas felt a strange discomfort settle in his chest. He had mistakenly assumed that the person who had helped him was Ashir, and now, the reality was that Matthew, the one who had truly saved him, had been treated rudely by him. A small sense of guilt tugged at his heart, and for the first time in a while, he felt conflicted about his actions.
"I... I'm Silas," he said softly, almost as if the words were reluctant to leave his mouth. He lowered his gaze, unable to meet Matthew's eyes directly.
"Thank you… for saving my life," he murmured, his voice sincere but still carrying that faint hesitance of someone who was unused to expressing gratitude.
Matthew's face immediately lit up upon hearing those words. The sudden shift in his expression was as if the world had become a little brighter for him.
"Oh, haha, don't mention it! What's there to thank me for?" Matthew said, laughing in his usual carefree way, as he ran his hand through his hair.
"I just happened to be passing by, that's all. If it had been anyone else in my place, they would've done the same. Haha, right?"
He added, his words laced with that undeniable sense of optimism and cheer.
Silas glanced at Dylan, noticing how he wasn't exactly listening to Matthew's words but rather enduring them. It was as if the expression on his face was telling its own story—something was clearly off.
Matthew was a lively, charismatic guy. Anyone who spoke to him for even a minute would easily become his friend. His tone, full of energy and cheer, carried a kind of irresistible warmth.
But where Matthew was speaking with a light, playful attitude, Dylan stood by silently, his face betraying a deep sense of anxiety and unease. The contrast between the two was stark.
"Oh, I forgot to mention again—I'm also Dylan's friend and neighbor. We live in the same area," Matthew said with a grin, clearly excited to share this detail.
Dylan remained silent, not uttering a word. Silas felt a strange discomfort. Matthew's behavior was so friendly, so approachable, yet Dylan, despite being with him all this time, seemed unable to engage like a normal friend. Since they had entered the room, Dylan hadn't spoken a single word to Matthew. In fact, he had been standing in an almost stiff silence, his nervousness palpable.
"Dylan," Silas called out, his voice breaking the quiet tension.
Dylan's eyes dropped, his gaze fixed on the floor, the tension around him intensifying. There was something deeply off about this. Silas couldn't understand it. There was no one here to intimidate Dylan now. So why was he so uneasy? His silence was more than just awkwardness. It was an unusual kind of anxiety, one that didn't seem to make sense.
Dylan didn't answer. It was as if he hadn't even heard Silas speak. Seeing this, Matthew became more insistent.
"Dylan!" Matthew called, shaking him lightly, as if trying to break through the fog that seemed to surround him. Dylan flinched, startled, as if coming back from a trance.
"Hmm… What?" Dylan muttered, his voice low and almost inaudible.
"Silas was calling you," Matthew said gently, a note of patience in his voice.
"What? Maybe I didn't hear him, sorry... I'll... I'll be careful next time," Dylan stammered, his words hesitant and filled with an underlying fear.
"Hah, don't worry. You're overreacting, Dilan," Matthew said with a carefree smile, trying to lighten the moment.
But Silas couldn't ignore the way Dylan's body seemed to shudder slightly, his hands trembling ever so subtly. Something wasn't right. The change in Dylan's behavior was becoming more apparent, and Silas could feel it in the air. The anxiety was creeping in, growing stronger.
Something about Dylan's actions, his unease, and his unnatural silence made Silas uneasy. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, but he could feel that Dylan's discomfort wasn't just about being around people. There was something deeper, something unspoken that lingered between them.
"Could you give us some time alone?"
"Hah, me?"
To be Continued...