Mother, huh.

Chapter 15 - Mother, huh.

They walked side by side down the quiet street, neither of them saying much at first.

The evening had settled into that brief stretch between daylight and night when the shops were still open but the sidewalks were beginning to empty. A few scooters passed them with low engines, and somewhere farther down the road a shopkeeper was pulling a metal shutter halfway down. The air had cooled since they left the school, carrying the smell of damp pavement, cooking oil, and exhaust from the traffic on the main road.

Alisha kept a careful distance between them. She held her bag tightly against her side with one hand, her fingers wrapped around the strap as though she were more comfortable having something solid to hold.

Every so often she glanced at Torin without turning her head completely, as if she were trying to work out what he wanted from her. He noticed every glance but gave her nothing in return. His pace remained steady, his hands relaxed, his expression unreadable.

For several minutes, the only sound between them was the rhythm of their footsteps.

Then Torin spoke. “You still remember the class?”

His voice was even, almost conversational. There was nothing in it that would have warned a stranger what the question meant.

Alisha looked at him briefly before turning her attention back to the road. “Some of it,” she said. “It was a long time ago.”

Torin nodded as they continued walking. He watched the reflections of the streetlights appearing in the dark shop windows ahead of them.

“The main ones,” he said. “The ones who always started it. Where are they now?”

That question made her quiet. They walked another few steps before Alisha finally answered. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully, as though she understood that there was something underneath Torin's questions but didn't want to acknowledge it.

“Most of them left the country,” she said. “Some went away for university and some found work elsewhere. A few moved to different cities. They all have different lives now, families, jobs, whatever. I don't really hear from them anymore.”

Torin listened without interrupting. He remembered them differently.

To him, they weren't scattered adults with careers and families. They were still the boys who had surrounded his desk, laughing while he tried to protect himself. They were still the voices in the corridor, the hands grabbing him, the faces waiting outside the classroom because they knew nobody would stop them. Time had apparently been generous to them. It had taken the people who had made his life unbearable and given them opportunities to start over.

Torin kept walking. “And the ones who stayed?”

Alisha's grip tightened slightly around her bag strap. “A few,” she said. “They're still around the city. They have changed; people grow up.”

Torin glanced at her. “Do they?”

She looked at him, but he was already facing forward again.

The question hung between them for a moment before Alisha looked away. She adjusted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and continued walking. Torin didn't press her. He didn't need to. He had learned a long time ago from YT that people often revealed more when they were given enough silence to become uncomfortable with it.

They passed a row of older apartment buildings, their balconies crowded with drying clothes and potted plants. A television played somewhere behind an open window, the dialogue muffled by distance. A child ran across the pavement ahead of them before being called back by his mother. Ordinary life continued around them, completely indifferent to the conversation taking place between two people carrying very different memories of the same past.

Torin nodded once and kept walking. He didn't comment on what she had told him, but he remembered every name and every detail. The ones who had left the country were probably beyond his reach, and the ones who had moved to other cities might never cross his path again. But the people who had stayed were different. They were still here, still living their ordinary lives in the same city where they had once made his life miserable. Torin had no intention of rushing toward any of them. For now, knowing who was still around was enough.

He had spent enough time dealing with the building and its tenants to understand that information was often worth more than anger. Anger made people careless, and Information gave you options.

They turned another corner, leaving the brighter road behind.

The buildings here were older and packed closer together, with narrow passages between them and balconies hanging almost directly over the sidewalk. The pavement was uneven, patched in several places, and the streetlights were farther apart. Alisha seemed more familiar with this part of the neighborhood. Her pace slowed slightly as they approached a cluster of aging residential blocks.

Then, almost casually, she spoke again. “The class president is still here.”

Torin looked at her. “Tina?”

Alisha nodded. “Tina,” she confirmed. “She never really left, and she lives with her mother.”

Torin said nothing. Alisha continued after a moment, apparently unaware of how much the name had changed the atmosphere inside him.

“Actually, they're in my building. Same floor.” She glanced toward him, perhaps expecting some reaction, but Torin's expression remained calm.

“What kind of life does she have now?”

Alisha gave a small shrug. “She's different. At least from what I see now, she's quiet. Keeps to herself and doesn't socialize much. Her mother is the same; they mostly stay inside.”

Torin continued walking beside her.

Tina.

The name hadn't disappeared. He remembered the way she used to sit at the front of the classroom, wearing the authority of class president like she had been born with it. She didn't always have to participate directly. Sometimes all she had to do was watch. Sometimes a smile from her was enough for the others to know they had permission to continue. And when teachers entered the room, she could become someone else entirely—responsible, polite, trustworthy.

The perfect student. The perfect class president.

He looked ahead at the street, his face still composed. Alisha kept talking about small things, explaining where the building was and mentioning which entrance they used, but Torin was only half listening now. His attention had shifted somewhere else entirely.

Tina had stayed. More importantly, Tina lived with her mother.

He turned his eyes toward Alisha.

“Mother, huh.”

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