Chapter 103: A DINNER INVITATION

The taxi stopped in front of Kai’s apartment when the sky had turned pale blue—no longer dark, but not fully bright yet. Kai paid with money he took from his jacket pocket—Leonhard’s jacket, which he was still wearing—and he got out. Clack. The taxi door closed. The car drove off—vroom—and Kai stood there for a moment, staring at the old three-story building that had been his home for the past two years. Its paint was still peeling in places. Its stairs still creaked on the third and fifth steps. And on the second floor—his apartment window was still dark.

He climbed the stairs—one by one, with his hand feeling the rusted iron railing, with steps heavier than usual. The key in his pocket—he fished it out, inserted it into the keyhole, turned it—click—and he opened the door.

And he stopped.

His apartment—his apartment was a mess. Not a mess because someone had ransacked it. A mess because he had ignored it for too long. On the floor—on the floor were piles of newspapers yellowing at the corners, with dust clinging to their surfaces like a thin blanket. There were several empty drink bottles lying beside the sofa—soda cans he had drunk months ago, with faded labels. There was a pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the room—some shirts, some pants, some t-shirts—that he hadn’t touched since who knows when. And on the table—on the table were stacks of dirty dishes that had dried, with food remnants he couldn’t identify, with several cups that had mold growing inside them.

Kai stood at the threshold—with his hand still on the door handle, with eyes staring at every corner of the room—and he felt something strange in his chest. Not shame. Not disgust. Just—something. Something that made him realize he had been living in this place for two years—and he had never truly lived here. He had only—stopped by. Slept. Drunk. Then left again. Like someone who never really came home.

Haaah. He let out a breath—slowly, long—and he stepped inside. He closed the door behind him—click—and he stood in the middle of the room, with his hands on his hips, with eyes staring at every corner. "This—" he said—softly, to himself. "This can’t be left like this anymore."

He started working. First—he took a large plastic bag from the kitchen—a bag he had kept in the drawer, still new, never used. He opened it—rustle—and he started collecting trash. Old newspapers. Empty bottles. Soda cans. Food wrappers. He put everything into that bag—one by one, with quick movements, with eyes not looking at anything. He didn’t want to see what he was throwing away. He just wanted—to throw it away.

After the first bag was full—he took a second bag. And a third. And a fourth. He gathered the dirty clothes from the corner of the room—putting them into a basket he already had, which he had ignored all this time—and he placed it near the door, to be washed later. He cleaned the table—wiping its surface with a wet cloth, throwing away the dirty dishes, washing them in the kitchen sink with running water—ssss—and he put them back on the shelf. He swept the floor—with a worn broom, with quick movements—and he mopped it—with a mop whose original color was no longer clear—until the floor shone again. He cleaned the windows—wiping the glass with old newspaper—and he opened the curtains that had been closed for so long. Sunlight entered—bright, warm—and Kai could see dust dancing in the air, swirling like golden flakes.

He stood in the middle of the room—with slightly heavy breath, with sweat dampening his forehead—and he stared at the result of his work. That apartment—that apartment was still simple. Still small. Still with the old sofa whose springs protruded, with the wooden table whose paint had peeled, with the fridge whose door was slightly tilted. But now—now that apartment looked like—a home. Not a stopover. Not a place to sleep. A home.

He took those trash bags—four bags, full, with an unpleasant smell—and he carried them out. He descended the stairs—slowly, carefully, with hands full—and he opened the front door of the apartment building. The morning air greeted him—cold, fresh, with the scent of wet grass—and he stepped outside.

And he saw her.

Diana. The woman stood in front of her apartment door—with two shopping bags in her hands, with the simple black dress she always wore, with her hair tied back. She lifted her head when Kai appeared—and her smile—a warm smile, one that made her face look younger—appeared on her lips.

"Good night, Mr. Kai," she said.

Kai nodded—slowly. "Good night, Ms. Diana."

Diana looked at the trash bags in Kai’s hands—then she smiled wider. "Are you cleaning up?"

"Just taking out the trash," Kai said. He walked to the trash bin at the end of the hallway—with quick steps—and he threw those bags in one by one. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Diana waited in front of her door—with the shopping bags still in her hands. "I just finished shopping," she said when Kai returned. "For dinner."

Kai nodded. He looked at those shopping bags—with vegetables sticking out at the top, with packages of meat visible on the side—and he asked, "For dinner?"

"Yes." Diana smiled. "I bought chicken. Want me to make soup? Iris likes chicken soup."

Kai opened his mouth to refuse—to say he didn’t want to bother her, that he had already troubled her enough, that he could eat on his own—but before those words could come out—

Grrr.

His stomach growled. Loud. Loud enough to be heard throughout the hallway. Kai could feel his face heating up—and Diana—Diana laughed. Ha ha ha. That laugh—a light laugh, a warm one—wasn’t mocking. Just—the laugh of someone who found something funny.

"Seems like your stomach has already answered," Diana said. "Come in. I’ll make chicken soup."

Kai looked at her—for a long time. Then he nodded—slowly, with a face still slightly warm. "Alright."

Diana opened her apartment door—creak—and she stepped inside. Kai followed her—with slightly hesitant steps, with his hands still in his jacket pockets—and he entered Diana’s apartment.

That apartment—that apartment was different from his. Smaller—maybe. But more—alive. Its walls were painted light cream—with several photos hanging there, with several small paintings framed simply. The sofa—that sofa was old, with fabric faded in places—but covered with a clean sofa cover, with cushions arranged neatly. In the corner of the room—there was a small table with a vase of flowers—plastic flowers, but bright in color—and beside it, a bookshelf full of worn books. The floor—the floor was made of wood, with several scratches on its surface—but clean, with a small carpet in front of the sofa. And in the kitchen—in the kitchen there was a warm aroma, coming from a pot on the stove—chicken soup, maybe, or something being boiled—and Kai could feel his stomach growling again. Grrr.

Then—a sound. From the center table.

"Mom—"

Iris. The girl sat at the center table—with a phone in her hand, with a loose t-shirt, with shorts that were—too short. She lifted her head—and she saw Kai. Her eyes widened. HAAH! She immediately stood—with her phone falling onto the table—and she ran to her room. Thud! That room door closed—hard—and Kai could hear the sound of something falling inside, followed by Iris’s grumbling—soft, but loud enough to be heard.

Diana smiled—a slightly embarrassed smile. "Sorry, Mr. Kai," she said. "Iris—she usually dresses like that at home. She didn’t expect there to be a guest."

Kai shook his head slowly. "It’s fine," he said. "This is her home. It’s natural."

Diana nodded. "Please sit down," she said—she pointed to the dining table. "I’ll prepare dinner."

Kai sat in the chair—slowly, carefully—and he stared around the room. His eyes moved from photo to photo—from painting to painting—until he stopped at a photo hanging on the wall near the kitchen. That photo—that photo wasn’t too big. Just the size of a palm—with a simple wooden frame, with slightly dusty glass. In it—in it were three people. Diana—still young, with a wide smile, with long flowing hair. Iris—still small, maybe five or six years old, with a pink dress, with a gap-toothed smile. And a man—a man holding Iris, with a face not entirely clear, with a smile that—a smile that—

Kai felt something strange in his chest. Something hot. Something—piercing. He wanted to stay seated. He wanted not to care. But—he couldn’t hold back the curiosity. He stood—slowly—and he walked to that photo. He stared at it—for a long time—with narrowed eyes, with hands starting to tremble.

That man—that man had a firm jaw. Sharp eyes. A smile that—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Kai had seen that smile before. Kai had seen that face before. But where? When?

Then—pain. Heat. Intense. Striking his head—like a hammer hitting a wall—and Kai staggered. Hgggh. He grabbed his head with both hands—and he saw—not Diana’s apartment. Not that photo. But—something else. Something long buried.

Fire. Screams. Blood flowing under the rain. A man—with a firm jaw, with sharp eyes—standing in front of him. The man smiled—the same smile—and he said, "You don’t know anything, kid. You killed us without knowing why."

Kai staggered—and he grabbed the table beside him to support his body. Hff... Hff... That pain—slowly—started to subside. He opened his eyes—slowly—and he stared at that photo again. That man—that man—

"Mr. Kai?" Diana’s voice—from the kitchen. "Are you alright?"

Kai turned. Diana stood at the kitchen doorway—with a tray in her hands, with two glasses on it, with a slightly worried face. She walked to the table—slowly—and she placed that tray down. "I brought drinks," she said. "You look—"

She stopped. Her eyes followed Kai’s gaze—to the photo on the wall—and she smiled faintly. "Oh," she said. "You saw that photo."

Kai nodded—slowly. "Who is that man?"

Diana stared at that photo—for a long time—with eyes slightly glistening. "My husband," she said. "Iris’s father."

Kai didn’t say anything.

"I don’t know where he is now," Diana continued. "He—" she paused for a moment, searching for the right word, "—he left. Years ago. No news. No messages." She smiled—a bitter smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. "But I don’t feel lonely. I have Iris."

Kai looked at her—for a long time. Then he nodded—slowly. "I understand."

Suddenly—a loud sound from the kitchen. CRASH! Diana was startled—and she immediately turned. "Ah—my pot!" She ran to the kitchen—fast, with panicked steps—and Kai could hear the sound of a pot falling, the sound of water spilling, the sound of Diana grumbling softly.

Kai returned to his chair—slowly, carefully. He sat down—and he stared at the table in front of him. That photo—that photo was still hanging on the wall. But Kai wasn’t looking at it anymore. He just—sat. Waiting.

Iris appeared from her room—slowly, carefully—and she sat in the chair across from Kai. She had changed clothes—now in a white t-shirt and gray long pants—and her hair was combed. "Sorry, Sir," she said—her voice a little embarrassed. "Earlier I—"

"It’s fine," Kai cut in. "This is your home."

Iris nodded—slowly. Then she smiled—the mysterious smile that was always on her face. "Mr. Kai," she said. "You look different today."

Kai raised his eyebrows. "Different how?"

"You look—" Iris paused for a moment, staring at Kai from top to bottom, "—neater. And your clothes—" she pointed at the jacket Kai was wearing, "—is that new?"

"This is an old jacket," Kai said. "Given by someone."

Iris nodded—slowly, with a wider smile. "Good," she said. "It suits you."

Kai didn’t say anything. He just sat there—with his hands on his lap, with eyes looking at Iris—and he waited. Diana came—finally—with a large tray in her hands. On it—a large bowl of chicken soup, with steam billowing—hfff—and a plate of white rice, with several side dishes beside it. "Sorry for the wait," she said—she placed that tray on the table, "—the pot fell earlier."

Iris immediately stood—taking a bowl, taking a spoon—and she filled that bowl with chicken soup. Full. Almost overflowing. "This is for Mr. Kai," she said—she placed that bowl in front of Kai. "Mom’s chicken soup—the best."

Diana smiled—a slightly embarrassed smile. "Iris—"

"Yes, Mom. It really is the best." Iris had sat back down—with a bowl in front of her, with a spoon in her hand. "Let’s eat."

They ate—with the sound of spoons clinking softly—clink... clink...—and with the sound of soup being sipped—slurp... slurp... Kai enjoyed that soup—warm, savory, with tender chicken—and he felt something strange in his chest. Something warm. Something—comfortable.

"Mr. Kai," Diana said—she put down her spoon for a moment. "How is school? Is Iris—" she turned to her daughter, "—not too much trouble?"

Kai shook his head slowly. "Iris is a good student," he said. "She’s smart. And—" he paused for a moment, "—she has many friends."

Diana smiled—a wide smile, one that reached her eyes. "I’m glad to hear that," she said. "Iris—" she turned to her daughter again, "—she always talks about school. About her friends. About—" she paused for a moment, "—about you."

Kai raised his eyebrows. "About me?"

"Yes." Diana smiled. "She says you’re a good teacher. She says you’re—" she stopped again, like she was searching for the right word, "—she says you’re different from other teachers."

Kai didn’t say anything. He just looked at Diana—for a long time—then he turned to Iris—who was looking down, with a slightly flushed face.

"Iris," Kai said. "You talk about me?"

Iris lifted her head—slowly. "Only—" she paused for a moment, "—only good things, Sir."

Kai smiled faintly—a weak smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "Good," he said. "Because I don’t want you talking about bad things."

They continued eating—with light conversation, with occasional laughter—ha ha ha—and with the sound of spoons clinking. Kai—for the first time in a long while—felt something like—peace. Not perfect peace. Not peace without burden. But—enough peace. Enough to make him forget—for a moment—about blood, about gunfire, about the name Viel still spinning in his head.

After the meal was finished—Kai stood. "I have to go home," he said. "Tomorrow I have to go to school earlier."

Diana nodded—slowly. "Iris," she said—she turned to her daughter, "—walk Mr. Kai to the front door."

Iris stood—slowly—and she walked to the door with Kai. They walked in silence—along the small hallway toward the door—and when they reached it, Iris stopped. "Mr. Kai," she said—her voice soft.

Kai stopped. He turned.

"Thank you," Iris said. She looked down—deeply, with her hands clasped in front of her. "Sometimes I see Mom looking—lonely. So when I saw Mom earlier—" she paused for a moment, "—she was really happy. So—" she lifted her head, "—thank you for accepting Mom’s invitation."

Kai looked at her—for a long time. Then he stepped closer—slowly—and he raised his hand. He stroked Iris’s head—with careful movements, with a light touch. "If you need anything," he said—his voice soft, but firm, "—just tell me."

Iris lifted her head—slowly—and she looked at Kai with eyes slightly glistening. "Yes, Sir," she said—almost a whisper.

Kai released his hand—slowly—and he turned. He walked to his apartment—with calm steps, with his hands in his jacket pockets—and he opened the door. Creak. He entered—and he closed the door behind him. Click.

He stood in his apartment—now clean, now tidy, now looking like a home—and he let out a breath. Haaah. He removed his jacket—slowly—and he hung it behind the door. He walked to the sofa—and he sat down. He stared at the ceiling—still with the water stain shaped like an open mouth—and he let his mind drift.