That evening, the sky turned amber.
I stood near the gate, watching the light fade behind the neem tree that had always guarded our house like a quiet sentinel. Bruno was chasing butterflies in the garden. The smell of turmeric and curry leaves drifted from the kitchen. The kind of smell that used to annoy me - now I wanted to bottle it forever.
I heard a cycle bell.
And I froze.
My brother.
He coasted in on his rickety Hero Ranger, school bag hanging loose, cricket bat strapped to the back like a soldier's sword. His shirt was half untucked, his forehead shining with sweat, and his grin - God, that grin - I had buried that memory too deep for too long.
"Catch it, loser!" he yelled, tossing a chocolate bar at me. My favorite. The same one he always bought when he scored runs in a match. I caught it mid-air, nearly dropping it.
"Look at you," he said, walking past me. "Standing like a statue. Missed me that much?"
"I did," I whispered.
He paused, turned back. "You okay?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. If I opened my mouth, everything might come out. The truth. The grief. The future. That tomorrow, he would leave after a fight with Dad. That he would disappear from our lives for years. That we never got the chance to say sorry.
So I just smiled. "Yeah. Just… glad you're back early."
---
We sat on the terrace later that night, our legs hanging off the edge, Bruno between us like a warm divider. The sky above looked the same as it did in all timelines — distant, indifferent, and full of quiet stars.
"Do you ever feel like we're wasting time?" he asked suddenly.
I turned to him. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "Like… we fight, we sulk, we hold grudges. We act like there's always going to be time to fix things. But what if there's not?"
My throat dried up. Was this his way of remembering? Did he know? No… he couldn't. But maybe, just maybe, somewhere in him, a tiny ripple of the future had whispered back.
I didn't speak. I reached into my pocket and handed him something — an old drawing we made as kids. A rocket ship with "Brothers Forever" written in crooked handwriting.
He stared at it. "You kept this?"
"I never stopped," I said.
And then — I did something I never got to do the first time.
I leaned on his shoulder. Just for a second.
He didn't push me off. He didn't joke. He just stayed still.
And in that moment, I forgave him.
And more importantly - I forgave myself.
---
As the night deepened, I knew it wouldn't last.
Time, in whatever magic or mercy it had, had only given me this one shot. No resets. No rewinds. Just this fragile window to make peace with yesterday.
I looked at my brother, humming some off-key tune under his breath.
If tomorrow had to come…I was finally ready to meet it.