Chapter 78: Between Shadows and Ink
Marek and the others found Amara’s answer only a few hours later, which was unusually fast. The timing alone made Marek wonder whether she had already been somewhere near the cultural center when they were there. Perhaps they had missed each other again by no more than a few streets.
By then, Linden’s strange geography had forced them farther west than the old map suggested. They were standing on a road pushed upward by a line of buildings sunken several meters into the ground, which Marek found as more bizarre than the others he had seen so far.
On another street just ahead, the exposed side of an apartment block had been hoisted along with a massive heap of earth beneath it, making the whole structure look as though one strong tremor would finally bring it down.
They almost went past a roadside clinic without noticing it. Its weathered sign hung drunkenly above a cramped entrance squeezed between a pharmacy and what used to be a small restaurant. Dust-covered windows lined the front wall, making it difficult to see anything inside from the street. As they stepped inside, several chairs pushed and stacked against the walls greeted them, leaving more space open for boxes of donated medicine and other supplies. Marek scrunched his nose as the strong smell of antiseptic flooded his senses like a tide, somehow surviving beneath the dust, stale air, and faint odor of old furniture.
’Are we entering an urban clinic? Or an ancient one?’ Marek thought, covering his nose.
Rafe went to a mobile whiteboard used as a bulletin board. After scanning the papers on the board, he called Marek over. "Look here, it seems to be your mother’s name."
There was a piece of paper pinned beneath several family notices. Even before Marek could read what was written on the paper, he immediately recognized the handwriting.
FOR MAREK VALE
Underneath it was her answer to the question he left at that cultural center.
MARA’S FIRST BOYFRIEND’S NICKNAME: NOODLE PRINCE.
BREAK-UP: JULY 14.
Marek stared at it. The corners of his mouth twitched.
Nadia also came beside him and leaned forward to look at his mother’s answer to his question. "Noodle Prince? That’s..."
"Say no more," Marek barred her before she could continue whatever she wanted to say.
Marek remembered what happened back then.
"Mom!
Well, she never called him "kuya" again after she grew up.
At that time, Mara came home announcing that she had a boyfriend because one of her classmates had shared his lunch with her twice. She refused to tell Marek the boy’s real name and called him Noodle Prince instead.
Then, around two days after that, she announced that they had broken up.
Marek remembered complaining in his mind that she had watched too many romantic dramas. Every time a boy did something good to her, she would think the boy was courting her. Even until she was fourteen years old. ’I don’t know whether everything she said to us was true that someone courted her: a boy and then another one the next day... or she was just a delusional little brat.’
When she told them they broke up, his mother immediately acted like she was concerned and asked her what happened. Meanwhile, at that time, he just remained silent while Mara was hugging one of his legs. ’Very tiny...’
When Mara told them why, her answer earned a loud laugh from Marek, which was very far from how he usually behaved.
"He... H-He gave half of his noodles... to another girl... I thought it was only for me..."
The moment Mara lifted her head to look at Marek’s laughing face, she immediately let go and refused to speak with him for the rest of the day, even during the time when they had their dinner. Amara remembered the date precisely because she had written it on the kitchen calendar as "THE FALL OF NOODLE PRINCE," which only made Mara angrier, stomping her feet as she walked to her room to sulk.
No one should know this series of events other than the three of them.
"That’s her," Marek said. "I’m certain."
He felt relief at the confirmation from his mother, but it did not last long. Beneath the answer, Amara had left another message.
I saw your letter. I’m still moving in the same direction—westward.
Do not follow my trail, but keep writing messages wherever you pass. I’ll try to follow your route. If you can safely stay in one place for a while, maybe for a few hours, please do. It’ll make it easier for me to catch up.
"..."
"How could I stay put when you’re doing everything you can just to find your pathetic son?" Marek muttered, his gaze still fixed on her letter, gritting his teeth.
"You’re not pathetic, that’s for sure, oh Dear Ophiarch!" Rhovan suddenly proclaimed.
Marek remained in front of the board for another moment, still staring at the last line of his mother’s message even after Rhovan had begun rambling behind him about how no Ophiarch could ever be described as pathetic. But he closed his ears to that. Instead, his attention remained on the words asking him to remain somewhere safe for a few hours.
Then, he pushed his instincts back immediately. Every minute or hour he spent standing still could mean another minute or hour Amara could move farther away, while Mara’s route could change once again. However, this time, it was different. His mother was no longer leaving a trail for him to follow. Instead, she was following his.
If he continued moving without pause while Amara tried to catch whatever he left behind, the same problem could simply repeat itself like a cycle. They could keep arriving at the places the other had already abandoned and somehow remain separated despite moving through the same part of Linden.
This was a different kind of meeting. It lacked flesh and breath, occurring only in the spaces between shadows and ink. They were like ghosts haunting the same rooms at different hours, leaving breadcrumbs in the dark.
Marek rubbed the bridge of his nose. ’Fine. Just for a few hours. That’s all you’re getting from me, Mom...’