Chapter Text
The voices of lively guests sharing their stories buzzed in the air of this quaint, rooftop terrace restaurant Yuta and Miguel were eating at in the city of Chefchaouen. The aroma of spices engulfed the two as they ate lamb tajine, khobz (Moroccan bread) and various side dishes. They sat at what the owner called "the best table in the house." It was situated next to the fencing, where they could look at the stunning curves and homes of the rollicking hills and feel the balmy evening breeze blowing softly.
“Hmm! I think I like this tajine the most,” Yuta muttered as he chewed his food. "Lamb is so good! We should eat this more often back home."
Miguel chuckled. “Every bite of Moroccan cuisine punches the insides of your mouth. Wait until we arrive in Kenya. Ah, you will have another mouth-watering experience most definitely.”
“Oof, I'm still getting used to Moroccan food.” Yuta broke apart the bread and dipped it in the tajine, dowsing the bread in the richness of the sauce and scooping up pieces of the tender lamb and potatoes. The lamb's tenderness melted in his mouth, the seasonings dancing on his taste buds. Yuta's four days in the beautiful country of Morocco, so far, have been nothing short of incredible.
―
Chefchaouen, the blue pearl of North Africa, was the third stop in Yuta and Miguel's adventures in search of raw materials for black rope. Miguel's home country of Kenya didn't have all the requirements of black rope, so he and Yuta were bound on a cross-continent trek to bring them to his village, starting in Morocco.
After a relaxing plane trip in first class—courtesy of Satoru Gojo—with several stops (a kid at one of the airports asked him if he was dressed up as the character from Frankenweenie; he didn't understand), they landed in Tangier. This city was a cosmopolitan playground on the tip of the country, Spain only an hour away. Before they stepped out of the airport, Yuta was feeling quite nervous, unsure of how much he'd enjoy being here, what struggles he'd face. But the moment their ride made it into Tangier, Yuta was absolutely gobsmacked at the beauty of this ancient land, intensifying even more when he awoke in the morning and saw how the city looked under the bright sun. The beautiful landscapes and architecture penetrated a unique thrill in the inexperienced boy. A thrill voracious for knowledge and exploration, something he denied himself for years.
In Tangier, they met a sorcery researcher named Eloy, one of the few people outside of Japan who knew about cursed energy. Eloy provided the duo with information on where to obtain an essential ingredient in the fiber used in the rope. He was an old Spanish man who used to travel throughout Asia for decades and was a window for Jujutsu High. While he had no innate technique or combat skills, he had a higher amount of cursed energy compared to the average civilian, especially the average non-Japanese person. He didn't know why, but it worked in his favor as he got to be associated with the jujutsu world. He showed the two a collection of documents and images he kept after retiring from the school regarding jujutsu history. For a while, Yuta felt like he was still back home.
Eloy took Yuta and Miguel around to show off his beautiful city: the group had breakfast at a European-style restaurant where Yuta ate an omelet, then visited the kasbah (citadel) in the medina (old part of a city) and spent some time drinking at a café there. Later, they went outside the city to Hercules Cave, where the God Hercules allegedly slept in before his twelve labors. To end it off, they went to Cape Spartel where they saw the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea clash before they ended their Tangier trip with a Moroccan meal at the researcher's friend's restaurant.
While he took many photos on his now-broken cell phone of the green-blue water rolling towards the shore, the colorful garments and trinkets sold in the labyrinthine alleys of the medina and the buildings on the undulating hills flavored with Spanish and Islamic elements (as Yuta came to learn was called “Moorish style”), an uneasy feeling was bubbling inside him. Yuta was deep in new territory; this was a drastic contrast from Japan.
Guilt exploded in his heart when he left his country, thinking his friends also deserved a chance to go overseas to strengthen their abilities. He thought they were just as capable and worthy of being given Miguel's expertise. When Panda accidentally let loose that Principal Yaga, Gojo and the higher-ups were already planning his leave, it riled him up, and he went to Gojo immediately. He barged into Gojo's office, finding him eating strawberry mochi, and courageously told him that he shouldn't make plans for him without his input, especially when the plan didn't involve his friends. Gojo replied that while the other students were getting better as sorcerers and that they'd have a chance to go abroad in the future, this was an opportunity exclusive to him. However, if Yuta didn't want to leave, then he didn't have to. It was all just something he as a “great teacher” thought would benefit the boy in becoming a stronger sorcerer. But maybe he was in the wrong for thinking so and not informing him.
Yuta stood there, observing his blindfolded sensei lounging in his leather seat, exuding an air of nonchalance and effortlessness with his legs crossed and head leaning against the headrest. But despite the laid-back appearance, inside, Yuta sensed he was anything but. Gojo's voice, usually laced with vibrant enthusiasm and a heap of mischief, was missing those qualities in what he just said—a memory appeared in Yuta's head of a similar voice he heard on a frosty winter day.
My best friend. The only one I had.
But while that melancholic tone was woven with nostalgia and sentimentality, this melancholic tone was tinged with disappointment. His sensei's words pierced deeply into his soul like a shower of cold and harsh shards. A thick silence weighed down on them as Yuta gathered his thoughts. Gojo remained composed in his seat, waiting.
He loved being with his friends. . .
But he also didn't want to let Gojo down, leave him and himself wondering what could've been.
Yuta didn't want Rika's wish to wither.
With his head held high, Yuta declared that he'd go to Africa. A small, almost imperceptible smile crept on Gojo's face. A renewed sense of energy flowed throughout his sensei, and he gave Yuta the strawberry mochi box, with only two pieces left, as a gift for making the right choice. His friends would continue training hard and get better, he promised.
However, that guilt he thought he conquered pounded ferociously on his shoulders, pushing him down again, and brought back a question in his head: Was leaving Japan a mistake?
He left behind the life he built. He left behind his friends.
Yuta was here and they weren't.
What if they went on a mission but didn't return? What if another insidious entity entered the school and injured his friends? What if they couldn't be treated in time? What if, when he returned to Japan, they were gone?
How can I go on without them?
That thought alone was enough to elicit a crisis in him on his first day.
But that guilt couldn't stay. Creating black rope wasn't just for Miguel and his village, it was for anything that could happen that required a powerful cursed tool like that.
That rope was a fascinating tool. It'd be in our best interest if we had an alliance with Miguel's clan, Gojo told his protégé the week before he left for Africa.
Yuta sensed Gojo had more concerns about it than what he led on. It was if he didn't just want it in case of an incident, but as if he also wanted to have authority over it so it wouldn't be used against him. But he wasn't one to really question Gojo; he simply wanted to make him proud. Nevertheless, as Yuta toured Tangier, his mind played all the conversations they've had and for the first time, Yuta thought about Gojo dying—he'd only ever thought a few times about his sensei getting severely injured, but dying? No, he wouldn't die, not this soon. All humans die, it was an inevitable occurrence, but Yuta couldn't fathom that happening to Gojo, at least, without putting up a fight. His sensei was the strongest sorcerer of today, the one enemies have tried to kill but always failed.
As Yuta watched the ocean and sea mix but never become one at the Strait of Gibraltar in Cape Spartel, he thought about how Gojo always fought alone. He wasn't the type to need assistance from others because fighting alone was how he could truly demonstrate his full power. He always put in his all to win. To doubt Gojo was to doubt himself.
His other friends would also do everything they were capable of doing, possibly unlocking more, to protect themselves and each other.
Inumaki, who he was once afraid of, needed throat medicine, but that drawback never stopped him from using his technique. He's only gotten better at efficiently using his cursed energy. There's a reason he was the first to go on solo missions, after all.
Panda was Panda and his high endurance combined with his physical abilities were one-of-a-kind; he was only going to get tougher and was always steps ahead of his enemies' strategies in battles.
And Maki, strong and resilient Maki, was someone who'd use all her brute force and arsenal of weapons to defeat an enemy without fear. She had massive potential that she was working hard towards achieving. She'd get there, he believed. And it wasn't just the second-years: there were other students, like Megumi, Hakari, and Todo who excelled in their own way, had qualities he admired as well.
His friends had faith in Yuta becoming a better sorcerer, so it was only right he had faith in them. He was going to come back more powerful, just like how they were trying to be. His years of living in agony couldn't stop him—no matter how much he wanted to end it all then, he didn't. The turmoil swirling inside shouldn't stop him from accomplishing his mission. Yes, he wasn't going to turn back on his word, especially with Gojo; the young sorcerer owed him his life—it was the least he could do.
As the group returned to Eloy's home, the warm lights of Tangier zooming by in their taxi, Yuta felt the weight of this guilt and anxiety pour out of his body. This was a trip of a lifetime and he was going to make the most out of it. Whatever happened back home, the jujutsu sorcerers would do everything to restore peace. And he'd be incredibly strong enough to save his friends when the time came to return home. Gojo, in his own carefree way, was someone who cared about strengthening his students. And Yuta accepted that this trip was the best way to go about gaining strength. Surpassing his white-haired goofball of a sensei in the title of “The Strongest” wasn't in his interest; Yuta simply wanted to become strong enough to protect his friends, to take charge if something happened. To this baggy-eyed boy, the most successful sorcerers were the ones that kept going in the face of adversity, of loneliness.
So he'd keep going.
―
After a spectacular day exploring the culturally rich Tangier, the duo left the next morning to their next destination. They arrived in the hidden jewel called Tetouan, another port city that left Yuta, once again, in awe due to its strikingly white Spanish-influenced buildings backdropped by the verdant Rif Mountains. There was nothing of interest for their mission in Tetouan, but they stayed for a day and a half anyway, exploring the medina and the shops selling artisan goods (less hagglers here compared to Tangier), the tannery where they make dye, the Royal Palace, the small parks scattered about, eating street snacks, and trying to find their way out of the alleyways after someone gave them wrong directions (or maybe they just didn't understand the guy).
Yuta was tempted to buy some small knickknacks, but he wasn't going back home anytime soon, so he refrained. But if he weren't staying in Africa for so many months, he would've bought almost every item that he thought his friends would like. It was another refreshing experience for Yuta, who at every second practically ruptured with amazement at how wonderful everything looked. This was a place he'd want to bring his friends to.
At the thought of his friends again, Yuta remembered what he was here for—as much as his heart yearned to see them smile again, he had to keep his promise of following their hopes for him. All will be well Okkotsu, give it your all in everything you encounter, he remembered Kusakabe telling him.
Right, I'll give it my all and come back better than ever.
However, while trekking the city and taking photos on the camera Eloy gifted him was fun, he felt that Miguel was, in a way, being leisurely and couldn't unravel why. After Miguel haggled with a jeweler to get a lower price on a pair of gold hoops for 15 minutes (Miguel won), Yuta asked him when they'd visit "the blue place." He wanted to make sure they were on track to completing their mission, which prompted Miguel to tell him that there was more to this than just the black rope. He was also helping Yuta broaden his horizons, per his sensei's orders (Miguel never referred to Gojo by name). Yuta didn't understand, but his new adult figure said that he'd learn as they go.
Miguel hailed a taxi that took them out of the hustle and bustle of the city. Yuta asked during the ride where they were heading, if they were on their way to the next city to get the fiber, but that was the first time Miguel didn't say anything. That worried the already-antsy boy even more.
The driver stopped in front of a large patch of unused land near the river. He asked the duo if they were sure this was the right place, and Miguel insisted it was, paying the driver an extra tip. Yuta didn't think Miguel was the type to pull any hijinks on him, as they've been getting along well since they met in Japan (and he even told Yuta he strongly disliked how immature his sensei was). Miguel walked onto the plot of land, and Yuta followed. No one was in sight, not even homes. The baby blue sky was changing into dusky sunset hues. Whatever Miguel had in mind, at least Yuta would find out at the most beautiful time of the day.
After a short walk, they stopped in the middle of the grounds. Miguel said they were going to fight hand-to-hand. Yuta, who generally saw fighting as a duty rather than a fun activity like Hakari or Gojo did, was excited about this chance; he wanted to see how much Miguel lived up to Gojo's statements. Finally, his first opportunity to train with Miguel. It was better that people didn't see them fight because it would raise suspicion, so that's why he brought them out here, Miguel explained. Although they were jujutsu sorcerers, for most of their travels, they had to be actors first. Actors pretending to be just like any other tourist.
Show me what you can do, Okkotsu, Miguel said.
Yuta put down his sword bag and camera, and they were off, Miguel blocking Yuta's hits at every point. The face, chest, and torso—all were blocked by Miguel, his body hard as steel. Miguel was excellent at reinforcing himself with cursed energy. Yuta backed off to catch his breath and looked at Miguel, standing smugly, waiting for the boy to make the next move. Yuta lacked natural physical power, but what he lacked in, he made up for with his overwhelming amount of cursed energy, imbuing it to every inch of his body, creating a superhuman.
I sense your cursed energy, it rises up from your stomach, enveloping you, Miguel said, but try to get my body to feel it.
He charged towards Miguel with his cursed energy flowing into his fist, and he dodged it. But Yuta was relentless; he too dodged Miguel's punches and countered with a swift kick to Miguel's side, sliding under him to get behind. Yes! Yuta got him to feel his cursed energy. They were locked in their deadly dancing, Yuta picking up speed, circling around Miguel, jumping and back-flipping to avoid his hits. Yuta wasn't sure how old Miguel was—maybe a few years older than Gojo—but he had physical strength and high endurance, something Yuta had been working on building for a while. With Miguel, he felt that anything could be possible.
They went at it for a while, time irrelevant as their attacks grew more ferocious, their kicks and blows infused with volatile cursed energy. Miguel instructed him during their fight to move in a certain direction, to use this hand, to jump, or to dodge, all of which confused Yuta. But he isn’t dumb; the young sorcerer realized his new sensei was trying to throw him off by calling out what he should do, but he ignored Miguel and continued watching his movements. He focused on sensing where his cursed energy was. Miguel had his sunglasses on, making it impossible to see where his eyes pivoted. So he aimed his fists where Miguel couldn’t turn his head quickly enough to see. Yuta blitzed to get behind Miguel, but like a phantom, Miguel glided away.
His first fight against Miguel had him utilizing an underused skill. It wasn’t easy—Yuta was a katana user, excelling in maneuvering, slashing, and channeling his cursed energy in his weapon. He’s had basic training in hand-to-hand, but Gojo recognized his strength in wielding a weapon, so Yuta focused on that.
Finally, he intercepted a move and punched Miguel in the face. He fell to the ground, laughing. Yuta bent down to help him up, but Miguel pulled him down. They laid there on the grass looking up at the sky, catching their breaths. The sunset looked ethereal, with oranges, yellows, and reds, plastered across the sky. Yuta wished there was more purple. Purple was a pretty color.
They watched a plane fly by, and Miguel told him he was honored to have him under his wing.
At first, he was nervous to be with this shades-wearing strongman, but was ready to put behind past transgressions. Miguel only did what he did because he believed in Geto's cause, in Geto, who was family to him—Gojo couldn't condemn him. Even though those two sought to hurt his friends, and he loathed them after the battle, Yuta understood that unwavering loyalty and let go of that hate. He couldn't condemn them, either. Gojo told Yuta the day before he departed that Miguel had a good heart and that he'd be quite impressed with the Kenyan sorcerer.
He was very good to him, Gojo said.
He. Yuta wondered if Gojo truly saw Miguel for who he was, or because he was someone special to his best friend.
There were many things Yuta had to figure out for himself now.
―
The day had finally arrived. After waking up at the crack of dawn, the duo traveled to Chefchaouen while most people in the city were still asleep. When Yuta looked out the window of the bus, he saw some buildings painted in the famous blue color that Eloy was raving about. However, he was expecting a more magical, vibrant place. His phone didn't work, so he couldn't look up what this place actually looked like. But Yuta was proven wrong soon enough: it wasn't until they climbed a flight of stairs hidden between buildings that Yuta realized Eloy wasn’t exaggerating.
What amazed Yuta was how vivid the city was, painted in cerulean blue. Some buildings were freshly painted, others had chipped paint peeling off, showing the ancestry of this pleasant color. Some stairs were painted in blue paint too; for some, it looked like thousands of steps accumulated year round faded the color, but that added more to its charm. The architecture was similar to the previous cities they visited as this city was colonized by the Spanish, they later learned. Yuta hasn't had a break from seeing magnificent views, but this city offered something new: its idyllic color and style soothed him.
He was more at peace today.
The weather was warm yet fresh. As the sun rose from behind the mountains, the sky reflecting the city's hues, tourists and locals came out. The tourists ambled through the streets, checking out the small shops, and the locals ready to serve them. Throughout this hot tourist destination, they searched for the man that had what they needed.
Up, down, up, down, up, across, down, loop de loop, across, up, loop de loop. The winding stairs were the only means of connectivity in the upper half of the city. To say that Yuta would return to Japan with incredibly muscular calves was not an exaggeration. Exploring the city made for a tiresome hike—in a moment of silence, Yuta swore he heard Miguel breathing heavily as they entered the dealer's shop—but the beauty he discovered made the aches worth it. Maybe this was part of his training. Besides, he could always use reverse cursed technique in his room if his muscles started aching badly.
But as he was enveloped in the soothing blue color of the quaint city, filling up his camera roll with many images, he thought perhaps the soreness in his legs wasn’t so bad. When he was finally back home and his legs were sore, he'd recall the time when he first visited the breathtaking city called Chefchaouen.
So after a light breakfast at a small outdoor restaurant, they found the dealer in a part of the city devoid of tourists and bought the amount they needed. All Yuta could think about was how worse this section of Chefchaouen smelled. In fact, even in the busy areas, there was this faint pungnant smell that followed them everywhere. It wasn't until Yuta saw what caused the smell at the dealer's place that he discovered what this city was known for in Morocco. Eloy conveniently left out that important detail. Very Gojo of him.
They would come back tomorrow to pick up the packages, the dealer told them, as they didn't have enough packages. So once again, they were actors wandering about, learning some interesting facts from market sellers about the history of the city, like the reason it was painted blue was to keep the mosquitos away while another merchant said it was because of Jewish people who lived here. Whatever the real reason, they loved that people enjoyed their home. Before they knew it, they saw the sun was slowly lowering; it was time to have another Moroccan dinner. A promoter in front of this restaurant at the bottom of the city prompted them to go inside, saying they would have a delicious traditional meal unlike any other. He wasn’t wrong.
As Yuta ate, his mind was filled with just how good this all tasted. In the midst of it, a random thought popped into his head, and of course he had to ask Miguel, who surprisingly stored a vast amount of knowledge about this country in his head.
"Moroccans don't eat noodles do they?" Yuta asked.
"They eat pasta. Not traditional, but like you and I, if you are in the mood for something, you either buy it or make it. The same applies to Japanese noodles," Miguel said.
"Are there Japanese restaurants? I've mostly seen those American style ones. Oh, and that European one we had breakfast at."
"There must be some in the major cities. I always say, if there is a McDonald's, then there is other foreign food."
"If we do come across a Japanese restaurant, we should eat there, see how Moroccans do Japanese food. Ah, or is that weird? Trying to find your country's food in another country. . ."
"No no, the more curious about the country, the better. That includes learning about their ways of cooking," Miguel said after drinking his beer.
At first, Yuta was hesitant to try the food due to its unfamiliar flavor palette. He thought it rude to show the staff that he didn't enjoy it. A disrespectful foreigner was the last thing he wanted to be. But his first traditional Moroccan meal in Tangier, chicken pastilla, turned out to be the complete opposite of what he feared: he loved it, devouring the plate and leaving no crumbs. The blend of Moroccan seasonings and quality of meat hit him in a way the restaurants he and his friends dined at back home didn't. He loved his nation's food, but he wasn't of the gastronomic intellectuals; he ate anything that was served to him (except a fatty steak—the fat grossed him out, which is why he'd let Panda eat it). Many children worldwide starved on the daily, so he always kept that in mind as he ate, finishing as much as was on the plate so it wouldn't accumulate in the trash. In many ways, Yuta was fortunate. Privileged. Blessed.
Yuta believed eating with friends was one of life's greatest pleasures. But this cherished activity wasn't without its negatives. His friends all had their own preferences, and that would incite arguments sometimes on the occasion they decided to eat together. They'd argue about what to eat, when to eat, and who was cleaning up.
Panda sometimes made quick dishes, like instant ramen bowls or avocado rolls. Inumaki was the best cook out of them all, simply because he actually did it often, mostly for himself. He watched a lot of food videos on YouTube. He didn't have a large repertoire of recipes, but enough that he had a variety of meals during the week. Sometimes, he'd make extra for Yuta, which he was always grateful for. He'd give Inumaki some money or a treat as a thank you for giving him food. Inumaki told him he didn't need to do that, but Yuta always insisted. It didn't feel right to him to never show his friend how much he appreciated being given a home-cooked meal. Yuta lived many years without that kind of affection.
But while some of his buddies cooked, Yuta didn't; in fact, he didn't care about cooking and had no idea what seasonings were used in were for—that was Inumaki's area. A frozen microwavable meal or vending machine food were sufficient for Yuta (and of course, any meal given to him). However, if asked to help out in the kitchen, he wouldn't decline.
Maki also didn't care about cooking, but she had a worse diet than him; she ate too much junk food and greasy fast food. She once told Yuta it was her way of rebelling against her family, who controlled her eating and gave her the "blandest shit ever" because they were health nuts. All those beatings must've ruined their taste buds too, she joked. It astonished Yuta how fit she was despite all that she consumed. But he knew better than to get into it with her on that subject.
When they'd finally settle on what to eat and cook, Panda would always find a way to twist it into Yuta and Maki doing the prep while Inumaki did the heavy duty of cooking. And Panda. . . well, sometimes he'd help with prep. Other times, he'd act like he was the manager of a restaurant. He'd praise Inumaki for his cooking skills and criticize Yuta and Maki for cutting the vegetables too thick or that they didn't add enough salt to the sauce. That of course didn't sit well with Maki—Panda would always go to the infirmary the next day after talking like that. Yet, he never learned his lesson. Yuta thought Panda purposely kept irritating Maki for the fun of it, a slight sadistic thrill of seeing her think too much of him. Even so, they had their moments of mellow bonding amidst all the chaos—in the end, they were growing kids wanting to make the most of the time they had by having fun. As jujutsu sorcerers, time was never in their favor.
Those warm memories of spending time with his loved ones elated Yuta's heart whenever they came to mind. A day hasn't passed by since he left where he didn't think about them.
When he was leaving the school, they bid him farewell in a super tight hug at the entrance, wishing him a marvelous adventure, good health and most importantly, to train hard. Maki told him they weren't going to let him step back on campus until he surpassed his current self. Yuta promised them he'd work hard every day, keeping them in his thoughts. And he also said he'd call them as much as he could, regardless of the time difference. No matter how far the distance, he didn't want them to be kept in the dark about his life. And he didn't want to be kept out of theirs.
In the jujutsu school, he found a new kind of love. Love that he treasured. Love that he would fight anyone to preserve, like how Rika fought for him.
He had yet to follow-up on that promise of calling.
Soon.
As he reminisced on his past life, he continued eating his tajine, zaalouk (eggplant side dish) and other small dishes, trying to explain to Miguel what he thought of the flavors. The open air room continued to be filled with the vivacity from the guests. Most spoke in English or some European language. He couldn't capture idea what they were saying, but their tone told him they were happy to be alive.
He turned to the open view of the Chefchaouen hills, looking at the sun hitting the horizon, getting ready to slumber until the morning. It was a majestic canvas colored with purple, orange, yellow, and pink—immediately he added this to his list of the greatest things he's witnessed (that he just created in his head). He made a mental note to actually write it down when he got back to the hostel. He wiped his hands with a napkin and grabbed his camera hanging from his chair and adjusted it, snapping several photos of the sunset.
"That is one stunning sky," Miguel pointed out. "Dare I say Japan does not look like that?"
"Only in Morocco," Yuta said, smiling at the previews he took.
"It is unfortunate your phone cracked at the cave. You took some good photos in Tangier, including with me."
"Eh, 's okay. It was my fault it fell down the rocks. . . I'm too clumsy," Yuta said, scratching his jaw. He didn't want to tell Miguel the real reason it fell down the rocks, almost into the water. He didn't need to know that. At least, not now. "Rika was able to get it for me, at least."
"We can buy a better phone when we head into Fes."
"Yeah, I just hope my stuff isn't lost forever," Yuta said. "Eloy was nice enough to give me his old flip phone and this camera. I'm gonna protect this as if my life depended on it."
"From what I heard, that is your specialty."
Yuta chuckled and picked up the last bit of the food to his mouth. He glanced at the sunset burning in the distance and a certain someone's face flashed in his mind, someone who would've been awed by this sky, her eyes filled with love.
Maki. His dueling partner. His confidante. His closest friend. No matter how tough she got with him, he knew that was her way of showing how much she cared. He wondered how she was doing, if she was handling Panda and Inumaki's silly antics, helping Megumi adjust to the school or giving all of them a good beating. It's only been less than a week since he left, but he missed her.
Memories of them walking in the evenings and admiring the sunset together, flooded his mind. He could almost hear her voice, a sound that flared his heart with warmth, a sweet symphony that brought peace within him no matter what it was she said.