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The smell of tea brought a familiar warmth to Eren. He had been leaning against the windowsill for a while, watching raindrops fall steadily into the growing puddles outside.
The glass was fogged with condensation, soft and cloudy from the warmth inside. Eren pulled a chair closer and sat beside the window, lifting a finger to doodle on the misted surface like a child.
The rising steam from his cup was his only companion this morning. His finger traced a small teacup on the glass, and in a mischievous touch, he added a little heart-shaped swirl of steam above it.
Eren snorted quietly at himself.
He brought the real cup back to his hands and finally took a sip — herbs and honey, warm and grounding.
And he felt calm.
The rain had slowed, and a bit of sunlight peeked through the curtain of clouds, casting a soft glow over the damp earth. It wouldn’t be long before the rain stopped completely — right about the time Eren needed to start work.
He emptied the teapot, quickly finishing the last of it before rinsing his cup. One thermos of tea was set aside, meant for the old woman down the road. The rainy season always made her joints ache.
Eren knew she could prepare a drink herself, but he also knew how much she appreciated someone taking care of her now and then.
After changing out of his pajamas, Eren grabbed his keys and wallet, then pulled on his boots, expecting puddles along the road.
His beat-up truck waited beside the cabin. White, with faded blue markings that had long since lost their brightness. Whenever he had the time, Eren tried to fix it up, but making it look new again was harder — and more time-consuming — than he liked to admit.
The truck bed was fitted with wooden crates and dividers for delivery goods, and he’d recently bought a tarp to keep everything dry.
Getting into the truck, Eren rummaged around the passenger seat until he found his folded list. Most of the items were simple daily necessities — flour, fruit, books. Sometimes it was nails, planks of wood, or tools for small repairs and renovations. Nothing grand. Just the things people needed to keep their days going.
He liked that.
There was something honest about this kind of work. It used his time, used his strength, left his body pleasantly tired instead of restless. He didn’t have to sit still, didn’t have to talk too much, didn’t have to think about things that went too far ahead.
He just moved.
From town to town, from shop to shop, from one doorstep to another. Roads stretching out, weather changing, different faces, familiar voices. He carried things people needed, and in return, they greeted him like he belonged there.
It was simple.
And for Eren, simple was good.
Starting the truck with a small jolt, Eren headed toward his first stop — the old woman’s house. Knowing her, she was probably already sitting in that old, rickety chair on her terrace.
She was fond of it. Said her late husband had made it for their tenth anniversary. He had still been young then, she always added, learning and reworking the design over and over until he got it right. She told those stories with such soft eyes, always looking somewhere far beyond the road, no doubt seeing the man himself.
The paved road made the journey short. Eren’s cabin stood near the forest, far from close neighbors, but not so distant that he was cut off from town. It was the right balance — quiet enough to breathe, close enough to watch the bustling life of the city.
His intuition proved right. Eren could see the old woman from outside the gate, a book resting in her lap, a blanket wrapped around her thin frame as she sat in the chair she loved.
Not bothering to turn off the engine, Eren hopped out, the thermos safely cradled in his arm. He walked in at an easy pace. They greeted each other with nothing more than a nod before he handed her the tea.
The old woman scoffed, but a smile tugged at her lips.
She opened the bottle, and her expression softened. “Smells good.”
Eren smiled, satisfied. He didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet, but he couldn’t stay long.
“I should get going,” he said softly, his voice low out of habit. “Do you need anything?”
Her hand returned to the book, fingers brushing over the worn cover. “No.”
Eren nodded and headed back to the truck, continuing on his way.
The town Eren needed to go to wasn’t far — about an hour’s drive. The village where he lived didn’t have many vehicles; most people were content with what they had, which was why delivery trips like his were needed now and then.
Not many lived there. Mostly older residents, a few merchants, and children. Most young adults left the village to chase their dreams in bigger cities. Some returned to visit. Some came back to settle down and raise families.
So when Eren first arrived, needless to say, people were confused. He was young, with his whole life ahead of him. No wife. No children.
Back then, Eren hadn’t planned to stay long. But the place had a quiet way of growing on him, and before he knew it, the village had become home. The residents, too, had slowly come to treat him as one of their own.
Sometimes he missed the energy of the city — the noise, the lights, the constant movement. But he was happy here.
And the city was always there if he ever wanted to go back.
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Eren parked his truck in the wide loading area, the warehouse already bustling with activity like always. People wove past each other with boxes in their arms, boots thudding against concrete, voices calling out over the noise. Eren slipped through the moving crowd, dodging a cart here, stepping aside there.
The air felt different here — thicker, louder, urgent.
Commands were shouted across the floor. Someone kept repeating, “Excuse me, excuse me,” just to squeeze through a narrow gap. Workers walked fast, eyes forward, as if slowing down for even a second would cost them something.
Time was money in the city.
The scene should have felt overwhelming, but to Eren, it was strangely familiar. The rhythm of it — the motion, the noise, the constant doing — was something he once knew by heart.
Eren matched his pace to the current of people moving through the warehouse floor.
It wasn’t about hurrying.
You could walk slowly anywhere — most people wouldn’t say a word. But moving with the rhythm of a place meant something. It meant noticing. It meant acknowledging that everyone here had somewhere to be, something waiting, someone relying on them.
The city moved like a body, and he won’t be the stone that made it stumble.
He didn’t belong to this place anymore, but he remembered how to respect it.
Eren spotted the vendor he usually went to for woodworking supplies. He knew the old men who ran the place, and their store was swamped with people. There must have been a lot of construction happening in the city — their shop didn’t usually look like a packed sardine can.
He needed to go there, but put it off for now. Heavy materials would be easier to deal with later than sooner; he didn’t want to tire himself out too early.
Making up his mind, Eren headed toward the supermarket area. The usual list wasn’t much different — most of the items were things that couldn’t be bought in bulk back in the village, and many would be resold anyway.
He grabbed a large cart.
First, cooking oil. The daily store needed it, so he loaded several boxes. They were heavy, but nothing he wasn’t used to.
Next came vegetables, fruits, dried goods, and cleaning supplies. Winter would arrive in a few months. He’d be busy after this.
When he moved to the queue, Eren took the time to survey his surroundings. Most people were business owners restocking. Some were families trying to shop with discount prices.
In front of him stood two old ladies who seemed deep in gossip about their marriages.
They talked so loudly that people kept turning their heads to see who was making the noise. It seemed the concept of whispering didn’t exist in their dictionary.
Since Eren stood right behind them, he couldn’t help but hear everything they were saying
“Yesterday he asked where the sugar was. The sugar! We’ve lived in that house thirty-eight years!”
“If uselessness were a job, my husband would be promoted already.”
“Sometimes I think if I disappear, he’ll starve surrounded by food.”
Eren blinked.
If forgetting things is a crime, I wouldn’t last a week either.
He shifted his cart an inch back.
It did nothing. Their voices carried like public announcements.
Volume control: nonexistent.
“—and don’t even get me started on how they ‘clean,’” the other woman went on. “Moving dust from one place to another is not cleaning!”
Eren’s gaze drifted to the ceiling for a moment, like he was trying to physically exit the situation without actually moving.
He huffed quietly through his nose.
Then, unhelpfully, he remembered his mother.
…Yeah. Fair.
By the time Eren paid, it was close to noon. He loaded the first batch into the truck, not bothering to organize anything yet. He’d sort it all out once everything was bought.
The old men’s store was quieter now. Eren let out a breath of relief. Strong or not, he had no desire to be crushed in a crowd.
As he stepped closer, one of the old men looked up. Surprise crossed his face, quickly turning into a grin.
“Eren, my boy!”
Eren grinned from ear to ear. His pace quickened without him noticing. It was nice to see a familiar face.
Old man Luka was a joy to be around — the kind of person everyone somehow ended up going to when something broke, went missing, or simply felt too heavy to handle alone. He helped without keeping count.
Eren had been on the receiving end of that kindness a few years ago. He hadn’t forgotten that help. Probably never would.
“What are you building this time?”
“Not building,” Eren said. “Fixing.”
“Your cabin again?”
Eren shook his head. “Some of the roofs down the east side are leaking.”
Luke grunted. “Mrs. Hale’s, I’m guessing.”
“Yeah.”
The old man nodded like he’d expected it. You’ll want the treated boards — the thicker ones. Winter will come sooner.”
Eren stepped inside fully, eyes already scanning the stacked lumber. “And extra sealant.”
Luke waved a hand toward the back. “Take what you need. I’ll write it down.”
Eren frowned. “I’ll pay.”
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t,” Luke shot back, though his lips twitched.
From deeper inside the shop, another voice cut in — rougher, amused.
“Paying for other people’s roofs again, boy?”
Eren glanced over his shoulder.
Old man Harris leaned against a shelf, arms crossed like he’d been listening the whole time.
Eren shrugged. “They’ll show up.” He knew he wouldn’t be alone — everyone in the village always pitched in when something happened.
Harris huffed. “They always do.”
Luke started pulling down planks. “You bring the wood through town like that, half the men will pretend they were heading that way anyway.”
Eren’s mouth lifted slightly. He didn’t argue.
He didn’t need to.
Eren got all his needs packed and ready to go. While waiting on his bills, he caught up with old man Luka and old man Harris.
“So, any new projects lately?” Luka asked, sliding a plank toward Eren.
Eren’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. I’ve been carving some cedar for window shutters. I’m finally replacing mine — they’ve needed it for a while.” He paused, then added, “I made a few extra sets, too. Figured if I’m already working the wood, I might as well help a couple of houses that need it.”
Harris raised a brow. “Replacing yours first, huh?”
Eren shrugged, but there was no embarrassment in it this time. “Can’t keep patching the same cracks forever. If I want them to last, I should start at home.”
Luka gave a slow nod.
Eren ran a thumb along the smooth cedar grain. “It took longer than I thought, but the pattern came out right. I guess… I wanted to see it on my own place first.”
Harris chuckled, shaking his head. “Kid, you always get too detailed. Some folks just slap it together and call it done.”
Eren smirked slightly. “I like it to last. Not just look good for a month.”
Luka nodded approvingly. “That’s the spirit. Patience makes all the difference. You remember the shelf you made last winter? That oak’s still holding strong, isn’t it?”
Eren ran a hand over the crates he’d packed. “Yeah. It’s the small things that matter. I’m glad someone’s able to use what I worked on. Sometimes it feels like the wood’s breathing new life into their homes.”
Harris leaned against a stack of tools, amused. “You talk about wood like it’s alive.”
“Maybe it is,” Eren said quietly, almost to himself, before glancing up with a small grin. “At least to me.”
The three fell into easy conversation, trading stories about grain patterns, bent nails, and stubborn finishes — the shop filled with the quiet satisfaction of shared craft and steady hands.
With a heartfelt goodbye and a promise to visit again soon, Eren hauled his goods out to his truck. He organized everything with quiet efficiency — groceries and daily necessities tucked into the covered storage compartment at the front of the truck bed, safely out of the sun and dust.
The lumber he stacked carefully along the open bed, aligning the edges before pulling the straps tight. He tested the tension with a firm tug, making sure the boards wouldn’t shift on the uneven road back.
Once everything was secured, Eren stepped back and gave a small nod to himself.
That’ll hold.
He climbed into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. With one last glance at the shop, he eased the truck onto the narrow road leading home.
The truck’s tires kicked up dust as the smooth asphalt slowly gave way to stone and packed earth. The deeper he drove toward the edge of town, the thicker the trees grew, their branches leaning inward like a quiet welcome.
Through the gaps in the treeline, Eren caught sight of it — the peak of his roof rising above the green. Just the top at first, familiar and steady against the sky.
He was close.
The engine hummed beneath his hands as he eased off the gas, letting the truck roll the last stretch of road. The forest here always felt denser, quieter. Like the world softened the closer he came home.
The entrance to the village was marked by a small but tall archway. The paint was still fresh — redone by a few villagers just last month — its bright color standing out against the surrounding trees so visitors wouldn’t miss the turn and wander deeper into the forest.
Eren took a sharp turn toward the center of the village. He’d deliver the groceries and daily necessities first before stacking the lumber away.
Eren parked near the center square first.
The closest stop was the Clarkes’.
Mr. Clarke owned a small shop that sold everything from beverages to cleaning supplies. Sometimes he even stocked toys near the counter. It was the first place anyone thought of when they needed something.
The shop wasn’t too big; most of the inventory was stored in the back. The Clarkes didn’t like it when the shelves looked messy.
Eren liked the layout. Everything was easy to find.
As he stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed, two crates balanced in his arms.
Mr. Rowan Clarke glanced up from behind the counter. “You’re fast today.”
“Road was clear,” Eren replied, setting the boxes down. “Cleaning supplies, dried goods, salt, cooking oil and lamp oil.”
Rowan checked the list with a practiced eye. “You’re saving me a long drive.”
“You’d grumble the entire way,” Eren said mildly.
Rowan snorted. “I would.”
Payment changed hands without ceremony. Familiar. Easy.
“I’ll see you next month,” Rowan said.
Eren gave a small nod. He’d see Mr. Clarke around before then, but there were still deliveries to make.
Next stop: the bakery.
The bakery only needed flour and eggs — many eggs.
Eren was careful when he took them out of the truck bed. Thankfully, everything had arrived intact. The eggs were the most protected cargo back there, layered carefully between sacks and crates.
Flour and eggs in hand, he went to the side door of the bakery.
Ms. Halden was already waiting.
“Eren, I heard your truck. Come in, come in.”
He chuckled at her eagerness. The old woman was always full of energy.
He set the flour and eggs on the table and greeted Mr. Halden, who was quietly drying plates and glasses by the sink.
“How’s the city today?” she asked.
“Same old.”
Eren washed his hands at the side sink, then, without being asked, took a cleaner cloth and began wiping down one of the shelves. Mr. Halden grumbled under his breath but didn’t stop him, accepting the help without comment.
Eren wiped down the last shelf and set the cloth aside. “That should do.”
Mr. Halden gave a short nod and reached into the drawer beneath the counter. Payment was counted out carefully, coins stacked with quiet precision.
Eren accepted it with a small incline of his head. “Thank you.”
“Drive safe,” Mr. Halden muttered, already turning back to his work.
Done helping, Eren stepped out through the side door, brushing flour dust from his sleeves.
Before Eren could make it back to his truck, he heard Ms. Halden call out.
“Here.”
A small package was pressed into his hands. Steam slipped from the folded paper.
She must have warmed it up for him.
Eren was touched.
“You’re always quick to leave. Tomas paid you, right?”
Eren smiled faintly, accepting the bread. He didn’t argue about these things anymore. He would lose anyway.
“He did. Don’t worry.”
Ms. Halden patted his arm. “Go and rest, Eren.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Back at his truck, he leaned against the side and ate the bread while it was still warm.
One delivery left.
The last stop was a small shop at the edge of the village, mostly serving those who didn’t like walking all the way to the center. Most of them were retired, content to spend their days close to home.
As he drove toward the edge of the village, everything grew quieter. The noise from the center gradually lessened until only the hum of the engine and the wind through the trees remained.
It was calmer here.
On the side of the road stood a small shop tucked beside a modest house, its wooden sign slightly faded by sun and rain.
It was owned by a retired policeman who had opened the place so the older residents wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the center for small necessities.
When Eren pulled up, a dog bounded out from the front yard, circling the truck in excited loops before stopping near the driver’s door, tail wagging.
Eren stepped out and crouched slightly. “You guarding the place today?”
The dog huffed happily in response.
Eren crouched to pet the dog first before reaching for the last of the crates in his truck bed. It wasn’t much compared to the others, but it held everything the residents on this side of the village might need — canned goods, medicine, spare batteries, a few small comforts.
Halfway to the house, Mr. Graves could already be seen walking toward him. Knowing the man, he would insist on carrying one of the boxes.
Eren adjusted his grip and handed one over without protest.
He hadn’t wanted to at first. But Mr. Graves was adamant, and Eren respected that determination — that stubborn refusal to be seen as weak. He understood it too well. The need to remain useful. To keep doing something. To not quietly surrender to time.
Together, they carried the boxes inside. Eren moved automatically, unloading the goods onto the shelves in their usual places.
Payment was received without unnecessary words.
Mr. Graves never talked much. Eren didn’t know his first name, and though curiosity surfaced now and then, he never pushed. Some boundaries were better left untouched.
Outside, unknown to Eren, the old man’s gaze shifted toward the truck bed.
He noticed the lumber stacked neatly in the back.
Gruffly, he asked, “When are you going to do it?”
Stunned, Eren didn’t understand at first. Then he followed Mr. Graves’ line of sight.
The lumber.
“The day after tomorrow,” Eren said.
The old man only nodded.
That was enough.
It seemed Eren would see him again at the Hale residence.
Maybe others had already noticed. Villages had a way of knowing things without being told. Like what he had said at old man Luka and Haris’ shop — when the time came, people would come. They always did.
He started the engine.
The truck rumbled to life, carrying him back through the center, past the thinning noise, up the familiar slope of the hill.
His cabin came into view.
Waiting.
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When night came, Eren brewed his tea.
He sat on the porch, the cup warm between his hands, overlooking the village below. Lights blinked softly in windows. The faint glow of the town gathered like scattered embers in the dark.
He liked his cabin for this.
From here, he could see everything.
The center square.
The bakery’s chimney.
The edge road near Mr. Graves’ shop.
All of it small.
All of it alive.
The wind brushed past the trees behind him.
And the day after tomorrow, he would fix the Hale roof.
It wasn’t urgent.
But it had waited long enough.
The lumber leaned against the cabin wall. Measured. Cut. Ready.
Eren took another sip of tea.
This was enough.
This was home.