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The studio was loud in the way only a home full of children could be.
Laughter echoed down the hallway as three of them chased one another around the dining table, socks skidding across the polished wood while their grandfather protested with theatrical indignation from his chair by the window.
"Hey! I may be old, but I can still catch you!" The elder man yelled as he ran as fast as his legs could possibly take him.
"Too slow for us!, Grandpa!" One of the child giggled, his head turning back to gauge the distance between them.
“We'll see for ourselves once I catch you!"
The children dissolved into another fit of giggles, one nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to dodge around the sofa. The room smelled faintly of tea, old books, and the sweet pastries their grandmother used to make before she passed.
Sunlight spilled through the lace curtains in soft gold bands, catching on dust motes that drifted lazily through the air.
Eventually, exhausted by their own chaos, they collapsed around him on the living room floor. One climbed into his lap without asking. Another leaned against his shoulder.
The youngest, still full of restless curiosity, rummaged through an old cabinet, opening and closing drawers, accompanied by the sound of clattering.
"Grandpa!" they called, holding up a dusty album, one of the them had found, with both hands. "What's this?"
The old man's expression softened at the sight of the nostalgic compilation of photos. "My high school yearbook."
He accepted it with careful hands, brushing away a thin layer of dust before opening it. The pages had slightly yellowed with age, their corners curled from decades of handling, and the inked faces inside seemed to stare out from another lifetime entirely.
He paused for a moment before turning the first page, as if the book itself had carried him backward.
The children crowded around immediately, their heads nearly bumping together as they peered over his arms.
"Whoa..."
"What cool uniforms!!"
“Indeed. The uniform was very cool. I looked the coolest in it” Their grandpa puffed out a laugh.
“Really??? Show!”
“Wait- I wanna see grandpa too!” Another child pushed the other to be to see better.
“No pushing eachother!” Their grandpa warned, making space for the child.
The impatient children took matters into their own hands. Tiny fingers flipped through page after page until one photograph caught their attention.
A young man stood near the edge of the frame, his expression composed, almost distant, as though he had been caught in the middle of a thought he had no intention of sharing.
His pale white hair contrasted sharply with the dark uniforms surrounding him, making him stand out amongst others.
There was something striking about him, something that made the photograph feel less like a school memory and more like a glimpse of someone passing through.
One of the children gasped dramatically.
"Grandpa! Who's this handsome guy?"
"And why does he have white hair?"
Another leaned closer until their nose nearly touched the page.
"He looks like he walked out of a movie."
Their grandfather looked down at the photograph.
For a long moment, he simply smiled, the expression faint and distant, as though he were listening to a voice only he could hear.
"...Ah…he's…I'm not sure." The answer surprised even him. "I only met him in passing."
“Huh? But you said you used to know everyone in school!”
“I did but…” The old man trailled off as he wondered himself why he'd never interacted with the man much.
“His name's…” One of the children leaned forward, his nose almost touching the page to read the tiny letters under the photograph.
“Lu guang of class D” The child read out.
“Cool name!!”
“Grandpa, your class was E right?”
“Yes…it was.” His thumb lingered against the edge of the page for just a heartbeat before he turned it, closing away the image as gently as if it were something fragile.
"Now come on," he said lightly, setting the album aside and ruffling the nearest child's hair. "You aren't escaping our game that easily."
The children forgot the photograph almost instantly. Within seconds they were back on their feet, arguing over who had been tagged last and who was cheating, their voices rising once more into delighted chaos.
Life moved on.
A few days later, their beloved grandpa, had passed away quietly in his sleep.
It was a death by natural causes, there'd been no pain or struggle.
Only a peaceful silence that settled over the house before dawn, so still that even the ticking clock in the hallway seemed to hesitate. When the family found him, his face was calm, his hands folded loosely over his chest as though he had simply drifted off after a long day and never needed to wake again.
The funeral drew far more people than anyone had expected.
Old neighbors. Former classmates. Friends who the man had known since his younger days.
People who had not seen him in years came with flowers in their hands and grief in their eyes, speaking in low voices about kindnesses remembered, favors repaid, and moments that had seemed small at the time but had somehow stayed with them all these years.
Old friends like Xu Shanshan arrived, accompanied by her husband Dong Yi. Qiao stood quietly beside them, her eyes fixed on the polished wooden coffin, her expression unreadable but solemn.
Stories drifted through the air between quiet sobs and bittersweet smiles.
Someone remembered how he had once repaired a broken fence in the rain without being asked. Someone else spoke of the way he always remembered birthdays, even when he had to write them down in a notebook to keep track.
A few of the older mourners laughed softly through their tears when they recalled his stubbornness, his dry humor, and the way he pretended not to notice when children climbed all over him.
The children who were supposed to be kept away from the coffin, stubbornly surrounded the coffin. Snot running down their noses as they cried helplessly.
The eldest grandchild tried to console the younglings even if he was in a similar state himself. He swiped the moisture, trying to escape his eyes, with his arm.
Then someone noticed a figure standing alone at the edge of the cemetery.
His hair, entirely white, stirred gently in the breeze. Time had etched faint lines into his face, yet there was something strangely timeless about him. He stood with a stillness that seemed almost deliberate, as if he had been waiting there for a very long time.
Without speaking to anyone, he walked toward the coffin.
The conversations gradually fell silent. Even the wind seemed to soften. He carried only a single white rose.
He laid it carefully atop the polished wood, the petals bright against the dark surface. His fingertips rested there for the briefest moment, as though he were confirming that this was real, that the person beneath the lid was truly gone.
"...Goodbye." It was barely more than a whisper.
As he turned to leave, one of the mourners hurried after him, unable to keep the question from escaping.
"Excuse me..."
The man paused in his steps.
"Were you... family?"
He looked back toward the coffin.
His expression remained unreadable, though something in his eyes had gone distant and old.
"...No." A quiet pause. "I'm just an old friend."
He walked away before anyone could ask another question, his figure receding slowly among the rows of gravestones until the white of his hair blurred into the pale afternoon light.
“...He looked like the one in the album…!” One of the children, who'd seen the album, peered from the sides.
“Don't be ridiculous…” The eldest murmured.
By the following afternoon, another news spread quietly through the town.
The same man had passed away in his apartment. He'd been discovered by the milkman, who'd came over to deliver milk like usual.
It filled the town with weird rumours as well, about some kind of curse of two people passing away at the same time.
The man had already been a victim of some illnesses, however, he'd been miraculously living on, even doctors were left amazed by his shear will.
Yet, nobody expected this same man to suddenly pass, doctors had even claimed that he might have even lived for years more until this news arrived.
It was almost as though he had been surviving on nothing but determination.
It appeared as if after a final goodbye, the man had no other purpose to live on.
Only a bare few attended the funeral. The man had no relatives or family. He'd never married despite having no visible flaws in his youth.
“It's a shame he never settled down.” One of the neighbours murmured lowly.
“Hah. I asked why he didn't. He just shrugged the question off. Saying that it was because he was unable to meet the right person.” Another neighbour, a burly man chimed in.
“Alas, I hope he achieved peace…” The woman sorrowfully acknowledged.
The mourners gathered in a spot to say their last prayers before the coffin was laid down.
The house had minimal belongings, the movers acknowledged, as they rummaged through the things. The apartment had been given away as as a charitable bequest to a local charity for the mute.
Only one thing was left untouched, a diary, that has been filled to the brim with rough handwriting.
It was filled with memories that people of this time were unable to understand.
The last page of the diary had only a few words written. The handwriting was carefully composed, each letter had been written with utmost peace slowness, as if there was nothing chasing them anymore unlike the previous pages.
I gave up every tomorrow that might have been ours, so you could have every tomorrow that was yours. Now that your life has reached its gentle end. My heart is finally at peace. Looking back, I would not change a thing. Fate has been merciful.