Twin Fate: Sun and Moon

Chapter 2 - Home Sweet Home

As Alex made a smooth right turn onto the highway exit, I felt my eyes grow heavy, the edges of sleep creeping in. The early morning sun was beginning to pierce through the dense forest surrounding us, casting long, golden rays across the road. Sjøfoss was just six kilometers away now. All I could think about was sinking into bed when we finally got home, a home our parents had bought for us. But, as usual, Alex would never call it his. On the plane, he even referred to the car as mine, even though our parents had bought it for both of us to use for college.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be different—if I'd been raised without Alex. Growing up in a wealthy family, would I have turned out like Jake and Sam, my two brothers? They were so spoiled, so used to getting everything they wanted. But Alex—he kept me grounded, never greedy, never entitled. I still remember when he first came to live with us. It always puzzled me how easily he accepted "no" for an answer or admired a toy without asking for it. By that time, Sam had everything he wanted, and Jake quickly followed suit. But Alex and I were different. We made do with what we had, usually Sam's discarded toys—broken or just forgotten. It wasn't normal, even for a family with our kind of money, to need four PlayStations just so every kid could play whenever they wanted.

The forest clung to the road as we drove, but soon, I knew, the trees would give way to the outskirts of a small town, mostly populated by students. It was the town's primary purpose. Sure enough, within minutes, a clearing appeared on the right—a gas station, old and worn, clearly not built in this century. The faded paint on the structure hinted that it wasn't well cared for. I guess in a town full of students, how many of them actually owned cars? Especially in Europe, where walking was the norm.

Small shops and apartment buildings followed as we continued. The real challenge would be finding our new home. We were on the main road, which led straight through the town to the north, but our house was on the east side, closer to the college. It was 8 in the morning, but the lack of traffic surprised me. There were plenty of pedestrians, mostly young adults, clearly awake and starting their day, yet we only passed one or two cars. Driving here was going to be a breeze, especially for someone like me, whose driving could only be described as a catastrophe.

We passed a small clinic, signaling that it was time to turn right at the next junction. Alex didn't need reminding; he made the turn smoothly, as if he had done it a thousand times before. I was lost in thought, watching the people on the streets. Everyone seemed to be minding their own business, walking with purpose, unbothered by others. You could walk around in baggy clothes, looking like you just woke up, and no one would stare or laugh. The diversity here was striking, almost unreal, and yet everyone seemed perfectly fine with it.

The apartment buildings started to thin out, replaced by large, three-story houses. As we continued down the road, the houses grew smaller, more modest. We reached a T-shaped junction and turned right onto Dolph Street. Somewhere along this street was house number 36—our new home. Alex didn't seem tired at all, which baffled me. He hadn't yawned once, even though he hadn't slept on the plane from London. Again, I didn't need to point out the letterbox with the number 36 on it. Alex slowed down and turned on the right indicator.

The houses on this street were spread out, each one separated by about 300 meters of thick forest. I didn't mind the isolation. I liked the outdoors, the quiet of nature. It's probably why green is one of my favorite colors. The driveway stretched about 30 meters, flanked by the dense forest, before opening into a clearing where the house stood. The trees acted as a natural shield, wrapping the house in privacy. Alex brought the car to a gentle stop in front of the garage door, and the house finally came into view, our new refuge in this small, quiet town.

The house stood quietly, its two stories clad in white wood boards that gave it a timeless charm. The front porch, simple and inviting, stretched across the entrance, hinting at long, peaceful afternoons. There were more windows than usual, catching the light and giving the house a warm, open feel. Off to the side, the garage blended into the structure, a subtle yet necessary part of the home's calm and unassuming presence.

Just looking at it from the outside, I could already tell this was something I could definitely get used to.