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7 | The Present

"I heard it over the news." Boboiboy took a sip from his coffee, ignoring the skeptical stares of the agents undercover in the restaurant. "It's kind of hard to miss," he said as if it was a matter-of-fact. "You didn't do wrong, Ali. You saved your father's life, and you were just in time."

Ali fiddled with his fingers, unable to face the two taller males. "But—he—" He couldn't find the words to express his emotions. "He was only like this because I ran away, and I—"

Fang coughed, leaning over the table. "Look, it doesn't matter how it happened, because it already did. You fixed it the best you can: you gave everyone that was worried for you a peace of mind; you saved your father from himself; and you even acted as a restraint for the dumbass's overly reckless actions."

The said dumbass groused and glowered at him. "Whatever," he snapped harshly. "What does matter is that we're heading back later."

"Can I at least say goodbye to all my friends?" Ali looked at them hopefully. "I don't want them to worry. They're doing so well after I left, which I guess I belong in space after all!" His expression turned sour. "I'm not needed here, so—"

"Please go before you spill your entire tragic life-story for the billionth time," Fang cut him off. "We don't care if you blow up the White House. Earth's been at war with space since we defeated Retakka and they chased the alien refugees out like nincompoops."

"It's been four hundred years. Let that go," Boboiboy seethed. "You're not even from Earth, you piece of—Ali, go ahead; this is going to take a while—overgrown mushroom-infested brain-cells for an inexplicable—"

Ali could tell whenever they needed some space, so he hopped off from his chair and left the café. Even if he exited, he could still hear their screaming voices and infuriated tones.

Sighing, he turned towards the outside, everything seeming so calming and familiar. It was like he had never left at all; but why... did the people around him change so much?

The world didn't wait for anyone, revolved around nobody. Yet the moment he left was the exact time where the people around him began to start changing themselves, fixing their systems and forgiving past mistakes. That's right, he thought bitterly, his optimistic expression falling a little. If I didn't exist, everyone would be doing so great now.

And yet, he was the one that accidentally wielded IRIS; he was the one that received special care; he was the one that triggered a revolution that almost came to be... How many mistakes had he made? And how many people suffered for it?

Ali squashed the guilt and shame. It's been months. Everyone's moved on. He was just another fossil in their history books, but a new blooming flower in another world. He belonged elsewhere; his heart belonged somewhere that the others do not.

Perhaps, if he could just erase his mark once and for all—

"Ali bin Ghazali."

Ali turned to the right, following the familiarity of the voice. He blinked at the familiar features of the boy, clad in black and grey.

"Heard you caused a riot at MATA," Rudy said flatly, his never-dulling glare falling all over him.

Ali's expression didn't change. "And I see you're doing better," he responded with equal enthusiasm. "Haven't heard of you since I punched you in the face with a yo-yo." He turned away, his hands retreating back to his jacket's pockets. "Nice talk," he vamped, legs moving and walked away without further interaction.

Before he could leave, however, another figure blocked him from his path. This time, it was a girl in a yellow hijab, the shade so precise that it could only mean one person he knew.

"Hey, Iman," Ali greeted with zero enthusiasm, eyes falling onto her flatly. She was still taller than him, but her physique had gotten more battle-ready and fit. "Nice to see you in good health."

He didn't want to talk to them. Any of them. He has a different life now—he needed to put everything in the past where it belonged. The life that he abandoned needed to be buried, and these people belonged in the past.

He side-stepped, walking past Iman. He held out his phone, beginning to search up the nearest route to the closest MATA entrance to find Uncle Bakar to deal with everything that needed to be dealt with. He deserved to know the truth, after all.

Did he?

After his mother died, everyone around him just left. It was as if without Aliya, Ali's presence had become transparent. Without Aliya, Ali didn't matter. Everyone loved him because Aliya loved him, and when Aliya died, everyone drifted away and eventually forgot about him in general.

It's always his mother. Always. MATA wanted him because of his mother. His father loved him because of his mother. Bakar came to find him because of his mother's invention. And even Nikki befriended him because of his mother—It was always Aliya, Aliya, Aliya. Even his name was derived from her name Aliya.

Suddenly Aliya didn't seem like a saint after all.

"Ali!" Infuriated, Ali's gaze snapped upwards to face the newcomer, his rage so uncontrolled he was about to lash out—

"Moon." Ali's voice deflated, anger vanishing back to the depths of his heart. He could never be mad at her, because she was the only person that trusted him after that accident. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to know where you've been for the last six months," she said in a sing-song voice as if she was humming a tune. "You know, when you disappeared, everyone's in kind of a riot. Since, you know, your mother was also an agent and—"

"Yes, I know." Ali's tone steeled and he turned on his heels, walking away from the young Invisio age.

Not his mother again. He couldn't deal with this now. He needed some peace of mind, away from all these expectations, and this was not the place. Cyberaya was not where he wanted to be.

He heard Moon calling out his name, but he didn't care. He wanted to get away from them, from everything related to MATA. There were too many images of what they wanted him to be, everything that he wasn't. They saw him for his mother, not him. It was never him.

After all, who would want a broken replacement?