Homecoming | sequel of "Home" [✔️]

Chapter 11

The song and dances were overwhelming. Especially if you were an outsider with no interest, forced to squeeze through crowds to find a seat. Ali's eyes narrowed, dreading the worst. There was barely any chance of his presence being noticed, but he was not a person to take risks.

Besides, his hands were tied. The cat stubbornly remained on his lap. Removal by force might end in vain or embarrassment, of both he would rather avoid.

He tapped his fingers on the table urgently, glaring at the crowd's backs. He needed to return as soon as possible, and maybe see his house. But with the predicament, he wasn't able to do either option.

He knew cats, right? Labu and Comot. He handled them just fine. He looked down to the cat, who was nestled straight into his chest like a child to their mother. Stroking the cat's ear with his thumb, he gently lifted the feline with his other hand. The cat did not resist, instead she stared at him with curiosity.

He picked the cat up with one hand. She was heavy for a cat, but Ali didn't mind. He gently dropped her down to the table and placed the money next to the bill.

Utilizing his skill of social distancing, he successfully escaped the seat of people and dragged himself outside. The night was young, and the streetlights were on, lighting up the world around them like miniature moons harnessed in modern human technology. They illuminated the hallways with warm yellow lights.

Ali breathed a sigh of relief. The music still blasted behind him. It was both a miracle and a relief that there were no other MATA members present, especially the ones close to him. He wasn't certain that they could recognize him anyway. Risks were unnecessary.

Cold, crisp wind brushed his face, brushing his bangs from his eyes. He blinked. He hadn't seen the world without his hair getting in the way. He never minded it, as he'd grown fond of his long hair. He almost felt like Rapunzel, but with none of the witchery and cabbage talk.

For a second, his eyes refreshed, and he saw the world in a new angle. Everything was at peace; there were no screams of battle, no horns of war. This was what he fought for. For peace and serenity. He's spent so much time fighting in the frontlines that he'd forgotten how calmness looked like.

A smile pulled the edge of his lip. Everything would be worth it.

Ali looked down to his watch. A red holographic screen flared to life, displaying time zones from different planets. It calibrated itself to accommodate Earth's cycles and showed him the time: 7:46pm.

Evening, huh? He'd read books about this time, where the bridge between night and day happens. It was called a twilight, where the line between light and darkness have been blurred.

He clutched the plastic handle tighter, gritting his teeth. Back at TAPOPS, he'd always been seen as the twilight between Boboiboy and Fang, someone who was borderline workaholic, and at the same time happy-go-lucky. Not that he minded being familiar with them, but lately, identity issues have been serious in his dictionary.

Sometimes, Ali wanted to feel bad for the people back on Earth. He tried to tap into his guilt, the emotion that once drove him to work harder. He tried to sympathize with the people that he'd beaten up. But ever since he entered space, those emotions shut off. It was like his heart was exposed in the light for too long and the surface charred to a dark, hard coat.

Was it when he realized he would become immortal?

If anything, it was for the best. Powers followed minds. Making the right decisions was what saved people, not impulse.

Ali glanced to the array of shops. They were emptier now. People are starting to go home after their meals. The streets were slowly clearing out, the pavements clearing and dust drifting in the wind.