The Wings Of A Caged Bird | First Draft

chapter 5 : there is guilt in loving

31st July; Friday

"I cannot believe I thanked the guy who stole my money."

I let out a long sigh. Everything was going too perfect for it to be normal, so something had to go wrong. My money was definitely stolen by the man who was standing behind me when we were coming out of the train. I later remembered that he was one of the men who had occupied the seats beside ours while July and I went to get coffee. He must have noticed me checking my bag pockets when Mr. Harlold went to the lavatory and figured out the locations of the money. I'm just so glad I divided the money into four parts, and only one part has been stolen.

"Just a tiny example of how ironic the world can be," July says with a small laugh. He is awfully calm about this. Right now he is punching in some numbers on my phone's calculator. He writes the result down on a page of the sketchbook. Then he presses the pen cap to his lips and says, "Unlike the baby thief we saw at the restaurant, I have always found expert thieves like that guy dangerously smart. Like, they know the perfect timing, the perfect tactics. They do their job with patience and smoothness. They pretend to be completely normal—like just another person passing by. And more often than not, the person stolen from doesn't even realize it until much later, just like you."

He is really praising thieves in a way that makes me feel like they're kinda awesome. I sigh again. "If only they used their brains for the development of this country."

At this, July bursts into laughter. "There's nothing we can do about it. Look at the bright side. They are probably having a good dinner right now."

"Or they are buying drugs to sell them at a higher profit."

"As I said, think positively." He gives me back the phone. He studies the calculation. I would have helped him if not for the fact that I have developed a trauma over the word 'Maths'. "Unfortunately for us, the remaining money isn't nearly enough for 19 days."

I don't know when July came to realize that I have figured out how many days are left. We never had that conversation. But I have a hunch that it was when I tore off the August page of my calendar and threw it on the dustbin last week.

"Did you count motel costs as well?" I ask.

"Yep. According to our previous calculation, we could have a roof on our head for 11 nights at best in the cheapest motels. Now, it has dropped down to 6 nights. 8 if you starve."

"I'll sta-"

"No."

"Ugh."

"There's nothing to do. We might need to go back home early."

I immediately say, "I won't."

"Cedar, don't be so stubborn."

"I'm not going home before . . . saying goodbye to you." I look at my lap and fiddle with my fingers.

"It doesn't matter where you say goodbye."

"That's not the point."

He remains silent for a while. Then he says, "You're already gonna miss a lot of days at school, Cedar. You can't make your world revolve around me."

I start tapping my feet. "You think I care about school more than you?" When he doesn't reply, I let out a small laugh and turn my face to him. "I'm pretty sure this will be the first and last time I am doing something reckless. I don't want to have the regret of not giving you enough time. Just . . . please."

I know what he is thinking. The less time I give him, the less memories we will have, and the easier it would be for me to let him go. But I don't want to bring logic into this. I want to treasure every second of his existence beside me.