Episode 7

Javan’s stomach churned with a dread that had been a constant companion for weeks. He stood on the weathered planks of the Port Blossom pier, the salty air doing little to clear the fog in his head. He’d agreed to this, to the meeting, but every instinct screamed for him to run. The ferry, a squat, utilitarian vessel, chugged closer, its engine a low growl against the gentle lapping of waves. He’d seen his father’s face in blurry photographs, heard stories whispered like cautionary tales, but never truly *known* him. Now, he was about to meet the man who had shaped so much of his life from a distance, the man whose absence had carved out a hollow space within him.

The ferry docked with a bump, and a single figure disembarked. He was taller than Javan had imagined, his frame lean and weathered, like driftwood polished by the sea. His hair was a silvered mane, his face etched with lines that spoke of sun and wind and a life lived hard. But it was his eyes, a startling, piercing blue, that held Javan captive. They scanned the pier, a flicker of recognition, then something akin to apprehension, crossing his features as they landed on Javan.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the cry of a gull overhead. Javan felt a tremor run through his hands, his palms slick with sweat. He wanted to speak, to break the suffocating quiet, but his throat had closed up, his voice trapped somewhere between his heart and his lips. His father took a tentative step forward, then another, his gaze unwavering. Javan could see the hesitation in his posture, the same fear that coiled in his own gut. This wasn't a reunion; it was an interrogation, a reckoning.