Volume 2 – Chapter 22: The Weight of Tomorrow

The house felt quieter than it had ever been. It still felt like serious conversation from bygone days hung in the air. We hadn’t made any formal decisions — yet — but there was something about how things were playing out that felt nearly inevitable. And time — that elusive grain of sand slipping through our fingers — seemed to be running out.

For the next few days, Rika and I would hang out in strange cadence. We sat there next to each other and spoke about shallow things from time to time as if we weren’t in the midst of a world disintegration. But those moments never lasted long. Both of us knew we were short on time, because even though we tried our best not to admit it, we could hear that clock ticking in the back of our head, echoing everywhere in our heads.

There was only one thing that became crystal clear. We couldn’t wait. Not anymore.

It was on that third morning when things had gone a little quiet that Rika said what had lurked between us like the rest of the time.

The birds outside were singing me awake with their gentle calls. It was dark and morning at the same time, the emerging light was that of quiet, sad light coming of age upon the window curtain — When I turned to the side, I saw her sitting by the window in the golden light, the softly lit profile. When I stood up she didn’t move, and seemed distracted.

“Hey,” I said quietly, not wanting to scare her. I stepped closer to her, my feet whispering on the hardwood. “You okay?”

At first she didn’t turn, and I thought for a second that maybe she hadn’t heard me. But a moment later she spoke, her voice rising just above a whisper. “Yeah… just thinking.”

I sat right next to her — close enough to feel her breath, but not close enough to crowd. “About what?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then she turned to me. But there was a something in her eyes, a remoteness, but also a depth, a tacit understanding of what was at stake. Her face was soft but there was an intensity to things that I hadn’t paid attention to before — an undercurrent of something lost, vulnerable and raw.

“About us,” s

I said nothing, waiting for her to continue. “I didn’t think she was looking for answers.” She was just... processing. Thinking about the storm in her brain. We had discussed in abstraction the end of the world, but this made it personal — although the closest I could approach the comprehension was comparative. And suddenly it wasn’t an abstract concept anymore. It was real. The future was a thing we would have to invent for ourselves, independent of what the world was up to in the first place.

After a long silence, she exhaled. She stared at her hands, which she had pressed tightly in her lap. “I have this growing feeling that if we don’t do something now, and we don’t make something of the time we have left, we will be sorry.”

Her words dogged me with lead weight. I knew exactly what she was talking about. We had been suspended in limbo for long enough, caught between survival and the slow erosion of the world as we knew it. We’d been on the run, seeking safety, seeking meaning. But now, we had reached the point where we could no longer run from our feelings, our fears or our future.

“We can’t wait, can we?” I said softly.

Rika shook her head and her fingers trembled slightly. “No. We can’t.”

Now the room had become heavier, the silence that lay between us thick with the weight of the choices we were about to make. I held out my hand, placing it gently on her arm. It was a question hanging unspoken in the air for weeks. I didn’t know if it was the time to ask, but I knew it was the only time that mattered.

“Rika, are you sure?” I said, my voice near whisper.

She rose to meet my eyes then, brimming with a muted certainty. “I’m sure. If we’re going to make it through this, if we’re going to take on whatever is on the other side, I want to do that with you. I don’t want to wait no more.’ ”

There it was. The thing that was touching us — the moment we knew the world was drifting away. The realization that life — however much of it was left to give — could not remain on pause. The end of all things was coming and if we were to encounter it, we could not keep waiting. We had to do something that would matter, something that would bind us all together, whatever the outcome. And then, as if a tectonic shift had taken place beneath our feet, we had an answer. We had known it all along.

“We don’t have to wait,” I said, keeping my voice steady, leaning in just a little closer. “We can do this now. We’ll make it happen. No more hesitation. Not for us, not for anyone.”

Her eyes were soft, yet filled with a strength that was equal to mine as she gazed at me for a long moment. “Then let’s get married.”

The sentence lingered in the air and at first I didn’t know what to say. It was it — the turning point, the decision that would govern the rest of our lives. Once we had made this decision there would be no going back.

“You’re serious?” I asked, so stunned by that certainty in her voice.

She smiled a little, but not jokily. “I’ve never meant something more serious in my life.”

That's when I slowly nodded my head. There was no time to concern myself with anything else. The world we occupied, the society we understood, was splintering. But here in these walls, it seemed as if the choice ahead was the only thing that mattered. We would be together. Whatever the future held, we would face it together.

“I’m in,” I said quietly. “Let’s do it. Let’s make it official.”

This time from Rika, whose eyes softened and behind whose lips formed, for the first time in a long time, an honest grin. It was small but genuine. She reached out, grabbed my hand. And held it with the same quiet determination that was throbbing in my chest.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said, as if the enormity of the decision hadn’t quite hit home.

I can,” I answered, amazed at the assertiveness in my voice. “I’ve always known it. You and me, together. Whatever happens, we are in this together.”

Her eyes get bright, and she laughed, a real laugh, warm, hopeful. The tension suspended between us dissipated, replaced by something else. Their beauty was both terrifying and straightforward.

For the first time in days, I thought we might actually make this. If we [can] face the storm maybe we can find a way through it.