Volume 2 – Chapter 24: The Calm Before the Storm

The days following our wedding were a blur. The rest of the world just kept sinking into chaos, but within four walls, we had at least some peace — a sensation that we hadn’t had in so long. Ocean of uncertainty was looming on the horizon, but all we felt relief in the idea of being together. No longer just existing; we were alive, whatever that meant.

We spent much of 2020 strategizing and waiting and holding each other. There was so much left to do, so much to figure out, and yet the weight of it all didn’t crush us. We lean on what we had: each other, our future, the comfort of the silence we are still able to share.

I found my heart full of love as I watched Rika > > > >> > > > > with awe. She was my lifeline in the storm. As everything around us grew chaotic, she was my one steady, and I her steady, and that was never not the deal. When everything felt so uncertain, our love was the one thing I could rely on.

You, too, appeared to find solace in our mute company. It wasn’t perfect — nothing could be in a world that felt like it was teetering on the brink of chaos — but it was ours. And that was enough.

We were with the families we had been trying to catch up with. The conversations could be bleak at times, there was a lot of concern about what lay in front of them, but also a feeling of togetherness. Blast us even into misery, we were still a family, still bonded by love, and no disaster could take that away from us.”

One afternoon, as we sat in the living room with Rika’s hand in mine, my father spoke.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, fatigue and determination thick in his voice. “But we need to prepare for what follows.” “The world’s on fire and we can’t just sit around and wait for it to improve. We have to act.”

His words hit hard. But it was a reminder that the world wasn’t going to wait for us.” We weren’t in a position to sit back and hope things would just suddenly improve. The world without had to take its own fate in hand.

“We have to think about how we can protect ourselves,” Rika’s father said. “The meteor hitting, the instability — everything. It’s all too dangerous. “Because we need to start figuring out how we’re going to make it, and what we’re going to do after it all collapses.

Then there was a long silence after his words. This was a reality we didn’t want to face but one we couldn’t ignore. The world was crumbling and we were on our last tick of the clock.

I looked at Rika, searching for her eyes to comfort me. She didn’t look away. I had never seen that kind of strength in her eyes, determination.

“We will survive this,” she said, her voice calm but with a rare certainty. “We’re going to make it.”

They were simple words, but they were all we wanted to hear. In a world with a lot less hope, Rika’s faith in us — her faith in the future — was enough to keep going. I squished her little hand and let the silence pass between us into the promise that I would stop at nothing to keep her safe, to protect her.”

Later that night, after conversation and after sleep, Rika and I stood on the balcony, the nighttime air cool against our skin. The stars were distant, all but shaken free from our atmosphere, and in that briefest moment, I thought about the world we once inhabited. A world where anything seemed possible, where the future was an open place, where there was time for everything.

Now we were all we had. And it was enough.

“I know what is coming and we can’t change it,” I said quietly, so quiet it was almost a whisper. “But we can meet it together.”

Rika was resting her head on my shoulder, arms sprawled over the railing. “Together,” she said in response, her voice containing the entirety of what we had endured and all that lay ahead. “We’ll survive. We have to.”

I nodded, pulling her closer. We didn’t know all things, and we certainly didn’t control the future, but we had each other. And that was something no one could take away from her.

All of it just as before, day after day, until we Were Orphaned. We were focused on prepping, stockpiling supplies, shoring up our families. It was a moment of uncertainty — but of solidarity, too. But we were all in this together, and for the first time in months, there was a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we could face whatever the future might throw at us and survive to tell the other side.

But even during our calmer times, we could not shake what was to come. The world was falling apart and we had to be ready.