“Swipe Right, Left Hanging, Came Back Running”

Is He Back?

The golden rays of the afternoon sun slipped through the narrow gap between my curtains, casting a warm glow over my small, quiet room. My eyelids fluttered open, heavy from the weight of sleep, and I turned my head slightly to glance at my wristwatch. 4 PM.

A sigh escaped my lips as I slowly pushed myself up, the stiffness in my limbs a reminder of the long, grueling hours I had spent at work. My body had given in to exhaustion, demanding a well-deserved rest, and I had surrendered completely. But now, the world outside was still spinning, and it was time to rise.

I peeled off the blanket and neatly folded my bedding—an old habit I never abandoned. My bare feet met the cold floor, sending a slight shiver up my spine as I made my way to the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with a reflection that carried traces of fatigue, dark circles lingering beneath my eyes. A testament to the overtime shifts, the endless demands, the weight of responsibilities.

Turning on the shower, I stepped under the stream, letting the water cascade over me, washing away not just the remnants of sleep but the burdens of the past days. My muscles, tense and overworked, slowly relaxed under the soothing embrace of the warm water.

Today, I allowed myself this moment—a pause, a breath. I had earned this. But even in rest, discipline remains. My day was only beginning, and before the sun bid its final goodbye, my body would move, my heart would race, and my strength would be reclaimed.

Because even on days of rest, I choose to rise.

The soft crunch of sand beneath my running shoes was a rhythmic reminder that, for this fleeting moment, I was free. Free from deadlines, from the suffocating walls of my workplace, from the endless demands that consumed me day after day. The air was thick with salt, carrying the familiar scent of the ocean, and with each step, I inhaled deeply—as if trying to breathe in the serenity I had long been deprived of.

As I jogged along the shoreline, my gaze was drawn to the sky—a masterpiece painted by the hands of the setting sun. A canvas of fire and gold, where streaks of crimson and burnt orange melted into hues of soft pink and violet. The sun itself hung low, an orb of molten gold sinking slowly into the endless horizon, its reflection dancing on the water’s surface like shattered pieces of light. The waves, kissed by the last remnants of the day, shimmered in fiery hues before retreating back to the depths of the ocean, as if whispering secrets to the wind.

Around me, life unfolded in its simplest yet most beautiful form. People ran along the shore, their feet leaving temporary imprints in the sand, only to be washed away by the tide. Proof that no matter how much we try to hold on, time moves forward, unyielding, unstoppable. Further ahead, a group of women moved in sync to the beat of an unheard melody, their Zumba routine a celebration of movement, of existence. Little children—innocent, carefree—chased each other along the water’s edge, their laughter a song sweeter than any music I had ever heard.

I smiled to myself, whispering under my breath, "The life outside work is so much more beautiful." The thought settled deep within me, a reminder, a lesson—that in the grand scheme of things, work was just a part of life, not the entirety of it. Work-life balance wasn’t just a fancy phrase; it was a necessity.

Forty-five minutes of continuous jogging had my heart racing, my legs burning, and sweat trickling down my temple. A sweet kind of pain—the kind that reminds you that you're alive. With a satisfied sigh, I made my way to one of the beautifully carved benches facing the ocean, its worn wooden surface a silent witness to countless sunsets, to lovers lost in whispered confessions, to weary souls seeking solace.

I sank onto it, closing my eyes as the cool evening breeze kissed my skin. The wind carried with it a quiet promise—a gentle reassurance that no matter how chaotic life became, there would always be places like this, moments like this, where the world slowed down just enough to let me breathe.

I let myself surrender to the embrace of the ocean air, its touch neither harsh nor demanding, but rather healing, as if it knew the weight I carried in my heart.

And as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a trail of golden embers in the sky, I sat there, simply existing. Simply feeling.

The rhythmic crash of waves filled the air, a ceaseless melody that had played since the beginning of time. As I sat on the weathered bench, gazing at the vast ocean stretching endlessly before me, I couldn’t help but wonder—why does the sea, the sky, and the setting sun always stir such deep emotions?

It was a strange paradox. Comfort and sorrow. Hope and despair. The gentle lull of the waves could soothe even the most restless heart, yet the endless horizon seemed to whisper stories of longing. The sunset, so breathtaking in its final moments, was both a promise and a farewell. A beautiful ending, but an ending nonetheless. Why is it that the most magnificent things in life always fade?

I let out a soft sigh, lost in my thoughts, when the sudden vibration of my phone pulled me back to reality. I blinked, glancing at the screen. Mama.

A smile tugged at my lips as I hit the accept button.

“Hi, Mama. How are you?” My voice held the warmth of excitement, as it always did when I spoke to her.

“Hi, gang. When are you coming home? I miss you—your Papa misses you.”

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. This was how our conversations always began. No matter how many times we spoke, no matter how near or far I was, my mother’s first question was always about when I would return home.

She started talking, and like always, her words flowed like a never-ending river. She told me about her friends from church, about distant relatives I barely remembered, about the little things that made up her day. She was the kind of mother who could turn the most ordinary stories into something vibrant and alive. I listened, smiling, letting her voice wrap around me like a warm embrace.

At one point, I turned my camera to the horizon, showing her the breathtaking sunset. The sky had transformed into an explosion of colors—deep purples blending into soft pinks, streaks of gold shimmering against the fading blue. The ocean reflected it all, as if the heavens themselves had spilled their beauty upon the water.

She gasped in awe. "Wow, that’s beautiful." There was a brief pause, and then, with a quiet sigh, she added, "You know, sunsets remind us that we should end things in a beautiful way—just like that. Or maybe… they remind us that no matter how beautiful something is, it must eventually come to an end. But at least, it ends gracefully."

Her voice wavered slightly at the last words. I knew what she meant.

A lump formed in my throat, but I refused to let the sadness settle. Instead, I smiled, trying to inject lightness into the moment.

"I know, Ma. But after every sunset, there’s always a sunrise." I winked at her playfully, laughing softly. "It reminds us that after the darkest nights, the sun always finds its way back."

She chuckled, though I could still hear the emotion lingering in her voice.

The conversation stretched on, weaving between laughter and quiet pauses, between stories of home and the silence of unspoken thoughts. Time slipped by unnoticed, and before I knew it, darkness had settled over the beach, the last remnants of daylight swallowed by the night.

I sighed, reluctant but knowing it was time to go.

"I should go now, Mama. Talk to you soon, okay?"

There was a brief silence, then her gentle voice came through. "I love you, anak. Always take care, okay?"

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. "I love you too, Ma."

With a deep breath, I ended the call, slipping my phone back into my pocket.

The waves still crashed, the wind still whispered, and the night stretched ahead. But somehow, after that conversation, the darkness didn’t seem so heavy anymore.

Because no matter how long the night lasted, I knew the sun would rise again.

The night was still, the only sound coming from the faint rustling of leaves and my own footsteps echoing against the pavement. I was lost in my thoughts, savoring the rare peace of walking alone—until it shattered.

“Mads.”

A voice so familiar, so deeply ingrained in my past, sliced through the silence like a blade. My breath hitched. My body froze. My heart pounded erratically against my ribcage.

No. It can't be.

Slowly, almost unwillingly, I turned toward the source. My vision blurred for a second, my mind rejecting what my eyes confirmed. A shadowed figure walked toward me, steady, deliberate, closing the distance with every heartbeat.

Instinct kicked in. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms, grounding me. My body stiffened, poised to defend myself. My breathing turned shallow.

Then, he spoke.

“I’ve been looking for you. How have you been?”

His voice—so calm, so painfully nostalgic—sent an icy chill crawling up my spine.

My heart dropped.

I wanted to run, but my feet refused to move. I wanted to scream, but my voice betrayed me. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, confusion, grief—all colliding in an unbearable storm.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing my lips to part, but no words came out.

The world around us faded. The streetlights hummed softly. The air grew heavy.

And there we stood—two people tied together by a past neither of us could erase.