Splash Of Fate

Chapter 3 - Tyson's Calm

Tyson had always been called calm.

In high school, when fights broke out on the basketball court, he was the one pulling teammates apart, steadying voices, defusing tension with a half-smile and a joke. In university, when deadlines crashed down on students, he was the one walking around with coffee cups for everyone, reminding them to breathe.

But when it came to Spark, nothing was ever calm inside him.

That night after the party, Tyson tossed and turned in his bed. His sheets felt like chains, too heavy, too tangled. He sat up at least three times, drank water, paced the room, then lay back down only to stare at the ceiling fan cutting slow, lazy circles above him.

Every detail of the evening replayed in his mind. Spark in her blue dress. Spark’s laughter at the start of the night, soft but cautious, like she hadn’t laughed in a long while. Spark’s heels snapping on the dance floor. Spark shoving him away, her face streaked with tears, her voice cracking with pain as she told him to leave her alone.

It haunted him, because Tyson knew Spark’s anger wasn’t really directed at him—it was directed at the weight she carried. The ghosts she still hadn’t shaken off.

And yet… seeing her cry, seeing her walk away from him, cut deeper than anything else.

He turned on his side, staring at the framed photo on his nightstand: a picture of him and Spark from their second year of university. She was grinning, her hair tied up in a ponytail, her eyes crinkling with pure joy. He was beside her, pretending to look serious but failing because she had made him laugh at the last moment.

He remembered that day. They had just finished a grueling basketball match, and Spark had dragged him to the cafeteria, insisting he needed to “celebrate properly” with a ridiculously large burger. She had snapped the photo while he was mid-bite, then demanded a redo when he nearly choked laughing.

Those moments had been simple. Easy. Before her losses hardened her smile. Before her eyes started carrying shadows.

“Why do you care so much about me?”

Her voice from last night echoed in his head. The tremor in it. The disbelief.

Tyson rubbed his face with both hands. He knew why. He had always known why. He loved her—quietly, steadily, stubbornly. It wasn’t the kind of love that burned like wildfire; it was the kind that rooted itself deep, growing even when ignored, enduring through storms.

But Spark was a storm.

And he had vowed to be her calm.

By morning, Tyson’s body was exhausted but his mind was sharper than ever. He dressed neatly, as he always did, because neatness made him feel in control. A grey shirt, well-pressed. Black trousers. Sneakers polished.

He had promised his younger cousin, David, that he would help him with math homework. That was Tyson—always keeping his promises, no matter what turmoil swirled inside him.

As he walked the busy streets, the city alive with the shouts of vendors and the honking of buses, his phone buzzed with group chat notifications.

Anna: “Did Spark get home safe yesterday? She left in a rush.”

Jason: “Yeah, Tyson, you chased after her, right? What happened?”

Tyson’s thumbs hovered over his phone before replying.

Tyson: “She’s fine. Just needed space. Don’t ask too much.”

He muted the chat before they could push further. Spark’s life wasn’t theirs to dissect. He would guard her from gossip, even from friends who meant well.

After helping David, Tyson sat at the dining table in his aunt’s house, scribbling equations while his cousin yawned dramatically. The boy was only thirteen, all elbows and mischief, constantly trying to escape homework.

“Ty,” David groaned, “why do I have to learn all this? I’ll never use it.”

Tyson chuckled. “Trust me, you will. Life always finds a way to make you use the things you thought were useless.”

As he explained algebra, his phone rang. His heart skipped when he saw the name.

Spark.

He excused himself quickly, stepping out to the small balcony before answering. “Hey.”

Her voice was soft, hesitant, almost fragile. “Tyson… are you free?”

He leaned against the railing, gripping the phone tighter than necessary. “For you? Always.”

There was a long pause, like she was deciding whether to speak or hang up. Finally, she said, “Can you come over? I don’t… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Tyson didn’t even think twice. “I’m on my way.”

When he reached her apartment, Spark opened the door looking tired yet beautiful in the kind of way that wasn’t about appearance but presence. She wore a plain T-shirt and shorts, her hair tied up messily, strands falling into her face. She looked like someone who had been fighting battles all morning—yet to Tyson, she was the most striking sight in the world.

“Hey,” he greeted gently.

She stepped aside, letting him in. Her apartment smelled faintly of coffee and lavender. He noticed the untouched mug on the table, the blanket crumpled on the couch—signs of a restless day.

“Thanks for coming,” she said softly, her eyes flickering but not meeting his.

He sat beside her on the couch, careful to leave space, letting her set the tone. Silence stretched for several moments. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, then whispered, “Tyson… why do you care so much about me?”

The question again. This time, heavier.

Tyson swallowed. He could tell her the truth—every fiber of it. That he loved her. That she was his anchor, his reason. That his world tilted every time she smiled.

But she wasn’t ready to hear that. Not yet.

So he spoke carefully, softly. “Because you matter to me. More than you think. I’ve seen you carry so much, Spark. You act like you’re fine, but I know you’re not. And I can’t just stand by and watch. That’s not who I am.”

Her eyes glistened, but she looked away quickly, blinking hard. “But I’m broken, Tyson. Don’t you see that? I can’t even hold myself together most days. I don’t want to drag anyone down with me.”

He reached out slowly, resting his hand on hers—not gripping, just touching, giving her the chance to pull away. “You’re not dragging me down. You’re the reason I stand taller.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t pull away.

Hours slipped by. They talked about everything and nothing—her failed interview, his basketball memories, little jokes about classmates from the past.

She confessed things she hadn’t said in years. That sometimes she felt invisible in a crowd. That sometimes she hated herself for still grieving. That she had dreams where her parents were alive, and waking up felt like losing them all over again.

Tyson listened. Always listened. He didn’t try to fix her pain—he knew better than that. He just held space for it.

At one point, she leaned against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re too good to me, Tyson,” she murmured.

His heart clenched. He wanted to tell her that she was the one who made him better, that his calm existed because of her storm. But he stayed silent, afraid the truth would scare her away.

As night fell, Spark dozed off fully. Tyson carefully laid her down on the couch, tucking the blanket around her shoulders. He lingered, watching her chest rise and fall, the tension in her face finally easing.

On the table beside her, he noticed an old folder. Curiosity tugged at him. He glanced around—then gave in.

The folder was worn, its edges frayed. Inside were newspaper clippings, police reports, and scribbled notes. The heading read: Case File: Road Accident, 2015.

Tyson’s throat tightened. He had always known about Spark’s parents’ death, but seeing the tangible evidence of how much she still searched—how desperately she clung to answers—made his chest ache. She hadn’t healed. She hadn’t let go.

And maybe she never would, not until she found the truth.

As he walked home that night, the city lights buzzing faintly around him, Tyson’s thoughts wandered somewhere darker.

Blue Eyes.

The stranger from university. The one who had been quiet but sharp, mysterious but magnetic. Spark had always brushed off his interest, but Tyson had seen the way Blue Eyes looked at her, as if she were the only thing in the room.

There had been something secretive about him. Something Tyson couldn’t name, but it had left a mark on his instincts.

And now, with Spark still chasing shadows of her parents’ accident, Tyson couldn’t shake the feeling that Blue Eyes was part of this puzzle.

He clenched his fists as he walked, whispering under his breath.

“Whatever storm comes, I’ll be her calm. Even if it breaks me.”