The morning came with the scent of dust and rain.
The kind that clings to everything — to skin, to air, to memory.
Jason had woken early, though sleep had barely touched him. The past few weeks had been like that — restless nights, too many unfinished thoughts, and a silence that kept replaying Gigi’s voice like an echo: “You weren’t supposed to be my ending.”
He had told himself that seeing her was enough. That moment at the dinner — her calm defiance, the steadiness in her eyes — should have been closure. But it hadn’t been. It was a mirror.
And now, every time he looked at himself, he saw what she had survived despite him.
So he threw himself into something tangible — something that required his hands more than his heart.
The center stood on the outskirts of Surulere — one of the
