the Flavor of colors every morning at exactly seven

Untitled

why the sun and moon live in the sky

Short story

Why the Sun and Moon Live in the Sky

Many years ago, the sun and water were great friends, and they both lived on the earth together. The sun often used to visit the water, but the water never returned the visits.

At last, the sun asked the water why he never visited. The water replied that the sun's house was not big enough, and that if he came with all his people, he would drive the sun out of his home.

The water then said, 'If you want me to visit you, you will have to build a bigger house. But I warn you that it will have to be very large, as I have many relatives and friends and we take up a lot of room.'

The sun promised to build a huge house, and soon afterwards he returned home to his wife, the moon, who greeted him with a broad smile.

The sun told the moon what he had promised the water, and the next day they began building a large house to entertain the water and all his family and friends. When it was finished, the sun asked the water to come and visit him.

When the water arrived, he called out to the sun and asked him whether it would be safe for all his family and friends to enter, and the sun answered, 'Yes, you may all come in.'

The water began to flow in, followed by the fish and all the other water animals.

Very soon, the water was knee-deep in the house, so the water asked the sun if it was still safe, and the sun again said, 'Yes, please come into my house.' So the water and all his family continued to come in.

When the water was at the level of a man's head, the water said to the sun, 'Do you still want more of my people to come?'

Not knowing any better, the sun and the moonk both said, 'Yes, the more the merrier.'

So more and more of the water's people came in, until the sun and the moon had to sit on top of the roof. When the water flowed over the top of the roof, the sun and the moon were forced to go up into the sky ...

… and they have been there ever since.

I paid for the tickets for the whole family to fly, but at the airport, my daughter-in-law said, "We gave your ticket to my mom. The grandkids love her more." My daughter agreed. I boarded and quietly left. An hour later, I had already arranged for them to check in.

At the Ninoy Aquino International Airport, it's like a beehive of bees— buzzing with activity, announcements echoing, and the air thick with the scent of money, all mixed up with the hustle and bustle of life.

I stood a little away from the check-in counter, clutching my leather folder like a treasure. Five passports and a few carefully chosen confirmations—six months of saving up from my small but disciplined earnings.

The destination: Maldives, Azure Bay—a private, closed-club resort where silence and discretion come at a price. I had planned every detail for six months, just like my previous job.

Officially, it was a gift for the grandkids—a memory of a world full of screens and distractions. Not officially, it was my 65th birthday—deserving a quiet morning by the sea, not a noisy party and forced smiles from relatives who only show up when they need something.

I paid for everything—the business class flight, seaplane transfer, overwater villa with a private pool—so that my son Sterling could feel like a king, and so that my wife Valencia could stop complaining about the exhausting life that wasn't even worth the effort.

But beneath the cold, dim airport lights, the air thickened—heavy, like a storm was about to erupt.

Valencia, on the other hand, was downcast, her eyes fixed on her cellphone, fidgeting with her fingers, adjusting her outfit with no reason. She was the one who made the announcement with every move.

I was about to see her. I didn't invite her; there were only five people on the budget: me, Sterling, and Valencia, and the twins. When she arrived with a big suitcase, I thought she was just saying goodbye. But there was a priority tag with her name on it.

Then she spoke up—loud, as if she was the one who had decided. "I think you should go with Grandma," she said, her voice firm. "The fifth one—Odessa."

"I told you, it's better this way," she said, "this is better. Life is a committee decision. The runway is closed, but for me, the world suddenly fell silent.

I asked why "it's better this way," not to her, but to Sterling. He looked at the floor, as if he had an answer to his beloved loafers. Valencia approached, her voice low: "I'm high-pressure, I'm old, the climate—making it a 'concern' to betray....

"...And then," she added, her voice softening, "the kids would be happier if Grandma was here. Grandma would love them more."

It wasn't the loss of a seat on the plane that hurt.

But the way she looked at me.

Not the loss of a seat on the plane.

But the way she looked at me.

"Cairo, Zuri... do you want to come with Grandma?" she said, her voice gentle.

They looked at each other. For a moment of silence.

Cairo spoke first, innocent yet direct:

"Grandma Odessa is fun. She's the one who buys the toys."

Zuri nodded.

And that's when I heard the softest sound in the whole airport—

The silence of my heart.

I didn't scream.

I didn't argue.

I didn't reveal that I paid for everything.

I just nodded.

"That's how it is," I said.

I closed the leather folder.

At least it's clear.

Sterling and Valencia looked at each other—still not looking directly.

“Dad, don't be upset,” Sterling whispered, still not looking at all.

“Enjoy your trip,” I said, smiling.

“Okay. Enjoy the trip.”

And I turned around.

I walked away—slowly, not fast. Exactly one minute.

When I reached the edge of the terminal, I took out my cellphone.

As a former CFO, there's one thing I never give up—

Control.

I opened the email confirmation for the booking.

Under the name of the primary account holder—me.

All the tickets. All the villa reservations. All the transfers.

All attached to a single corporate platinum card.

Just one call.

I called the exclusive concierge line of Azure Bay.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Reyes,” the familiar voice said. “Ready for your birthday retreat?”

“Change of plan,” I replied. “Please cancel all accompanying guest tickets effective immediately. Retain only my reservation. Convert the remaining amount into a private extended stay. Two weeks. Upgrade to Presidential Overwater Suite.”

A moment of silence.

“Yes, sir. Processing now.”

“Also,” I added, “remove all airport transfer clearances under the names Sterling Reyes, Valencia Reyes, and Odessa Lim. Without my authorization, they are not cleared for check-in.”

“Understood, sir.”

A notification came in.

4 tickets — CANCELLED.

Resort access codes — REVOKED.

Exactly thirteen minutes had passed.

From where I was, I saw the scene.

The staff came to the check-in counter to Valencia.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry. The booking holder has modified the reservation.”

“N-Namodify?” Sterling's voice rose.

“Maybe you should modify it?”

The cellphone rang.

Probably an automatic notification from the airline.

His eyes widened as he read the screen.

“Dad?” he called, looking around.

They saw me—just standing, calm.

Valencia came closer, almost running.

“What did you do?”

“Just checked the manifest,” I said.

“Dad!” Sterling sneered, sweat dripping. “You can't do this!”

“Really?”

He asked. “Who did you name the booking for?”

No one answered.

Odessa came closer, her pulse racing.

“Boastful!”

I smiled.

“Not. The boast is to remove the ticket owner from their own trip.”

I took a deep breath.

“Valencia, you said you love your grandchildren more. You're probably right. But the resort? You don't love it, the system says, for free.”

Sterling blushed.

“Dad, let's talk about this.”

“I already discussed it,” I replied. “Earlier. When I wasn't around.”

The twins were quiet now. They could feel the weight.

I knelt down in front of them.

“Cairo, Zuri... remember. Love isn't measured by toys or who's louder. Sometimes, it's just silence that loves.”

I stood up.

“I still have a flight to catch.”

And I left them there—chaos, talking to the staff, desperately trying to reinstate a booking that's already gone.

Two weeks later, I posted a pict