The game of life

Chapter 3 Hades

CAP. 3

Hades

My phone buzzed and I wanted to ignore it but kept on buzzing. I picked up. “Hi mother!” “My darling!- she breathed, “I’m glad you picked up. Have you arrived home yet?”

“No, mother, I’ll be staying at the hotel tonight. I need a little time to thing and I do have a lot to work. The new system is about to be launched and my attention is required, you know that.” I felt immediate guilty for the irritation in my voice. My mother didn’t deserve that, was not for her. “I’m sorry, mum!” I know that she loves when I call her “mum” but only when there’s only the two of us. My heath warmed at her thought. Even at 42 years old, still my mum is my rock and her love kept us all sane. But she is the only one who gets to see my soft side, if you can say that.

She always said that my name is perfect for me, that she felt that the moment she saw me.

My father adored her so deeply that he let her name all their children exactly as she wished. And so, I became Hades, lord of the Underworld, alongside my brother Ares and our little sister Athena. His love for her has never faded—in fact, it’s only grown stronger over the years. Together, they are the very picture of a devoted, loving marriage.

“I will come home soon, I promise! ““Alright, my darling! Rest tonight and best of luck with the new system.” I hung up the phone.

My assistant looked at me and said: “I called the hotel for the usual suite, sir. The Blue Radisson. Thought you might like a walk by the sea this evening to clear your mind.” I nodded and start walking to the car. Until Ben put my luggage in the trunk, I looked around just for a brief moment. Sometimes I do that, see the world, feel the world.

Just by standing there, breathing the same air, sharing the same pavement, I become part of the collective rhythm. It’s a quiet reassurance: I’m in this world too. Looking outward pulls me away from the loops of my own thoughts. The world becomes bigger, and my worries shrink just a little. There’s a warmth in realizing that even strangers share the same basic desires: to be safe, to be loved, to find meaning. That recognition can feel like a quiet embrace. It’s a way of saying: “I’m still part of the world. I’m allowed to feel connected. I belong here.”

I stood by the car, hands in my pants pockets, the afternoon light catching the edges of passing faces. I allow myself to really look.

I noticed the rhythm of footsteps, the murmur of conversations, the way people weave around each other without thinking. I saw a man balancing a coffee, a child tugging at her mother’s sleeve, a reminder that everyone is carrying something. Joy, fatigue, hope, worry. No one is alone in his complexity. There’s a moment — brief but real — when it feels like the world opened a little, when you can see the humanity in strangers, and in doing so, everyone reconnects with his own.

When I was about to enter the car, I felt a little more anchored. A little more human. A little more part of something larger than my own thoughts.

Not because anyone noticed me.

But because I noticed them.

Suddenly something shifts. A woman with sand coloured hair glances his way — not by accident, not in passing, but at him. And then their eyes lock.

For a heartbeat, the noise of the airport parking space thins out. It’s not dramatic, but it’s unmistakable: a tiny click of recognition between two strangers. He wasn’t expecting to be seen. He was just watching life, not trying to enter it. So, when her gaze meets his, there’s a small jolt — like someone gently tapping his shoulder from across the world. A warmth rose in his chest.

Her blink is soft, unhurried. Her smile is not flirtatious, not performative — just warm, human, acknowledging. For a man who’s been quietly reconnecting with the world, that simple smile feels like a confirmation:

You’re here. You exist. Someone noticed. A soft ache of curiosity crossed his mind. He rose an eyebrow and a faint smile curved his lips.

Who is she?

What made her look?

Did she feel the same small spark of recognition?

She winked and steps into her car, the door closing with a quiet thud. The connection dissolves as quickly as it appeared, but it leaves a trace — a warmth that lingers in his chest as he watches the car pull away.

As Ben opened the car door, I got in. I feel a little more alive. A little more open. A little more connected to the world.