In the days that followed, my life gradually returned to its familiar rhythm.
I still went to school and work every day.
In the morning, I woke up, quickly prepared a few things, and left my room. In the afternoon, I returned to the boarding house as the sun began to soften. At night, I sat at my desk again, reading and studying like everyone else.
Everything continued as usual.
Except… he was no longer there.
At first, I still had the habit of glancing toward the door of the room across the corridor whenever I opened my own.
The habit came naturally.
Almost like a reflex.
But that door was always closed.
There was no longer the familiar light.
No longer the sound of him opening his door in the evening.
No longer the simple questions like:
"You're back?"
Or,
"Was today tiring at school?"
Things that once felt so ordinary suddenly became small memories that I found myself thinking about.
But life always finds a way to make people adapt.
After some time, I gradually became used to the quiet corridor.
Used to eating alone.
Used to reminding myself to rest when I studied too late.
I began to do more things on my own.
Before, whenever I didn't know something, I would ask him.
Now I learned to figure things out myself.
Before, in the evenings I would often sit outside in the corridor talking with him.
Now I spent more time studying.
Sometimes I went out for walks alone.
Walking through familiar streets where we had once walked together.
At first, those places reminded me of him.
But slowly, the feeling became lighter.
Not because I forgot him.
But because I began to understand that life always has to move forward.
He was living his life in a place far away.
And I also had to live my life here.
His cousin still visited occasionally.
But not as often as before.
He had his own life.
And I gradually became used to taking care of myself.
Some afternoons, I sat in my room and read the small notebook he had sent me.
The words he wrote were still there.
Simple reminders.
"Remember to eat properly."
"Don't stay up too late."
"If anything happens, call me."
Each time I read them again, I simply smiled.
I didn't feel sad.
I only felt warmth.
His messages still appeared from time to time.
Not often.
But enough.
Enough for me to know that he still remembered me.
Sometimes while I was studying, my phone would vibrate.
A short message from him.
"How have you been lately?"
Or,
"Today was a tiring day at school."
My replies were simple too.
"I'm doing fine."
We no longer talked as much as before.
But somehow, I still felt that he had not truly disappeared from my life.
He was like a presence somewhere far away.
Not beside me every day anymore.
But still there.
One evening, while I was studying, I suddenly realized something.
I had stopped looking toward the door across the corridor.
Not because I had forgotten.
But because I had grown used to the fact that he was no longer there.
I smiled to myself.
Human beings are strange.
At first, we think we can never grow used to change.
But time teaches us how to adapt.
I once believed that his leaving would change my life completely.
But in reality, life continued.
I still studied.
Still laughed.
Still lived my ordinary days.
Only sometimes, in very quiet moments, I would think of someone.
Someone who once lived in the room across the corridor.
Someone who had cared for me in such a gentle way.
Someone who, even though he was no longer here…
I still knew he existed somewhere in my life.
Message of Chapter 16
People often believe they will never grow used to someone's absence.
But time teaches us how to adapt.
Not because we forget them,
but because we learn how to keep living
even when they are no longer beside us every day.