NOVEL NEXT Chapter 9: Chapter 9
It has been almost a month since Rye had dinner at Sherry's house, and the two of them have not been in contact at all. With the new year approaching, Rye is extremely busy with work, his schedule packed with projects and end-of-year events. As for Sherry, she doesn't dare to take the initiative. After all, they are just "contract lovers" – a relationship with clear boundaries, one that shouldn't cross the lines they had agreed upon.
But occasionally, in rare quiet moments, Rye finds himself thinking of Sherry. He wonders what she's doing, if she's doing okay, if she's feeling lonely with the upcoming holidays. He scrolls through his contacts, pauses at her name, but then hesitates.
"It's unnecessary!" he tells himself. "It's just a contract."
As for Sherry, she isn't much better. Every time she holds her phone, she has to restrain herself from texting him. She knows well that it won't change anything. Rye doesn't belong to her, and she has no right to ask for more from him. Still, with New Year's Eve approaching, she can't help but feel empty. Both of them are concerned about each other, but neither dares to take the next step. Their "contract" relationship has turned into a cage, imprisoning the true feelings that neither of them is willing to admit.
On New Year's Eve, the city comes alive with the bright lights of fireworks and twinkling strings of lights hanging from every building and street. The air is filled with the sounds of laughter, excited countdowns, and the distant hum of horns and festive music. The streets pulse with energy as people celebrate, yet inside, everything feels eerily quiet. The small room, far from the bustle of the outside world, is softly illuminated by the warm glow of a desk lamp, casting gentle pools of light on the bare, empty walls. The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds, each one slipping by in a slow, deliberate rhythm, almost as if it wants to make the silence linger longer. The ticking becomes the only sound, a constant companion to the heavy stillness in the room.
Sherry sits by the window, her eyes unfocused as she gazes out at the empty street below. Snowflakes drift down lazily from the sky, forming a delicate, white blanket on the rooftops and streets. The warm sofa behind her offers comfort, but within, her heart feels as cold as the winter air outside. A forgotten cup of tea sits beside her, its warmth long gone, its faint aroma no longer enough to offer any solace. In the distance, the sky explodes with colors as fireworks light up the night, their bright, fleeting bursts stretching far and wide. The colors reflect in her eyes, but they don't ignite the excitement she should feel. Instead, they mirror the sadness in her soul. She watches the fireworks with a heavy heart, feeling disconnected from the joy that seems to fill the world outside. Each explosion in the sky only deepens the sense of emptiness, a sharp reminder of the loneliness that has settled deep within her, and of the memories from a time now gone, memories she can no longer reach or hold onto.
For a moment, the city's festivities feel like a distant dream, a celebration she's not part of, as if she's stuck in a parallel world where joy exists for everyone but her. The laughter of others, the warmth of togetherness, all seem so far away, like something she can never touch again. The more the world outside celebrates, the more her isolation becomes painfully apparent. The room feels colder, quieter, and the weight of the night presses down on her chest. She wonders if the new year will bring any change, if it will fill the emptiness inside her or if it will only deepen the ache of solitude. As she watches the fireworks explode one last time in the sky, her thoughts drift to the things she has lost, the moments she can no longer relive, and the possibility that this loneliness might be something she'll carry forever. The ticking of the clock in the room becomes louder, more insistent, marking the passing of time as it continues to slip away unnoticed. The night stretches on, and Sherry remains alone, caught in the quiet of her thoughts, longing for something that she's not sure will ever come.
Sherry had never had the chance to step outside and watch the fireworks as the new year arrived. The orphanage was situated in a quiet, suburban area, far from the hustle and bustle of the city. As the year came to a close, the nearby residents, mostly elderly, preferred to stay indoors, while young families with children often traveled to the larger city to celebrate. Although the orphanage received some funding, it was never enough to ensure that every child had enough to eat or warm clothes to wear. The local kindergarten, however, volunteered to donate a portion of its profits from tuition fees to help support the orphanage in exchange for providing teachers. The salary was modest, with no requirement for high qualifications, and teachers weren't expected to stay for more than a year. After much consideration, the nuns agreed to the arrangement. Before Sherry, six older children had worked with the kindergarten.
Even though they didn't have the opportunity to go outside, the children at the orphanage knew how to find joy in the simplest things. Whether it was a holiday or just an ordinary evening, they gathered around the large table in the common room, where the soft, warm light bathed their faces in a gentle glow. Simple games, silly stories, and performances by the older children filled the room with laughter and warmth, turning even the quietest nights into moments of togetherness and happiness.
The orphanage was more than just a building or a place; it was a home, a sanctuary, a family in every sense of the word. There were no distinctions here—no rich or poor, no insiders or outsiders—only people who had come together through the shared experience of growing, learning, and caring for one another. While material wealth was always in short supply, there was an abundance of something far more valuable: love, kindness, and the unbreakable bonds of connection. The laughter of the children echoed through the halls, a reminder that happiness could not be measured by what one had, but by the warmth and joy found in the relationships we create.
Every year, the older children, those who had grown up and moved on to their own lives, would return to visit. It was always a special occasion, a time for reunions and for revisiting memories of their time together. They would bring simple gifts—nothing extravagant, but always thoughtful and full of meaning. The visits were never just about presents; they were about sharing stories, reminiscing about the times they had spent in that home, remembering the challenges they had overcome, and the love that had seen them through. Those reunions became something sacred, a way to relive the past, but also to reaffirm the strength of their shared bond. Each visit was a testament to the power of love, family, and the connections that had been formed, not by blood, but by shared experience and mutual care.
For Sherry, these moments were everything. She had never felt deprived of love. Even though they didn't have much in terms of material wealth, the care and attention from the nuns, the uncles, and the older children always filled her heart. They were her family—people who had stood by her, who had looked after her, and who had given her the kind of unconditional love that was more precious than anything money could buy. She had never known anything different, and in a way, she didn't need to. She was surrounded by people who would always look out for her, who would listen to her when she needed to talk, and who would share in both her joys and her sorrows. The sense of belonging she felt in that place was priceless.
Every evening, when the children gathered together in the common room, the atmosphere was filled with warmth, not just from the soft, flickering light of the lamps, but from the love and connection between them. Simple games, stories, and songs became the fabric of their daily lives, creating memories that would stay with them forever. Even on the quietest of nights, when the world outside seemed far away, the orphanage hummed with a life all its own. There was no need for grand celebrations or expensive presents. The greatest gift they shared was their presence, their care, and their ability to find joy in the small, simple moments that made up their lives.
As time passed, Sherry grew to understand that love was not something that could be bought or earned through material possessions. It was something that was given freely, without condition, and it was the one thing that could never be taken away. The memories of her childhood—of shared meals, of laughter around the table, of warmth and care from the people she had come to think of as family—became treasures she would carry with her for the rest of her life. Though the world outside might change, and though her circumstances might shift, the love and support she had received in the orphanage would remain a constant, an anchor in her life.
Sherry often thought back to those moments, especially in moments of quiet reflection. Even when she found herself alone, she knew that she had a home in the hearts of those who had cared for her. And as the years went by, she continued to hold on to those precious memories—the beautiful, imperfect moments of her childhood that had shaped her into who she was. Those memories were her legacy, the foundation of who she would become, and they would continue to give her strength and hope for the future. The love that had surrounded her in the orphanage would always be with her, a light that could never fade, no matter how dark the world outside might seem.