It all started with a younger brother, a boy of relentless energy and unfiltered excitement who wouldn’t stop begging their parents to take him to the beach. Morning, noon, and night, his voice rang through the house like a broken record, “Let’s go! I want to build a sandcastle! We never go anywhere fun!”. The story happened on one of those days between long holidays, a family of four decided to go home to their father’s hometown and stayed there for a week. Robert, as the family’s oldest child could only sighed while packing his clothes. Everyone in his family seemed excited for their trip but him, he’s a pathetic child who doesn’t talk much and socializing is not his cup of tea. His expression was a blend of resignation and irritation, the kind that only a teenager who is straddling the line between child and adult could perfect. He always has a thought, ‘what if I just asked them to stay at home? They can go, for sure. No need to drag me along, I’m an adult now, technically.’ which immediately perished from his mind as he remembered that his parents are a very strict one and definitely wouldn’t let any of their children to stay at home by themselves. His parents are indeed untrusting. Then so be it, he’ll just listen and accept whatever they want. Like usual. It’s a bit sickening if he can be honest.
That night, just like every night, Robert spent his time scrolling through his favorite social media platform. Inside his room, the lights were dimmed to a soft glow, and the only illumination came from the screen of his phone as he lay sprawled on his bed, the fan spinning lazily in the corner of the room. He laid down on the bed and sometimes giggled at whatever post came through his timeline or maybe at his friends’ stupid comments under a certain post. He didn’t comment, didn’t give a like to it—he just enjoyed the moment quietly. This kind of activity is definitely better than having to go somewhere outside and talking to people. It’s all quiet and good, and no one will bother him if he doesn’t post or interact with his mutuals for a while. Everyone got a life, they mind their own business. To be honest, Robert is not always this introvert. He could be lively, talkative even and talk a lot, only with the person he is close to. Someone who made space for his silences and didn’t try to fill them with noise. With the right person, he could talk for hours about music, games, or those strange philosophical thoughts that came to him at 2 a.m. Alas, such a person rarely comes into his life. Damn.
Without Robert realizing it, it was already morning. 3 in the morning and they have to depart at 5. “Goodness gracious, I only have 2 hours to sleep.” And there he is now, sleeping with his mobile phone tucked under the pillow (which is not a healthy behavior). What did he expect then? A nice, refreshing sleep? No, he woke up, exhausted. It felt like he just closed his eyes and suddenly was forced to open it again. And just like the other days when their family is about to go to the father’s hometown, it went chaotic. His mom’s loud voice can be heard downstairs, his brother who is still sleeping soundly, and his father’s footsteps can be heard walking back and forth from the living room to the garage. Robert sighed and sat himself on the edge of the bed before walking to the bathroom to take a bath. He ended up with itchiness on his palms. “Why does this shit keep happening?” He muttered while rubbing both of his hands to keep himself warm, or at least not cold anymore. Robert was just about to lay himself again on the bed until he heard his mom tell him to wake up his brother. How troublesome.
After an hour battling with the entire household, Robert and his family finally depart to their father’s hometown. What struck him as odd right away was the change in seating. Unlike the usual arrangement where he comfortably shared the backseat with his mom, this time he was seated up front, right beside his father. The passenger seat. The copilot seat, if you could even call it that. Clearly unusual since he used to sit at the back with his mom. He was this close to thinking something suspicious and made up some weird theories. He cast a sideways glance at his father, who seemed entirely unbothered, focused only on adjusting the radio and checking the rearview mirror. Robert sat stiffly, half-expecting a serious tone or an awkward attempt at bonding. But nothing came. Turns out his brother is just feeling sleepy and needs more sleep. The backseat is perfect for napping so it’s understandable. Robert exhaled silently, the tension in his shoulders loosening. Still, the shift felt strange. Out of place. Sitting beside his father made him feel exposed somehow, more visible. It was quiet at least, save for the hum of the engine and the soft drone of a morning radio show playing faintly in the background.
The entire trip took barely two hours. Quick, efficient, and dreadfully uneventful. All thanks to his father choosing the highway instead of the slower, winding common road they used to take. As the car exited the toll gate and merged into the narrow village street, Robert let out a quiet, disappointed sigh. What a bummer, he thought, sinking further into his seat. He always likes and enjoys the road trip more than arriving at their destination, he didn’t know why. There was something inexplicably soothing about long road trips, something that filled the silent spaces in his head. Maybe it was the way the world rolled by outside the window, an ever-changing slideshow of towns, rice fields, gas stations, and fleeting glimpses of people’s lives. Watching other vehicles pass, glancing at drivers lost in their own thoughts, or seeing children clinging to their parents on motorcycles—these small, ordinary moments felt oddly comforting to him. Like he was part of something bigger, even if only as a silent observer. With a half-hearted sigh, Robert scratched his head, the sunlight already starting to feel a little too warm on his skin. He stepped out of the car, stretching his limbs lazily before dragging himself toward the trunk to help unload the luggage. The gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he walked. No one had to tell him to do it, he just moved on autopilot (or perhaps it’s basic manner), as always, doing what needed to be done without enthusiasm. He greeted his grandma, of course. Doing small talk before going back to his duty. Once the duties were done, he slipped into the living room, dropped himself onto one of the old, slightly-sunken sofas, and immediately fished out his phone from his pocket like a survival tool. But the moment he unlocked it, his hopes deflated. The signal bars blinked weakly at him from the corner of the screen, barely one bar. He refreshed his social media feed. Nothing loaded. Tried again. Still nothing. “The signal here is trash.” He sneered, his expression showing a blatant dissatisfaction and boredom. But what good was it if none of his apps worked properly? Social media required a stable connection to display anything beyond a spinning circle of death, and most of the games he played were also online—multiplayer, energy-draining, connection-dependent. Useless here.
Robert sat in silence for a while, his body still but his mind drifting somewhere far away. His gaze was unfocused, eyes vaguely fixed on the wooden beams of the ceiling as if trying to find patterns or secrets carved in the old grain. Maybe he was daydreaming. Maybe he was just zoning out. Either way, the stillness was oddly comforting, until it wasn’t. His mother stormed into the living room, her voice sharp and rapid as she launched into one of her usual rants. The words came at him in waves—loud, relentless, and disjointed. Something about the laundry. Something about their aunt. Something about shoes being left in the wrong place. It all blurred together into a high-pitched hum in Robert’s ears. Robert will just nod and give a small reaction and then check his phone again for the nth time. “Whatever then.” he mumbled under his breath, not even bothering to hide his boredom anymore before opening his notes, writing fanfiction. Not many people knew about it—practically no one, in fact. It was a secret hobby he kept close to his chest. The kind of thing that lived in the shadows between classes and late nights under the covers. His favorite genres were always fantasy, thriller, and mystery. The kind of stories with tangled plots, morally gray characters, and worlds far more interesting than his own. He loved creating tension, painting eerie settings with words, and writing characters who uncovered dark secrets or battled ancient curses.
And just like that, four days passed—quietly, uneventfully, and without anything worth remembering. It felt… empty, you know? Not in a dramatic, cinematic kind of way, but in a dull, gray sort of emptiness. Robert could barely tell one day from the next. Each morning bled into the afternoon, then slid lazily into the evening, and before he knew it, he was lying in bed again, scrolling through the same old drafts. He had spent the past four days with his thumbs glued to the screen, weaving stories in silence while the world moved around him in slow motion. It wasn’t even that exciting anymore. The thrill of writing had dulled a bit—he’d reread the same paragraph three times, scrapped entire scenes, struggled to come up with dialogue that didn’t sound forced. But still, he kept at it. Was it boring? Absolutely. But it’s the only thing that kept him entertained.
Robert was so ready to face another boring day. He rolled out of bed with his usual sigh, stretching stiff muscles and mentally counting the hours until he could crawl back under the covers again. But as he stepped into the hallway and peered out the window toward the front yard, something felt off. A familiar red Jeep was parked just outside the gate, sunlight bouncing off its windshield like a spotlight. Robert blinked a few times, registering the vehicle. It was his uncle’s car, the one with the peeling bumper sticker and the dent on the back door. And sure enough, clustered around it were his uncle, aunt, and their noisy children—all loud greetings and playful shouts as they entered the house like a storm. Well, Robert gave a casual shrug, uninterested. Visits from extended family weren’t exactly rare. He figured they would talk for a bit, maybe eat something, then leave again. Nothing that needed his energy or attention until he heard his brother cheered and his parents all dressed up and getting ready. On what occasion? He thought. It was until his mother told him to change too as they were about to go to the beach today. “What beach?” Robert raised his eyebrows, his face showing a semi-disagreement. He hated the beach. Loathed it, actually. Of all the public spaces he was forced to endure, the beach was ranked squarely at the top of his personal hell list. It was loud, overcrowded, drenched in blinding sunlight, and full of people who treated the sand like their personal catwalk. The idea of willingly going there was almost laughable. So that’s why he kept hearing his brother whining about going to the beach or something since yesterday. Robert sighed with dramatic flair, dragging his feet back toward the guest room. “Fine,” he muttered under his breath, glaring at his closet like it had personally wronged him.
To his surprise, all of the family including his and his uncle’s are clamped into the red Jeep. Moments later, he found himself squeezed into the far end of the back seat, his body awkwardly twisted as he tried to fold his legs into a space clearly never meant for human limbs. His left shoulder was pressed tightly against the car door while his right side was squashed up against his grandma, “This is an assasination attempt.” Robert grunted under his breath, voice half-muffled by the oppressive closeness of his surroundings. His knees were practically folded below as there was not enough space. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the air conditioner—blessed savior of any long car ride—wasn’t working. Not even a sad whirr or a struggling puff of lukewarm air. The vents might as well have been decorative. The interior of the Jeep turned into an oven within minutes, the sun turning every surface into a hotplate. Sweat prickled at his temples and soaked into the back of his shirt as the stifling heat set in. Now he wished he shouldn’t tag along.
After a moment (approximately 2 hours or more) of deadly ride, Robert, who usually loves the journey more than the destination, immediately gets out of the car as soon as they arrive. The ride had been pure, concentrated misery. Chattering voices bouncing off the cramped space, the sharp jab of an elbow here, the squeal of overexcited children there, and the relentless sun turning the vehicle into a mobile pressure cooker. He stood up straight, wincing as his legs screamed in protest from being folded too long, and took in a deep breath of fresh sea air. Even the beach breeze, usually something he’d find sticky and bothersome, felt like heaven compared to the muggy horror of the Jeep. Robert let out a long, tired yawn, the kind that made his eyes water and jaw ache. He stretched his limbs lazily, back cracking slightly as he finally shook off the stiffness from the ride. Sand crunched beneath his shoes as he trudged forward, reluctantly following the trail of his family as they scattered across the beach like excited tourists on their first vacation. There he was, standing near the edge of the waterline, holding his phone up with both hands, turning this way and that as he tried to find the perfect angle. Snap. Step. Snap again. His little figure moved with purpose—ducking low for a better perspective, lifting the camera high above his head, even taking a few careful shots of their parents against the sunlight. “I see now.” Robert should have guessed, his brother really likes photography and cinematography. As much as he supports his brother’s passion, this time he felt irritated. So this whole exhausting ordeal, this cramped Jeep ride, this sand-in-my-shoes, sun-in-my-eyes trip… all of it was just so his little brother could gather some artsy footage? He knew he’d get over it. He always did. But right now, the sun was too bright, the sand too hot, and the idea of pretending to have fun was too exhausting.
Robert couldn’t really recall what had happened over the past three hours. The time had passed like a blur, swallowed up by the endless scroll of his phone screen. He had found a shady spot near a row of trees, distanced just enough from the sunbathers and screaming children, and let himself sink into the comforting glow of digital escapism. Between fanfiction threads, memes, and random reels, he’d effectively disappeared from the world around him. And there he is now, standing with his hands all busy with 2 bags while waiting for his family outside the public washroom. He was the only one still dry, remotely clean. His clothes weren’t soaked in seawater or clinging with damp sand, and he hadn’t rolled around in the waves like his younger brother did.
Time moved slowly, but eventually they were on their way home. The sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, leaving behind a trail of dusky orange and deep violet across the sky. The car rumbled along the quiet road, headlights casting long streaks over the uneven asphalt. This time, his uncle took the wheel, hands steady and eyes sharp. His father, who wasn’t fond of night driving ever since his vision started to fail him slightly, was now nestled in the backseat, squeezed in between Robert’s mom and the ever-energetic little brother who still hadn’t run out of things to say. Robert, as fate would cruelly have it, found himself back in the cramped middle row seat, sandwiched between his grandma on one side and his aunt on the other, with his younger cousin nodding off next to the window. The trip was normal, though still a bit stuffy. He shifted slightly, pulling his phone out to check the screen. 48% battery. He frowned. Not critical yet, but it set off a quiet alert in the back of his mind. In this car, with no onboard entertainment system, no radio playing, his phone was his last line of sanity. “If this thing dies before we reach home, I swear I’ll call a taxi out of sheer desperation,” he thought bitterly, already imagining himself flinging open the car door mid-ride just to escape the heat and stuffiness.
The sky started getting dark as they almost reached their home. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting pale halos onto the road as the red Jeep rolled along the half-familiar streets. They weren’t home yet, not exactly—but close. Close enough for Robert to let his tense shoulders loosen just a little, for his lungs to release a slow breath of relief. They had finally entered the same district as their grandmother’s village. A few more turns, maybe ten or fifteen more minutes, and he’d be free—free to flop onto his bed and charge his phone. Then, without warning, a jarring thud erupted from beneath them. A sick, mechanical noise that shook the entire car. The right side of the Jeep dropped with a violent jolt, scraping against the asphalt with a scream of metal on concrete. It was as if the vehicle had stumbled, like a beast losing its footing mid-run. His uncle immediately stopped the car and told everyone to get out. And there he saw it, the back-right tire had dislodged and flew to the street. “What the hell…” Robert said, unamused. He was too tired of this shit. The night air felt cooler now, brushing against his skin as if to mock him, and the dim glow of passing vehicles cast flickers of red and white across the stalled Jeep. His little cousin looked terrified, his grandma confused, but Robert? He just stood there, blinking slowly like a character in a bad sitcom who realized the punchline was his life.
“Of course,” he whispered to himself, arms dangling at his sides. “Of course the wheel would fly off. Because why not? That’s exactly how this trip should end. As expected.”
It is not, this kind of situation is clearly unexpected.
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