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Saturday mornings were always the same in Mark’s house. Sunlight slipped through the curtains. Mark sat at the dining table with his phone, scrolling through work emails. Even on weekends, work never left his mind.
In the living room, eight-year-old Evan was on the floor building a castle with plastic blocks. The bricks clicked together as he stacked them high.
Evan watched from the doorframe. "Dad, would you like to come and see my castle?"
"Not now," Mark replied, still not looking at him.
For a moment, Evan stood there. When Mark still did not react, he was gone. Gone to his blocks. Other sounds in the house were the ticking of the clock and the gentle clicking of bricks.
Mark kept telling himself that he was working this hard for Evan's future. However, Evan's voice seemed to have merged with the other sounds in the room, such as the hum of the fridge or the birds outside.
Later that day, Mark's phone buzzed again. Wham! Another urgent email. Accompanying his head ached and his heavy eyelids.
Evan entered the room with a bright drawing of a tree and a yellow sun. "Dad, see what I made for you!"
Mark, "That's wonderful," said in a hurry and with his side-eye barely looking at the paper.
The child's laughter got lost. He even gripped the paper tighter and quietly left the room.
The next day, Mark’s sister called. “Take Evan to Dad’s cabin,” she said. “He’ll love the lake.”
Mark hesitated. The cabin was far away. No Wi-Fi. No signal. Deadlines waited. But her voice softened. “He needs your time.”
Mark experienced a bit of guilt. ‘Alright,’ he said ‘Only for the weekend.’
They packed and were on the road for a long time. At the sight, the cabin was towering pine trees all around. The lake was very calm and rather transparent. The air was cool and refreshing.
Evan was really impressed. ‘This is fantastic!’ he yelled, as he ran to the dock.
Mark stood in the quiet. Without buzzing notifications or traffic, the silence felt unfamiliar.
That evening they were next to the fire pit. Evan through the firelight cast on his face which was wonderful, and he roasted a marshmallow. He started telling a story about a dragon that loved marshmallows. His hands moved as he talked. His voice was full of enthusiasm.
Mark was about to doze off and not really listening. However, there was no other distraction around, no screens or noise. He listened.
Evan’s words painted pictures: the dragon’s cave, stars glowing on the walls.
When Evan finished, he looked up. “Did you like it?”
Mark’s chest ached. “I really liked it,” he said.
Evan smiled from ear to ear.
The very next day, Evan was up early and he woke him. “Come on, Dad! Let’s have an adventure!”
They took a pretty deserted path into the forest. The sunlight was dancing through the leaves. The dew on the grass was sparkling. Evan was pointing at every little thing: a squirrel rushing up a tree, a rock looking like a heart, a tiny bunch of mushrooms.
“Why do you think they grow here, mushrooms?” Mark asked.
“Because it’s shady and damp,” Evan said proudly. “My teacher told us.”
Mark remembered that it had always been science lessons that his son’s studies were about but he had never asked him what they were.
In the afternoon, they were there on the dock with their feet in the water. Evan started telling another story, this time it was about a fish that wanted to fly. Without Mark’s interference or looking at his watch, he was listening.
That evening, rain pelted the cabin roof. The fire inside was roaring with all its might. Evan in the glow of the fire with a torch in hand and a book beside him, read aloud. He read on, stumbling on some words, then bursting out laughing when he corrected them.
After the chapter was over, Evan raised his eyes. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes I feel like you don’t hear me. Like when I talk at home and you don’t look up.”
Mark felt a lump in his throat. He wrapped his arms around Evan tightly. “You are right,” he said in a low voice. “I was not listening the way I should have. I am sorry.”
Evan nodded. “It’s okay. You’re listening now.”
The storm outside seemed softer.
The following day, raindrops still remained on the trees and the forest glittered with them. They collected wildflowers, and threw stones on the water. Evan came across a little frog and he did it in a very gentle manner.
"It's really tiny," he murmured.
Mark sat down next to him. "It is a small thing and it gives you the trust because you are gentle," he said.
Evan beamed and released the frog to go on with its life.
After that, they prepared their own lunch in the small kitchen. Jelly had leaked on the countertop. The bread was a bit skewed. They both laughed so much that when Evan dropped a spoon, they could not stop laughing.
For their last night, they went up a hill over the lake. The sky was shining in different shades of orange and pink. Evan, out of nowhere, put his head on his dad’s shoulder.
"Did he ever watch this sunset, you think?" he asked.
"Of course he did," Mark replied. He thought back to times when he was a kid and he had sat on this hill with his father. At that time, he hadn't realised how significant those silent talks were.
Evan picked a daisy and handed it to him. “For you.”
Mark took it gently. “Thanks, buddy.”
They stood in silence, watching the sun sink behind the trees.
The next morning, Mark’s phone buzzed with missed calls and emails. He turned it facedown.
At home, Evan ran to his room and came back with a notebook. “Look, Dad! I wrote my frog story on the way back.”
Mark smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
“Do you want to hear it tonight?” Evan asked.
“I do,” Mark said. “And tomorrow, tell me the fish story again. I want to hear it all.”
Evan’s eyes sparkled.
In the weeks that followed, small changes took root. Mark turned off his phone during dinner. He asked Evan about his day and waited for the full answer. When Evan spoke, he looked at him. Really looked.
One evening, they sat on the porch. Crickets sang, and the sky faded to twilight. Evan talked about a school project, his voice alive with energy. Mark listened. Not just to the words, but to the trust and excitement behind them.
He realized listening wasn’t only about hearing stories. It was about saying, You matter. Your voice matters to me.
The porch light flickered on. Mark smiled. “You teach me a lot, Evan.”
“Like what?” Evan asked.
“Like how to slow down,” Mark said. “And how to really see things.”
Evan giggled. “I thought you were supposed to teach me.”
“We’re teaching each other,” Mark said.
Months later, they returned to the cabin. The lake shimmered under a soft sky. Evan ran ahead on the trail, pointing out birds and stones.
They sat together on the dock, feet swinging over the water.
Evan rested his head on his dad’s arm. “I like when you listen,” he said quietly.
Mark swallowed. “I like listening,” he said.
A breeze whispered through the trees. In that moment, Mark understood. Respect didn’t always come through big actions or grand words. Sometimes, it was as simple as giving someone your full attention.
The gift of listening had changed him. As the sun sank behind the lake, he silently promised he would always hear his son.