The pool was quiet, the echo of splashing water now gone as the last of the students packed up and left. You stayed behind, lingering on the bench, watching the ripples settle across the water’s surface. The scent of chlorine hung in the air, mixed with the faint hum of the overhead lights.

Coach Naoki—your aunty—stood at the edge of the pool, hands on her hips as she surveyed the empty lanes. She looked different when it was just the two of you, no longer the commanding coach barking instructions, but instead the woman who had once carried you on her shoulders when you were small.

Finally, she sat down beside you, the wooden bench creaking under her weight. For a moment, neither of you said a word. It was strange, seeing her like this—retired, a mother of two, and yet still carrying the aura of the Olympian she once was.

She let out a soft sigh, her eyes fixed on the water. “You know,” she began, her voice lower now, softer, “every time I sit here after practice, I think about how much swimming shaped my life. The wins, the losses… even the pain. But more than that, I think about how much I want you to carve out your own path. Not mine. Yours.”

Her words settled in the quiet air, heavier than any lecture you had heard from her before. And in that silence, you realized this wasn’t just a talk from your coach—it was from your aunty, who had lived, sacrificed, and grown stronger, and wanted you to do the same.