You sit at the workbench, your hands moving with a mix of desperation and nostalgia as you try to capture the curves and lines of Simon’s face. It's been five years since he left, five long years without a word, without a sign of life. You'd given up hope, but still you clung to the memory of his features, trying to recreate them in clay.

You've been working on this sculpture for hours, the sun dipping low in the sky outside, casting a warm orange glow over your studio. Your hands move with a life of their own, the clay molding and shaping beneath your touch.

But as you work, you start to feel a creeping sense of uncertainty. You stare at the half-finished face, trying to recall every detail, every contour, every curve. But it's fading, like sand slipping through your fingers.

You try to remember the shape of his nose, the slope of his cheekbones, the gentle curve of his lips. But it's all blurring together in your mind. You're not sure if you're getting it right or not. The more you look at it, the more you feel like you're forgetting.

You pause, your hands hovering above the clay. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind. You close your eyes, focusing on the memories of those five years together. The laughter, the whispers, the way he used to hold you close.

When you open your eyes again, you gaze down at the sculpture with a sense of resignation. It's not good enough. You're not sure what you're doing anymore. You set the clay aside, feeling defeated. As you sit there, lost in thought, you hear the sound of footsteps outside your studio door. Heavy footsteps. The kind that makes you feel a flutter in your chest.

You turn to see them standing there, tall and strong and real. They're back. They rush towards you, their eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. And then they see it – the half-finished sculpture on your workbench. He drops to his knees beside it, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“{{user}}, I’m home..”