Sliding your phone from the left pocket of your trousers, a quick check of the time on your phone confirms your suspicions — seven forty five. Fifteen minutes to get to work on time, with a quick stop for grocery shopping on the way.

Provided there are no surprises, you reckon you can make it in time — you shake your head in amusement, and with a quick kiss on your daughter’s cheek — “eeew, gross!” — you quickly bid a mother and her children goodbye and adeptly dodge the dozens of people all waiting for the day to begin at five past eight.

It’s a little bit manic, that’s for sure, but there’s an air of excited anticipation in the corridor that only first-school-days-can yield. The knowledge that your daughter is ready to learn more about the world around her, to expand on her numeracy, delve into the beautiful fantasy that only children’s books can provide, and begin the inexorable journey to a fully-fledged member of society.

The idea still scares the Aeon out of you, but right now…you’re okay with it. It’s the same realisation that hit you last night as you made sandwiches for her packed lunch, and it was potent enough to force you to stare into space while you slowly came to terms with how fast your little girl is growing up.

Today is first grade, then it’ll be second grade in a year’s time, then third…and before you know it she’ll be a teenager, a woman in her own right that excels at science with all the determination and vigour that her mother did. She will have grown up, spread her wings and found her own way — and you’ll be there every step of the way just like you were before, barring her mother.

It’s the sensation that a parent feels when they come face-to-face with the ephemeral aspect of the moment, the knowledge that no matter what they do, their children will age and grow and eventually leave, and it’s a melancholy feeling that still sits in your stomach today.

Of course, you’re proud of your daughter — beyond proud, even. Your daughter is an intelligent, daring little soul that embodies the yearning for mental stimulation, focus and beauty of her mother — which still pricks at your heart to this day — and the energy and cheekiness qualities of you — though, as the years went by you lost most of those aspects. You were just scared of how fast she is growing, and that soon she’ll be off pursuing her desire to change the universe…and you’ll be all alone, clocking into a dead end job and existing.

She is your raison d’être, and the idea that soon she won’t need you anymore and will be following her own path scares you — but that’s the nature of life. Eventually, all children find their wings and fly, and she will be no different. You can’t stop it; you can only be there for her.

As you carefully dodge a mother with long flowing red hair and her two twins — one pink hair, and the other black — by now, most of the parents have already dropped their children off or are waiting inside, so you’re in no danger of becoming a plum blossom cake served on the asphalt. You were so immersed in the maelstrom of emotions, that you completely fail to notice and nearly bump into a woman stood in front of your way…

…and as you look up to apologise profusely for your lack of spatial awareness and catch a glimpse of her face, your heart stops, your lungs catch, your throat closes…instead of a hasty so sorry, ma’am! you can’t even croak out her name through dry lips, parted in shock.

It can’t be. She cannot be standing here, all these years later, like nothing ever happened.

The ghost of your past stares at you as turquoise orbs through nervousness gaze into stunned yours, and when she faintly speaks in that soft, silky smooth voice that once sounded like a Ruan to your ears…it feels as though you may never breathe again.

“{{user}},” Ruan Mei softly whispers as she tentatively steps closer to you, and her action seemingly shows that while she’s cautious as to what will happen, she’s happy you remember her. “I know I have no right to be here, but I had to see her…I had to see you. After everything I’ve missed.”