Chapter 9

NOTE FROM MEOWINGHAM: This chapter talks about loss of a significant family member, if you are uncomfortable – kindly avoid reading the italic words or you may skip this chapter :)

Yoko

I woke up naturally to the warm sun streaming through my window, the cheerful chirping of birds on the tree outside signalling the weekend's arrival. It felt like they were saying, "It's time to do something productive."

Then, I heard familiar footsteps in the living room. My heart leapt with excitement—Dad was back!

Ignoring my usual morning routine, I quickly ran a comb through my hair, ensuring I looked presentable. Opening my door, I raced down the stairs with Ham, competing to see who would reach the bottom first.

"Good morning, kiddo!" Dad greeted me with his warm, familiar smile, still dressed in his smart-casual suit.

"Dad!" I rushed over, throwing my arms around him. "I missed you," I murmured into his shoulder.

"I missed you too. How was your week?" he asked as we pulled away from the hug.

"It was okay. First week of school, but we already have so many assignments. Final year of high school isn't fun at all," I pouted, trying to convey my stress, though it felt trivial compared to his responsibilities.

He laughed lightly. "You'll get through it, Yoko. The world is waiting for you. After high school, you might even wish it hadn't ended so quickly."

I smiled and walked over to the coffee machine. "Want some coffee? I'm making a pot."

He shook his head. "I've had my fill on the plane. But maybe some hearty, homemade breakfast would be nice." He picked up his luggage and started upstairs.

"You got it! Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes," I called after him, watching his back as he disappeared into his room and closed the door.

I set to work in the kitchen, the familiar ritual filling me with quiet contentment. It had been a while since I'd cooked for two; most of the time, it was just me.

Dad's job as a businessman kept him travelling frequently, so we rarely spent time together. But whenever he was home, we made sure to cherish every moment—never letting family time slip through our fingers.

Not since Mom left...

A soft smile spread across my face as memories of her warmth and laughter washed over me, each moment a precious echo from the past.

I was seven years old again.

We were back in our old house, in another city.

The memory unfolded like a cherished dream – the three of us at the amusement park, our laughter mingling with the joyful shouts of strangers.

Though the crowds were dense, I never felt lost—her hand held mine firmly, her grip a promise that she would never let go.

I could vividly recall the soft, rich hue of my mom's eyes, the gentle curve of her smile, and the way her long, dark brown hair cascaded like silk in the winter wind.

We boarded the Ferris wheel together, my small frame nestled against her.

Her arm was wrapped protectively around me, her warmth seeping through the thick layers of our coats, shielding me from the biting cold. My dad sat across from us, snapping photos, capturing moments of love.

"Look, darling, we're so high up!" Her sweet voice guided me to peer over the window grill.

"Woah..." I gasped, my eyes widening in awe. From this height, the bustling world below had shrunk—people reduced to tiny, moving specks, almost like ants.

"Oh, look! The mountain! Isn't it beautiful?" She pointed to a distant peak, its summit blanketed in pristine snow.

I nodded eagerly, absorbing the majesty of the scene.

"Yoko, darling, remember this," she whispered, her voice soft but full of promise.

"Whenever you feel unhappy, think of this mountain. Daddy and I are your mountains—we'll always be here for you. Nothing, not even the snow, can make us crumble or falter."

Her embrace tightened, her love encircling me like an unbreakable shield.

But she never told me that mountains could falter—when shaken by an earthquake.

My mom was an Archaeologist, dedicating her life to uncovering stories buried beneath the earth. Even at home, she would immerse me in tales of ancient artefacts and lost civilisations, her passion igniting a spark in me.

Then, one day, she didn't return through the familiar doorway.

She had left for a job assignment, venturing to a mountain within the Ring of Fire. Her last words still echoed in my mind:

"Just two weeks, darling. I'll be back before you know it."

I had tilted my head, struggling to grasp the meaning of "two weeks."

She smiled warmly, her eyes filled with reassurance. "It's like watching your favourite Tom & Jerry twice, every Monday."

That was the last memory I had of her.

The next thing I knew, Dad was picking me up from school, tears silently streaming down his face. Confusion clouded my mind as I clung to his arm.

"Daddy, why are you crying?" I tugged at his sleeve, searching his face for answers.

He didn't reply.

Instead, he pulled me close, his embrace mimicking hers—protective and full of love. His voice trembled. "Yoko... it's just us now."

I didn't understand then. But days later, the truth sank in.

I saw her, dressed in her favourite white, lying still. Beautiful, but unmoving. Her eyes gently closed, a faint smile resting on her lips.

I shook her, called her name, my voice rising in desperation. There was no reply. My calls grew louder, more frantic, but only the sound of sobbing filled the room.

That's when I understood.

Mommy was gone.

Gone forever. No more bedtime stories about her discoveries. No more excited chatter about ancient relics. No more radiant smiles or warm hugs. No more hands to hold in crowded places.

The mountain I thought unshakeable had crumbled.

"Ugh," I groaned softly, sniffing as I fought back the tears. Using the back of my hand, I quickly wiped away a few stray drops. "God, it's too early for tears," I muttered, trying to lighten the mood for myself with a weak chuckle.

Shaking off the lingering sadness, I turned my attention back to the kitchen. The sizzle of eggs on the pan and the comforting scent of toast filled the room, grounding me in the present. With meticulous care, I plated everything—the golden eggs, the perfectly crisp toast, and a hearty serving of protein.

I carried the plates to the dining table, where Dad was already waiting in his usual home clothes, a warm smile on his face.

Sitting down opposite him, I took a deep breath. The familiar rhythm of our shared breakfasts wrapped around me like a quiet reassurance.

"Let's dig in," I said, my voice softer than usual.

He nodded, and for a moment, the world outside our little dining room faded away. It was just us—sharing a meal, sharing memories, holding onto each other through the silence.

After we finished breakfast and washed the dishes, we settled on the couch, the hum of the TV filling the room. I wasn't paying much attention to whatever show was on, but just being by his side was more than enough.

Breaking the comfortable silence, I turned to him. The background noise of the TV faded from my mind. "So, how's work?"

He scrunched his nose playfully at the mention of work before replying warmly, "It's okay. The company isn't on fire yet."

I laughed at his familiar, lame joke—it never failed to make me smile. "That's good. I'd hate to see your despair if it was."

"You bet, Yoko." His voice softened for a moment, then he continued, "I just met with a few partners in London. We were discussing some potential collaborations."

"Adult world stuff," I said, shaking my head. I couldn't quite imagine myself in that world yet.

Suddenly, he perked up. "Oh! I almost forgot your souvenirs from my trip! I got you something you'll love."

He jumped up from the couch, quickly disappearing up the stairs. Moments later, he returned, holding a neatly wrapped package in crisp brown paper, adorned with a simple black bow.

"Thank you, Dad. You really didn't have to." My heart warmed at the thoughtful gesture, and I smiled as I slowly unwrapped the gift.

As the paper fell away, my eyes widened in disbelief. Before me lay a collection of limited first editions of literary classics: Elizabeth Bishop's complete poems, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles, and Louisa May Alcott's Little Women.

Tears of joy welled up as I looked up at him, his face lit with a proud, affectionate smile.

"Thank you, Dad. This means so much to me." I hugged the books close to my heart, feeling their weight not just as paper, but as precious tokens of love.

"Anything for you, kiddo." His voice brimmed with happiness, seeing how much joy his gift brought me.

After a bit more light conversation, I carried the books up to my room, carefully placing them on my desk. Sitting down, I admired them for a while, each one a reminder of this moment.

Then, reluctantly, I tore myself away to get ready for work, my heart still warm with the quiet, shared love we had exchanged that morning.

"Bye, Dad, I'm heading to work. I'll see you this evening!" I called out as I waved, watching him stay seated on the couch, his eyes soft as they met mine.

"Stay safe, darling. Do you need me to pick you up later?" He asked, his voice full of concern.

"It's alright, I'll drive myself, so no need," I replied, shaking my head and declining his offer with a smile.

"Got it. Be safe on the road, then. And don't worry—delicious food will be waiting for you when you're done with your shift!" He winked, easing back into his relaxed position on the couch.

"Can't wait," I grinned, then turned to Ham. "See you later, buddy."

After closing the door behind me, I walked to my car, sliding into the driver's seat and pulling out of the driveway. The morning had been heartwarming, simply being with Dad. As the song on the radio played softly, I hummed along, making a left turn onto the road that led me toward memories of Faye.

Before I even realized it, my foot eased off the accelerator. The car slowed to a steady pace, rolling forward as my gaze remained fixed on the familiar house I had passed just yesterday.

I wonder what she's doing right now... 

I couldn't help thinking, my eyes lingering on the house even though I had already driven past it.

Another right turn came up, and I finally pulled over to the car park near my workplace. I quickly grabbed my things from the passenger seat, making my way toward the café across the street, my thoughts still wandering back to Faye.

"Morning, Ms Jane!" I greeted warmly as I walked through the café door. Ms Jane, the middle-aged owner of this cosy spot, always had a smile that made mornings brighter. By evening, her son would transform the place into a trendy bar.

"Good morning, dear. Right on time, as always." She smiled back, her eyes crinkling kindly.

I set my bag on the shelf and joined her at the counter. "How can I help?"

"Just some orders to catch up on." She pointed to the row of hanging order sheets.

"On it, ma'am!" I slipped on my barista apron and got to work, the familiar rhythm of making drinks settling me into the day. After finishing a round of coffees, I moved to clearing tables and taking new orders. The hours flew by in a comforting blur of productivity, my mind blissfully occupied.

Then the bell above the door chimed, and in walked Bud, one of my favourite regulars. He was older than Ms Jane but loved spending his Saturday afternoons here.

"Hey, Yoko," he called out with a friendly smile, settling onto a stool near the bar counter.

"Hey, Bud! How are you doing today?" I didn't even need to ask his order—I was already preparing it.

"Eh, still alive and kicking," he shrugged, his tone laced with humour.

I chuckled. "Don't say that! You'll be alive and kicking for many more years." I focused on steaming the milk, the familiar routine grounding me.

"Well, when you've lived as long as I have, you appreciate every breath." He shook his head, still smiling.

"Here you go. One hot, made-with-love coffee by the 'still-young' Yoko." I placed the mug in front of him, teasingly.

"Thanks, love. You're the sweetest." He took a sip, a look of contentment settling on his face.

"So, how's school? Started this week, right?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning on the counter.

I shrugged. "Yeah, first week, but I'm already buried under assignments."

"That's it? Just school? What are you, a bookworm?" He raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief.

"For the record, yes. I study English literature and love writing." I smirked playfully.

"Even Einstein fell in love. What's stopping you?" he shot back, his question aimed more at my romantic life.

"Well..." I pressed my lips together, debating whether to share more. "There's someone... My English lit teacher. She makes me feel... everything. Her voice, her presence... it's like the world fades away. Even a slight touch..." I trailed off, my heart racing just thinking about Faye.

Bud nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Love's tricky, isn't it?"

"I'm pretty sure it's one-sided." I quickly shrugged off the thought. "But hey, I'm meeting someone for coffee tomorrow. Maybe it'll clear my head."

"You do you, young lady. Just remember—if someone doesn't express love the way you expect, it doesn't mean they don't feel it." His words hung in the air, and I tucked them away with a smile.

"Thanks, Bud. I'll keep that in mind."

As the afternoon faded into evening, Bud left, and Ms Jane waited for her son to take over the shift.

"I'll head off now, Ms Jane. Dad's waiting for dinner." I hung up my apron.

She beamed. "Your dad's back? Don't keep him waiting. Go on!"

"Thanks, Ms Jane. And remember, if you need a last-minute cover, just call." I winked as I headed for the door.

"I will. Goodnight, Yoko!"

"Goodnight!" I waved back, stepping out into the twilight.

Sliding into my car, I started the engine. As I drove off, my phone vibrated. I glanced at it briefly, a flutter of hope stirring.

Once I parked in the driveway, I stayed in the car for a moment, unlocking my phone.

Becky

Hey Yoko! Don't forget our coffee appointment tomorrow. See you at 10am!

I smiled at her simple reminder and quickly typed back:

Yoko

Of course, I wouldn't forget. See you tomorrow!

Stepping inside, I was immediately greeted by the mouth-watering aroma of my favourite pasta. My stomach grumbled in anticipation.

"This smells amazing, Dad!" I called out, eagerly taking a seat as he brought the freshly cooked pasta to the table.

"Just in time, kid." He set our plates down and settled across from me. "Let's dig in."

I didn't need any more encouragement. The first bite was perfection—al dente, rich, and savoury. Before I knew it, my plate was empty, and I had to resist the urge to lick it clean.

"That was delicious, Dad." I grinned, holding up my empty plate like a trophy.

He chuckled, eyes twinkling. "I can see that, Yoko."

I sighed dramatically. "Why can't I make pasta this good?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "You'll get there. You've been cooking hearty meals for yourself. It just takes practice."

I shook my head in mock protest. "Not really. I only cook properly when I'm with you. Most of the time, I just eat leftovers or something simple."

His expression turned serious. "That's not healthy, young lady. Even simple meals can be nutritious. How are you going to take care of your partner someday if you don't look after yourself first?"

I smirked. "Maybe my partner can cook for me?"

"You're a handful." He rolled his eyes, teasingly.

Under the table, Ham, our loyal dog, was sitting patiently, hoping for any stray scraps. I smiled down at him.

"I'll take Ham for a walk, Dad." I grabbed our plates, rinsed them off, and dried my hands.

"Alright, be safe." He leaned back, relaxing in his chair.

I clipped the leash onto Ham's collar, ruffling his fur. "Ready for your walk, buddy?"

Ham wagged his tail excitedly as I opened the door, letting him lead the way into the evening.

The evening breeze brushed gently against my face as Ham and I strolled down the quiet streets. He was in his element, sniffing every nook and cranny, his curiosity insatiable. As we reached the park, I glanced around. It was mostly empty—a perfect opportunity to let Ham off his leash. He bounded across the open space, tail wagging, pure joy in motion.

I made my way to our usual stone bench and settled in, watching him explore. The tranquillity wrapped around me, and I found comfort in the stillness. Silence had always been my refuge—a quiet pause where everything seemed to fall into place.

Suddenly, Ham came trotting back, a stick clutched proudly in his mouth. His eyes sparkled with excitement.

"You want to play fetch, don't you?" I smiled, scratching behind his ears until he dropped the stick at my feet. "Alright, here we go!"

I flung the stick as far as I could. Ham bolted after it, a streak of fur racing through the grass. He found it effortlessly and raced back, stick held high like a trophy.

"Attaboy," I said, ruffling his head. "Take a break. Have some water." I poured some into his portable tray, and he lapped it up happily.

As I ran my fingers through his soft fur, a familiar voice broke the calm, drifting into the air around me.

"This must be Ham."

I turned quickly, glancing over my shoulder.

It was Faye.

She wore simple denim shorts paired with an oversized black T-shirt, her smile bright and full of warmth. She looked genuinely delighted to see me.

"Hey," I greeted her, sitting up a little straighter as she approached and took a seat beside me on the bench. Ham, ever curious, trotted over, sniffing her legs. He didn't bark or growl—just curious and friendly.

"He's just like you described him in your writing," she remarked, crouching down to pat him. Ham, clearly smitten, sat obediently, basking in her attention.

I smiled softly. "Yeah, this is Ham. The one where both our shadows emerge, and fear forgets our names." I repeated the line from her first assignment.

She looked up, her eyes sparkling. "What are you doing out here? Didn't you have a dinner appointment?" Her hands continued to scratch under Ham's chin, earning her his complete devotion.

"I did," I nodded. "Dinner with my dad at home. Afterward, I decided to take this little one for a walk." I joined her in petting Ham, who looked as if he was in heaven. "What about you?"

"Just needed some fresh air." She sighed, leaning back on the bench. "I've been grading assignments all day. Figured a walk would do me some good."

Ah, so that's what's been keeping her busy.

"You're working even on weekends?" I teased gently, watching Ham chase the stick I'd thrown.

She laughed lightly. "Something like that. I saw you sitting here as I was passing by and thought I'd join you."

"You should take it easy sometimes. Weekends are meant to be enjoyed, you know."

"I am," she assured me, a small smile playing on her lips. "I read during my breaks."

My eyes lit up. "Really? What are you reading now?"

"A poem."

I tilted my head. "Which one?"

"The one you wrote."

My heart skipped a beat. Her words were simple, but they carried a weight that made me feel shy.

"You're reading it again?" I furrowed my brows, not in frustration but in curiosity.

"Yeah." Her gaze drifted to the park, her voice soft and honest. "I love it... a lot."

A comfortable silence settled between us. We watched Ham trot back, dropping the stick at my feet and flopping onto his belly with a satisfied huff.

After a moment, I broke the silence. "Do you want to walk home together?"

Her eyes lit up, and a smile tugged at her lips. "I'd love that."

I stood up, and Ham, sensing it was time to go, wagged his tail, ready to follow. I clipped the leash onto his collar, and Faye and I walked side by side, leaving the park.

As we turned onto the sidewalk, she gently guided me to the inside, her hand briefly touching my back as she took the outer edge. The warmth of her protective gesture sent a soft blush to my cheeks.

We walked in companionable silence, the quiet streets wrapping us in a cocoon of calm.

When we reached her house, she turned to face me. "Thanks for the walk."

"Text me when you get home, Yoko," she added, her voice soft but firm.

I nodded. "Will do. Expect my text in... five minutes."

She laughed lightly and said goodbye, disappearing inside.

I watched the door close, a small smile lingering on my lips as I turned and began my walk home, heart a little fuller than it had been before.

When I got home, I felt lighter, as though the evening's unexpected company had lifted my spirits. My dad, ever observant, spotted the smile I couldn't quite hide. Of course, he seized the chance to tease me.

"You took Ham for a walk, or did someone else walk you instead? You're glowing more than when you left, kid!"

"Just feeling good, Dad," I replied, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant as I made a quick escape to my room.

Once inside, I pulled my phone from my back pocket, my heart fluttering a little as I texted Faye.

Yoko

I'm home. Made it within 4 minutes.

Her reply came almost instantly, as if she'd been waiting by her phone for my message.

Faye

That's good, you're always earlier than promised.

Yoko

I try my best to deliver.

Faye

Then will you deliver a new poem for me soon? I've been waiting.

I chuckled at her request, recognising that same restless anticipation we shared when waiting for the next chapter of a captivating story.

Yoko

Alright, I'll get started and send it to you as soon as it's ready.

Faye

I can't wait. I'm already looking forward to it.

Yoko

In the meantime, I'd recommend reading Elizabeth Bishop.

Faye

Really? I'll check it out. Hopefully, it keeps me engaged and distracted while I wait.

Yoko

I think it will. Read it and tell me what you think.

Faye

Alright, I'll start now.

A warm satisfaction washed over me, knowing she was diving into my recommendation. With a smile, I headed for the shower, already mulling over ideas for my next poem.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I crossed the room and settled at my desk. Stationery in hand, I arranged my notebook before me, flipping to the page with the poem. A small smile played at my lips as my fingers traced the words, their presence both familiar and comforting.

I turned to a fresh page, the blank lines staring back, waiting to be filled. What to write? Where to begin?

Maybe you can write about that person you had in mind.

Faye's message echoed in my mind, weaving through my thoughts like a guiding thread. I glanced out the window, watching the trees sway gently, their leaves whispering secrets in the evening breeze.

And then, as if summoned by the rustling leaves, the words began to flow. My pen met the page, and I began to write.

"From dusk to dawn, my gaze fixed on the tower—My heart knew, though my mind dared not confess.It wasn't the structure's grandeur I admired anymore,But the radiant warmth within, calling me home.

For even a fleeting second,My soul yearns to draw a step nearer.Footsteps lead me to face the iron-grilled gates,Pressed against them, staring at the windowWhere once stood the elegant princess.

Like a soul's connection, there she stood again,Her smile brighter, warmer than before.That radiant warmth, a silent protector,Embracing me through the harsh winter's bite.

I blinked, and the metal vanished into air—Cautiously, I wandered into the deserted garden.Withered flowers, brown grass beneath my steps;A forgotten path, untrodden by souls like mine.

Yet, my eyes found her once more,The princess in full, unyielding splendour.

I took another step closer... but the iron gates returned,Binding me again, separating me from my captivation.

She, imprisoned in her own palace—And I, the willing prisoner of this love. Of her."

After re-reading the poem a few times and refining its edges, a sense of quiet satisfaction settled over me. I placed the notebook aside and reached for my phone, composing a message to Faye. My fingers hovered over the word send,hesitating.

Perhaps tomorrow. 

The thought brought a smile to my lips—a secret gift waiting to be shared.

I tucked the phone away and slipped into bed, the room dim and still. Thoughts of the evening danced softly in my mind, each moment a lullaby. As I sank deeper into the quiet embrace of sleep, a gentle warmth lingered—an anticipation, a connection, a promise left unspoken.