“I’m back.”
He had arrived, standing in front of the door. His smile was so calm, his eyes so serene, one hand still wrapped around the handle of the door, which had begun to fade. I knew he was standing there, watching me freeze in place.
I should have been happy that he had returned. I should have welcomed him joyfully and prepared an extravagant feast for him. Yet something deep inside me was churning.
I wanted to see him, hug him, hold him tightly. But I felt incapable of doing so. I was ashamed to approach him. Ashamed to offer him this unworthy version of myself.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I didn’t know whether he heard me. I didn’t know whether he could read my lips. My eyes were too blurred to make out his face, which grew more radiant with every passing year.
“You finally came back!” people shouted from outside.
In an instant, the room filled with the people who had been waiting for him all year. Just look at them—their happy laughter immediately blossomed across their faces. A beautiful melody was played to welcome his arrival. The luxurious clothes they wore shimmered, as if simply being dressed in them could make them worthy to stand before him.
My heart clenched at the sight of their happiness. I was jealous. So jealous. I wanted to be with him too, to be that happy. But why did my feet feel so heavy whenever I tried to approach him?
“Come here!”
His clear eyes turned once more toward me, standing in the corner of the room. Anyone who looked at him would surely be hypnotized by his serenity. I grimaced as I answered his invitation. My eyes filled with tears. My heart pounded as though it wanted to run toward him.
I looked myself over once more. My clothes were wrinkled. Several seams had come undone, leaving tiny holes if one looked closely. Part of the lower right side of my skirt was torn. And my sandals were beginning to wear thin around the toes. I truly wasn’t ready.
“You said you missed me?”
Of course I did. I had been waiting for this day, the day he would return and bring happiness with him. I was glad he had come. He always kept his promise. It was just that I was different now. My heart wasn’t all right. I had changed too much. Was I still worthy?
I looked around. Everyone was busy preparing the feast. They brought him all kinds of cakes, serving them on the finest plates in the land. Some brought him fans, mats, and a back cushion to lean against. He truly was a special guest.
I let out a heavy breath. I should have started arranging the room too, preparing a quiet place for us to talk and spend time together. Yet once again, my body could only remain rooted to the same spot. Somebody, please slap me!
“Do you still miss me?” His voice rang clearly in my ears.
I jolted when I felt a hand stroking my bowed head. I lifted my face, and his was so close. Oh, how serene his face was. There wasn’t a trace of judgment in his eyes.
I felt my cheeks grow wet, my vision blurring further as the tears spilled faster. My chest rumbled; it felt as though thousands of words were pressing to get out, but my throat had closed up. It was so hard.
He gazed deeply into my eyes without saying a word. He stroked my head as I sobbed. He didn’t leave, nor did he ask me anything. I felt truly guilty toward him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… forgive me,” I said again and again.
I felt so foolish. How could I have done it—stained my own longing—when I knew he would surely return? This day was bound to come. I looked at him fearfully. The tears that had briefly subsided began to flow again, beyond my control. My heart churned once more, guilt seeping deeper and deeper inside me.
“I’m s… sorry, forgive me. I… I didn’t keep my pro… promise.”
…(To be continued)