In his own quiet resolve, one stately and gray-haired gentleman made the visit to a certain park, day after day. He sat upon a worn-out wooden bench, placed conveniently beneath a great, lush tree, its abundant greenery making the sound of crashing waves if ever a wind blew through. He was offered the same view each and every day: the beauty of a well-regulated park with the abundance of a blue, beautiful sky spread above. Cane in hand, he sat observing all those around him, breathing in the cool, crisp air into his aged body. Flecks of golden amber danced in his eyes as he saw happiness abound around him, the feeling seeping into his old bones. He saw children with balloons running about and a sea of flowers not far off, its colors ranging from different ranges of the spectrum and their numbers bountiful. The thriving flowers attracted bees, its sweet nectar calling out to the hungering insects.
As he was about to stand to leave, a young woman sat down on the opposite end of the bench. Her sudden presence grabbed his attention and when he stole a glance at her, she was already looking at him with a smile of greeting. His eyes widened considerably as his chest tightened, his heart beating faster than it used to in days long past. In that very moment, he was afraid of a heart attack. Despite his internal battle, he fought the urge to clutch at his chest, and returned a smile of his own as plans of leaving left his mind.
The woman who now sat as his bench mate appeared to be a beautiful ghost of his past. The resemblance nearly blew him away. She held a book in her hands and carried nothing else. She wore a simple, yet obscure, t-shirt with a faded pair of jeans and a necklace with a miniature pyramid hung on her neck, the small pendant shifting with every move she made. With a light breeze, her medium, wispy auburn hair danced around her. Her eyes, wielding an emerald gleam, had pierced through his soul like someone of his past did, long ago. Before he knew it, he was openly staring at her.
Her eyes fixed on the piece of literature in her hand, the woman felt the open gaze of the old gentleman beside her. She felt uncomfortable, being the receiving end of such an analyzing stare. She suddenly began to feel self-conscious, wondering whether or not it was a terrible choice to decide to read beneath the tree today. She would have read on the fountain, as she usually did; however, it was terribly loud down there today and after a troublesome morning, she sought the comfort of quiet. Besides, the sun was awfully bright that morning; she would feel like being beneath a magnifying glass sitting upon the white marble of her beloved fountain. She turned her head to look at him again, feeling the urge to wilt beneath his gaze, but strengthened her resolve to say something to him. Unfortunately, in the middle of opening her mouth to speak, she was beaten to the punch.
"I apologize for staring, young lady, but have we met before?"
The sound of the man's voice threw her off and upon hearing it, she felt like her open mouth had made her seem like a dumbfounded fool. His voice held an underlying sense of authority, age and wisdom clearly making its way into the way he spoke. He held her attention like a vice with his fierce, amber eyes, its intensity enough to turn her into a doe before a pair of headlights. His piercing stare sent a chill through her spine, as if a lightning bolt struck her. She had to remind herself to close her mouth before she chose to speak again.
"Um, I'm sorry. I don't think I've met you before." She cursed at herself upon hearing the sound of her own timid voice. She would have scolded herself further if the man hadn't broken out into a hearty laughter beside her. Disarmed, her eyes widened and she felt the urge to speak with him now, his inquiry making her curious. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why is that I look so familiar?"
The gentleman's laughter reached a calm cessation, his eyes full of mirth. He smiled gently at her, his gentle smile causing the ferocity his eyes held to calm their fire. He stayed that way for a moment, letting the innocent question permeate the air around them. It has been so long since he had spoken out loud about her, that it was hard to pinpoint the correct words. It was like lifting the lock off a cage he had inside himself and all the words he could use to describe her came rushing out, pouring over his conscience. He nodded, tapping his cane on the ground thrice before continuing. "You resemble a woman I once fell in love with years ago."
As much as she wanted to gasp in surprise, the woman found herself smiling widely. The subject of romance was sure to set her heart a-fluttering. "I do?" Her question was answered instantly with a nod. "What was her name?"
"Her name was Ying Fa," He answered without hesitation, the speed of his response nearly throwing the girl off, "like a cherry blossom." He turned his head to stare off at the distance, the sound of her name crisp, as he said it once more. It's been so long since he had last uttered her name, yet the sound of it would never become foreign to his ears. The memories of her came flooding back, as if a dam had held them up, but broke under the pressure of his own pressing nostalgia. He could not fight the memory of her piercing emerald stare and the way they never failed to captivate him, no matter the occasion. Be it a glance, a blink of her eye, or luckily, a playful wink, his once-young heart had skipped a beat, whether or not he wanted to admit it. It was one of her most prominent features; her eyes not only complimented her wispy, auburn hair, but her entire personality. They easily reflected her every emotion and opened her up like a book to the entire world. He recalled her disarming smile, her presence deflating his balloon of indifference and pride without effort, back when he was still a young and dashing gentleman. Suddenly immersed in her memory, he nearly forgot the presence of the girl who served as the catalyst of his trip down memory lane.
He broke out of his reverie quite noticeably, and made to apologize, but the woman stopped him before he tried. She nodded in understanding and he noticed her grip tighten on the book she held in her hand.
"Is your wife here today?"
Before he spoke, the man felt the need to catch his breath. He sighed deeply, refreshing himself with the clean air. With a pained smile, he spoke. "She was never my wife." He turned to face her in time to see her cover her mouth apologetically. His smile widened softly at the sight. "But, I never stopped loving her."
His words hung in the air, their weight being carried away with the light breeze of the crisp, chill air. Silence stretched between them for several moments before she opened her mouth to speak.
"She has a beautiful name… What happened to her?" She asked with a quiet voice, her gaze no longer fixed on him, but fixed on her hands.
There was a pregnant pause before he spoke. "She died in a plane crash."
His blunt reply elicited a quiet gasp from the young lady. As if anticipating a curious response, he chuckled lightly at her reaction, causing her to become confused.
"It's alright, you know. Life…happens."
She answered almost immediately, "It's not that, sir. It's my mother… When I was young, she died in a plane crash, too."
She observed him as a brief look of shock crossed his expression before his calm demeanor was achieved once again. "I'm sorry for your loss." He amended, making a move to reach into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief.
Shaking her head, she rejected him kindly. "It's alright, sir. There's no need to cry."
For a moment, he remained silent, noticing the slight apprehension in her frame and allowing his companion to collect her thoughts before she went on to continue.
"My name is Miux Lin."
"And your mother's name?" He immediately followed.
"Sakura," She smiled this time. "Her name means cherry blossom, like your Ying Fa!"
The gentleman's eyes softened, his smile suddenly becoming fond. He lifted his head to look at the sky for a brief moment before turning to meet the Miux's curious gaze once again. Her emerald eyes were captivating like her mother's, his heart feeling another familiar tug.
"You look just like your mother…" He mumbled to himself, his voice low enough to escape her recognition.
She blinked her eyes in confusion, but he simply smiled, tapping his cane twice in resolution.
"I'm sorry, dear Miux. I'm afraid I have to leave now." He stood up to leave, grunting lightly in difficulty while doing so. Her eyes followed his movements while she stayed quiet. He turned around slightly to face her once more, cane in one hand, the other outstretched towards her. "Your company has been most pleasant, young lady."
Miux reached out and shook his hand in hers with a brilliant and thankful smile. "Thank you!" As he was about to release his firm grip on her hand, Miux tightened her grip and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Is it alright if you tell me your name?"
The aged gentleman nodded with a faint grin and returned her firm grip with one of his own. "Syaoran. My name is Syaoran."
She nodded gratefully, allowing the name to sink into her memory. "Syaoran," she repeated. "Thank you."
"No, Miux, thank you."
With that, he gave her a short wink before walking off, his heart at rest and relieved.
Hello there, beautiful bbys. This is my first CCS story; hopefully, it's not too bad. Tell me how I did! (:
*In case you're having a hard time understanding the ending, you have to pay attention to the story! Miux is not Syaoran's daughter.