A birthday of sorts
She lets her hair fall down her back in waves, unpinning it from where she had done it high upon her head. Not that anyone ever saw it like that; only her mother ever pinned it up, to keep her from getting it messy.
In the mirror Asami washes her face, the few layers of thin make-up that a young girl always feels in need of running down the sink. Her mother never wore make-up; one day Asami won't wear it either.
Down the hall she flutters, eyes closed, the wind blowing through open windows and doors. The house is quiet today though in her mind she can hear her younger self running up and down stairs and corridors, her mother chasing the little girl.
"Asami!" a voice would call out in warning. "You're going to hurt yourself and you'll have no one to blame but yourself!"
"Nah-ah!" and with that she would inevitably slide into a wall or piece of furniture, knocking something sensitive of hers against something hard of the house's. The tears would come immediately, just as her mother would round the corner and scoop her up.
"My baby," the woman would coo into her held-back hair, "my precious baby. Don't worry, Mummy is here to make it all better." Kisses would litter the injury, her face, Asami's small arms wrapping around her mother's neck. "There you go. Mummy loves you and will never leave you; there are no reasons for tears."
"No tears!" the little girl would repeat with a fragile strength.
"My beautiful girl," and then the memory would fade away, just as her mother had.
"Happy birthday Mummy," Asami whispers miserably, her skin prickly as if waiting for someone to hold her. The hug never comes.