Disclaimer: I do not own Mai Hime.

I intentionally warped the order of the story. Everything is in Shizuru's POV.

I could still bring back every detail of that day although ten years had already gone by. The chilly November breeze set the flags that decorated the walls, flapping. One long streak of cloud hung across the blue sky. The patterned floor of Piazzetta San Marco was thick with pigeons and people, marvelling its beauty. A puff of wind swept across the Square and rustled her hair. The long line of tables of outdoor cafés seemed to reach us from an entrance to another world. But we took no notice. We heard no other sound. It was too easy for the two of us to get wrapped up in our own private, little bubble.

As we walked along, Natsuki spoke to me of coming to Venice again.

The Piazza, the scenery, they were the last things on my mind that day. I hardly paid any attention to them at all. I was thinking of the striking girl walking next to me. I was thinking of myself. I was thinking of the two of us, then her, and then of myself again. I was in love. Love with complications. I was too absorbed that I never really cared for anything else.

But the subconscious was an amazing thing. My memory had stored that scene in flawless detail that ten years later I would be able to recall it. It was that scene that comes back to me, over and over again. The aroma of the coffee being served, the laughter of children while shooing the pigeons, the distant conversations in Italian, the coolness in the air; they appeared with absolute vividness. And yet, as vivid as it may be, I was the only one in that scene. Natsuki was not there. She was missing. She was not walking side by side with me. I was alone in Venice.

How could that happen? Why would she disappear? Natsuki, myself, my world back then – everything that was important to me, where could they have disappeared to? I could not even remember her face. It was like my mind was intentionally repressing her memory. What was left to me was that scene in the Piazza, just a backdrop.

Through time, I was able to remember her face. I was able to connect her imagery resembling a life-size jigsaw puzzle. Her midnight blue hair which shimmers under the sun; the milky hue of her skin; her cute, little pout; her adorable blushes and her eyes of lovely colour of emerald.

As I absent-mindedly looked across Piazzetta San Marco, a pair of eyes was staring back at me.

Those eyes...

"Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men. At my age I need a steady, quiet life can that be so in our connection?"

That's Beethoven's love letter. I said to myself.

I glanced surreptitiously sideways to the person sitting next to me at the bus. She was reading Love Letters of Great Men. She looked frustrated, verging on exasperation. I giggled inwardly. She sat with her legs slightly apart, ankles together, her right elbow resting lightly on the armrest while her other hand was holding the book. I felt her throwing daggers at me. I looked up into a face of a young woman. She was sneering at me that made her eyes gleam. They were hostile, yet, they were the most beautiful pair of green eyes I had ever seen. It was the colour of emerald to be exact. I whipped my head up and stared out at the road in embarrassment. It was stupid to openly-stare at strangers, albeit a good-looking stranger. But I could still feel her gaze on my face, so I rummaged my purse for my music player. I put the earphones in my ears. She continued reading her book.

"My angel, I have just been told that the mail coach goes every day, therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once. Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together. Be calm. Love me, today, yesterday. What tearful longings for you, you, you, my life, my all. Farewell. Oh, continue to love me. Never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved."

"Ever thine," I whispered.

"Ever mine," she replied incredulously, turning to face me.

"Ever ours..." we both said at the same time.

I could feel the blush colouring my cheeks. I thought I was just repeating the passages in my head. Apparently, not. She was smirking. She knew I was faking listening to my music player. I was caught. I would never be able to hear her words with the supposed music blaring in my ears. I tried to smile at her shyly for a few seconds, unsure what to do or what to say next. My face faltered. I bowed my head in embarrassment, pretending to look at my feet.

"I'm sor-ry," I apologized, stuttering when she did not return my smile from earlier.

"It's alright," she blurted out, sensing my discomfort.

My heart was still beating so hard I could hear my heartbeats in my ears. From the corner of my eye, I saw her putting away the book in her bag, disdainfully.

"Where are you headed?" she inquired.

"I- I'm going home," I answered. My brain slowed. It was pathetic. I was still musing why she was asking me questions now after all the smirking a while ago.

"From school?"

"Yes."

She began combing her hair with her hands. I watched them intently for a moment. They were white, with calluses. I wondered what kind of work she has. Perhaps she was not working at all, since she seemed too young and hippy to be one. She was wearing a black leather jacket, a navy blue shirt with a white wolf design beneath the jacket, torn jeans and white sneakers. She had an aura of coolness and aloofness with her. She did talk to me previously, for that very reason, I relaxed my stance.

"I didn't mean to pry. I was trying to strike a conversation with you, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't. It's only that I'd be getting off at the next stop." I smiled as I felt the bus pulled against the curb as if for confirmation.

"Have a pleasant afternoon, then." She stood up so I could easily pass and leave my bus seat.

"Thank you."

She chuckled as I passed by her. "Adieu, there is nothing that I will not brave for your sake; you deserve much more than that. Adieu, my dear heart!"

"Voltaire's," I whispered to myself.

On my short walk home, I wasn't able to conceal the huge grin that was starting to spread on my face. A secret thrill fluttered in my stomach. I felt a pang of pain thinking that I wouldn't be able to see her again. And I wondered if that kind-faced stranger secretly felt the same way.

For Natsuki's face to come into view, it took time. As the years passed, the longer it took for her face to appear. Sometimes, remembering her face was like watching a television with bad reception. Or worse, I'd be able to remember the inconsequential things about her, but her face would be blurred out. My memory of Natsuki was getting dimmer. But that specific scene in the Piazza, the cold afternoon in Venice, kept coming back to me again and again. It was the one scene that my mind had stored perfectly. It felt like my body was acting in its own volition to crush me and I had to gasp for air, every time I remember.

Natsuki, what were you talking about that day?

It had been puncturing me for quite some time now, like little pin-pricks. It wasn't painful as much as before. I had grown accustomed to it. Or rather, I had grown stronger to bear the pain. And I knew I had to remember, to commit her to my memory, her voice, everything about her, before my mind could forget her completely.

No, nothing has the power to part me from you; our love is based upon virtue, and will last as long as our lives.

All I had left was that Venice backdrop set in a silent era movie.

Shizuru, did you know that Piazza San Marco or St. Mark's Square is not really a square? It's really shaped like a trapezoid.

I knew Natsuki was interested in building designs but I had no recollection of her telling me that. Or maybe my imagination was getting wilder that I was creating a mere image of her in my mind.

We were walking when she suddenly came to a halt. So did I. She put her hands on my shoulders and peered into my eyes. I felt those beautiful, emerald eyes of her were looking inside my soul for a long time. Then, she kissed me on my forehead. It was a wonderful, affectionate gesture that stopped my breathing for a moment. We sat down on a balustrade not far from the porphyry lions. I looked up at the bright, blue sky thinking about nothing in particular, as I felt her eyes focused on me.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see a woman standing in front of me. I had a book in my hand. I looked from her to the book and back, as if she had just stepped out from its pages.

"I was right. It's you, Shizuru. I recognized you from across the Square."

I stared at her. I thought her name. But I didn't connect it to the girl I had known. That girl belonged to another time and place and was not supposed to be here.

"I can't believe you're here," she said. She was staring at me with the same surprised recognition that was no doubt on my face. She was smiling but when I failed to speak, her expression grew uncertain.

Natsuki. "N-Natsuki," I mumbled.

"It has been a long time."

"Yes, it is."

"How are you?"

"I'm f-fine." I found myself examining her. Same emerald eyes, same proud nose, same deep blue hair, so dark they were almost black. She aged but she looked exactly the same. I noticed she had a small faint scar that cut her upper left cheek.

"What happened?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

She had a freckle on her right neck. Had I never noticed that before? I pointed at the scar.

"Oh." Her hand touched it. "Motorbike," she said. "I crashed."

It seemed important to confirm that I hadn't seen her scar before. "When?"

"Years ago..." She gave her head a determined shake as though to throw off this non sequitor of a conversation. "Shizuru..." she said.

"Surprised?" Before she could answer, I said, "Me, too. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"It's a work thing. What are you doing here?" she said.

"I'm meeting someone."

She looked perplexed. "Here? But that was..."

"No, no. I'm meeting a friend. She lives here. And I got lost." I wanted to offer a quick explanation – I was beginning to be afraid she would think me a liar – but I couldn't think of how to frame it. "It's a long story," I said. "She asked me to stay at a place I know. So here I am."

"Okay. Why don't we get a table and grab something to eat?" She stepped and waved me down to the direction of Caffè Florian. I did not look at her or risk a glance back as she followed me in silence. My heartbeat was rapid. My face flushed. I felt slightly breathless – felt like a girl again – and I didn't know whether there was more pleasure or distress in seeing Natsuki this way.

I stopped at the nearest table. She came up beside me and waited for me to take a seat. She sat across the table from me. She looked around as though she was seeing the place for the first time.

"Nothing has changed much. I heard they were still serving the same latte and croissant."

"Really?"

"Or so they say."

"You are about to see then," I said.

"You know, I saw you a while ago," she said. "Inside the Basilica."

"I didn't see you. Why didn't you approach me or say hi?" I asked.

"There were so many people. And I wasn't sure it was you..." She looked at me now. "I mean, it seemed crazy that it would be you. And when I looked again, you were nowhere to be seen."

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," I said again. I looked away from her and pretended interest in the patterns on the table cloth. I traced the relief patterns on it.

"Would you be staying long?" she asked.

I said that I had no idea. She frowned. I could see her trying to put the pieces together. She was making her puckered face, the same face she has whenever she was deep in thought. "Maybe a week or two. My family wanted me to take a vacation. I heeded their request."

At the mention of my family her expression became guarded. "Is that the only reason why you're here?"

"Yes, I think so." I browsed through the menu to busy myself.

"Okay."

After that there was a long silence before I thought to ask her about herself. She was now an architect. She moved to California with her partner. She said she liked it there. I wanted to ask, but didn't, if she was happy.

"I should've known you'd be an architect," I said.

"Because of all the lectures I gave you about buildings? Or you're still thinking I should have been a poet."

I nodded, pleased that she'd known immediately the irony of what I was talking about.

"I must have bored you to death, talking all the time."

"No. A little, but that was why I..." I swallowed back the word. Our eyes met and held too long.

"Liked you." There was silence. My mind raced, looking for another subject. I knew it was the perfect time to talk, to cut the chase and just talk. But she knew. We both knew. We just could never bring ourselves to the conversation ten years late.

"The latte is still impeccable. Do you want to taste?" she offered.

"Thanks. I never really fancied coffees. I'd rather have tea," I answered her as I looked at my watch.

"Am I keeping you? Do you have to go now?"

"No, I don't. But my friend's running late."

"How long have you been waiting?" she asked, looking away.

"About an hour."

"Oh."

I stared at my reflection on the glass of water and tried not to picture Natsuki's face. But I couldn't keep myself from identifying with her, from imagining again and again what she felt waiting for a person who would never come. I tried to banish the thought from my mind.

"I waited for God-knows-how long. It was raining hard that day. I was cold and soaking wet..." she said, yanking me out of my reverie. "Why?" she asked in a soft voice that I had the difficulty to hear.

She tried very hard to conceal the pain in her voice. With that, my heart sank. Somehow I knew all along that the conversation would come to this. I've managed to avoid talking with Natsuki about what happened years ago. I was even hoping she'd forgotten about it. I tried to avoid her eyes.

"Shizuru..." she called, trying to catch my attention.

I was lost for words. Just how do you address over ten years in a single question?

"Shizuru..." she called me again, this time with urgency.

"Oh..." I said, "I was..." My voice trailed off. I tried to gather myself. I knew I was breaking into pieces in front of her.

She waited for me to finish, but when I didn't, she did not press me.

"There's a reason why," I said. Was that sadness in my voice, regret or just plain weariness? I was not sure. I wasn't looking at her, my gaze travelling out toward the Square.

It was a Saturday afternoon in the middle of April. We had gotten off her motorbike and we were walking along the sidewalk near a public park. The clouds were hanging lowly in the sky granting Natsuki and me temporary screen from the sun. The wind stirred the lush, green leaves of the trees in the air. It was an early summer day. A perfect day.

People were busy going on with their daily lives. We were amazed by the fact that everyone seemed in high spirits that afternoon. Children, with their mothers were sitting on grass hills. Bare-chested college kids were playing football beyond the park. Others were sitting and chatting on benches under the shade of park trees.

I was sweaty that I had to take off my cardigan after ten minutes of walking. Natsuki had already removed her jacket earlier. She was now wearing a blue shirt with a white wolf design that I had seen her wearing before. I could never care less. I was electrified to experience this opportunity to chat with her. I had always imagined she was an intelligent and sensible kind of a person. Of course, she was beautiful. She was also sexy and elusive. She seemed cool but she was really caring and kind. She displayed mild moments of humour, though she had a tendency to blush a little too many at my teases. I observed that when she sleeps, the muscles in her face would twitch and the corners of her mouth would turn downward as if she was extremely displeased with the things going in her dreams. We sat down on one of the benches, and stared out in companionable silence. I caught Natsuki studying my face.

"Stop doing that," I told her.

"What's wrong with what I'm doing? And you're more gorgeous when you blush."

I playfully slapped her arm. "I told you to stop looking at me!"

"I knew your face like the back of my hand, Shizuru. But when I saw you getting off my motorbike a while ago, I felt I had forgotten some of your important features. And it ached just by thinking about it." Natsuki leaned back.

"Sometimes," I said, "I think, I take pictures because I have a genuine fear of forgetting people's faces."

"Or the fear that your face will be forgotten?" She grinned, "No worrying in your case, though."

"No one would believe you."

"Nevertheless, I would never be able to forget your face. Even if I live a hundred, make it a thousand," she laughed.

"Thank you, Na-tsu-ki. It's really very generous of you."

"The pleasure is mine, my dear Zuru," she said smiling.

"But seriously. Aren't you afraid that one day you'd wake up and forget what I looked like? That would be terrifying."

She said nothing more on the subject. She subtly changed the topic and discussed the history and the architecture of the buildings near the park.

I sat there listening to her. I thought that I could get lost inside myself with just her voice. It was then I found myself actually feeling the sensation of being in love. It was an uncomfortable immersion into something I had no idea about. I had never been in love before. The sensation was new to me, yet I knew it was love. I was in love, with a girl. I knew that I just have to fall in love with Natsuki, regardless of her gender. It was like jumping from the top of a building. It would be your sole decision to take a leap; spread your arms akin to flying and not be concerned where you will land. There is no doubt in my mind that I just had to fall in love with her. I felt the air enter my lungs as I breathed in deeply. She turned to look at me, her dark, emerald eyes staring down at mine and I was sure she felt the same. This, I was certain. It was a glorious feeling, and yet, I felt a different kind of dread; that she would disappear right before my eyes.

We stood up and walked back along the path, hand in hand.

"There are times when I think about you, about what happened in the past, about your life now. It's far-fetched but I wonder if you're thinking of me, too. I wonder about the reasons why we became lovers and the reasons why we aren't together anymore. I wonder why I did the choice I did. I wonder about what you did after I did the choice I did. I wonder what might have happened if I didn't do the choice I did. I was never as smitten of this kind of thinking as you were. And honestly, I must admit that our parting was the bleakest point in my life. There are so many things that I am unsure of. I don't even know if this conversation is important anymore. But maybe, maybe, I wanted to reconcile the things which are true and the things I feel I imagined to be true. I feel like I've made up all these memories, all the things we shared and all the things we did together. It feels like you have to give me a confirmation before I settle into believing them. There are things about my life that no one else has ever understood. Yet, you did. Natsuki, you did. I always felt, when you're near me, you and I are one..." I choked, trying to stop the threatening tears from falling. At the same time, I was kicking myself for saying the convoluted and jangled sentences I had just said.

She was stunned. After all, it was the longest speech I had managed to say to her all afternoon. It gushed out like a melee from my chest. Ten years. My aching loss for ten, long years. I wasn't able to put up with it any longer. Tears ran down my face and I dabbed them sloppily with my hands. I wavered to take the handkerchief she was offering me. I took it carefully, not letting my hand make contact with her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be bothered at all. I will be fine." I replied, looking away.

"I- I..."

From the corner of my eye, I saw her hand still hanging mid-air like she wanted to touch my arm as if to comfort me. After a while, she balled them and folded her arms.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. The scene in the Piazza was breathtaking. The whole square was illuminated with the final light of the sun. Everything glimmered with hues of red, orange, yellow and pink. I was facing the clock tower, Torre dell'Orologio when the bells tolled signalling the start of dusk. Inside, I felt emotions swirling around me. Through the years, I had managed to contain these emotions – not letting them to stay with me – long enough to cause me pain.

She was silent. Maybe she was thinking of nice things to say to me. Or all hurtful things to throw at me. I deserved them. I was able to put on a mangled smile on my face and looked straight at her. Her hands were on her lower back, elbows splayed, her expression puckered. It was the position she assumed when she was thinking hard about something.

"Please, don't," she beseeched.

"I'm confused," I told her. Because I was really confused about she had said.

"Zuru, don't act as if you're fine. I know you're hurting."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. She used my old nickname. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me. It's just that I had dealt and got over with these, years ago. It's a little nostalgic, you know."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes." I grinned, trying to conceal the lie of what I had said. I closed my eyes, letting the wind caress my face. Behind my eyelids, I was playing a rerun of images of old memories, trudging to the places where my life was in perfect blissfulness.

"Shizuru, what are you thinking right at this moment?"

I opened my eyes. You don't have to know that I'm really thinking now. "If tears, which you saw and know, I am not apt to shed." I know for myself that you are the truest of all true love. My first love, and probably my last. "If the agitation, in which I parted from you, did not commence 'til the moment of leaving you approached." It's a matter of status, Na-tsu-ki.

"If all that I have said and done, and am still. But too ready to say and do, have not sufficiently proved what my real feelings are, and must be ever towards you. My love, I have no other proof to offer." She completed the passage. "Letter for Caroline written by Lord Byron. You're memory is still as impressive as ever."

"Like you wouldn't believe," I chuckled at the irony of what I had just said.

"Do you still remember my favourite?"

"Virgil?" I saw her upper lip twitched. I knew I guessed right.

"Absolutely!"

I beamed at her proudly. "Omnia vincit amor: et nos cedamus amori..."

"Love conquers, let us, too, surrender to love."

It just happened. Her hand crossed the little distance mine permitted. We held on to each other, not even averting our eyes. We looked at each other, and did not let go. My world stopped. I never wanted it to end. Nothing else mattered. We were safe, as always, in our private, little bubble. But we were afraid to get close. I did not know what she would do. It showed in her eyes, probably mine, too. I withdrew my hand, after what felt like a lifetime later. We gingerly embraced.

She nodded and studied me seriously for few moments. "I would never forget you." She had a look of sadness about her.

"And that's all I could ever ask. Thank you."

I knew we could never be together now. And that the feeling was mutual. Time had changed us. We had lived two separate lives. All was endless, profoundly endless.

The air in the Piazza was getting chilly, and I was suddenly cold. At the same time, I could feel the heat radiating from my shoulders; I had gotten too much sun on my skin during the day. I unfolded Natsuki's arms, which she reluctantly permitted, and stood to go.

"We should come back here in Venice, Shizuru," she said holding out her hand. I hesitated. She took mine in hers and held it warmly. "So, how about it?"

"What do you mean?" I asked permitting myself a small glance at her.

"I am asking you if we could meet here after you have told your parents about us being together. Did you know that there's a myth that Venice is the place on Earth where you meet the other half of yourself, your soul mate. And I want the two of us..." her voice trembled a little as she squeezed my hand.

"Just tell me," I said, letting my eyes slide over her face.

"I want us to meet here, in this Square, as I have already met my other half in you."

I laughed. "You only want to prove that it's not a myth, the deplorable hidden romantic that you are."

"On the 20th, in three months..."

"In three months," I mumbled.

"It's our anniversary. Don't tell me you have already forgotten about it."

"No, not at all."

"Better yet..."

"I don't think I'd be able to-"

"I know you could," she cut me off. "I would wait. I could do that."

"But what if they forbid me to leave? You, me, who we are, they're like chalk and cheese."

"Zuru, you're a big girl now. You know what would make you happy. And I'm counting on that."

The light of the afternoon sun was gleaming on the right side of her face. I was gazing at her profile when she turned to me. She smiled her impish smile. She looked into my eyes as if trying to read what's going through my mind.

I tilted my head just a little.

"Tell me what you're thinking, please?"

"Nothing of importance, really..."

"On our anniversary, then?" she asked, almost pleading.

I nodded, and although I knew it was a mistake to have done so, I couldn't help myself.

Far away, down on the Square, two little children of five or six were throwing little pieces of bread to the pigeons. They were too distant for me to tell if they were boys or girls. One of the two children whom I guessed was probably a girl lost her footing on a run and fell to the stone ground. The pigeons flew in unison away from her and as she struggled to get up, she called out joyfully to the other child, "Aspettami! Aspettami!" in a high sweet voice. I guessed the second child never heard of the girl's call. But the girl stood up, patted her pants and followed the second child, out of my sight.

"I come across a saying once that a happy ending is just a place where you choose to stop telling the story, so this is where I choose to stop..."

Aspettami – wait for me in Italian.

I don't write stories in chronological order. The past, the present, and stream of consciousness are superseding each other. So I'm really hoping you like it.

Guide:

Normal text - present time

Italic - past. If it is only a line or two, memories.