Ah, well I finally got internet back (again) so here's an update. This popped up back in May, really randomly... and I finally typed it up!

Sixteen:


Sixteen days.

The sixteenth day of the sixteenth month that she was here alone.

Without him.

A day that should have been shared with him - with everyone - but life refused to accept any terms of normality for them. Not then, not now, not ever. The only thing she could rely on was the steady flow of days that went by since he had been away: attending to duties, as expected; living up to his title, as required. It was only supposed to be for a few days... those days, however, melded into the weeks that ensued and soon, everyone had all but forgotten that he was supposed to return... but she hadn't. And she prayed to God that he hadn't either.

All she had left was a single flower. Placed atop her small table, it was her first and last sight of each passing day. It was her memory. Her hope.

...

Sixteen. Sixteen days.

The sixteenth day of the sixteenth month that he was here alone.

And ironically, it was exactly the day of his sixteenth year of being alive, miraculously.

A day that would have been important - remembered by everyone except for these strange faces that glanced at him daily. Forgotten by all except for those he had left behind. He had been taken; forced to live up to his duty just as he had been so many years before. This time, he went along with it though, not wanting to risk another overreaction that would cause him to leave behind a part of his life as he already had. And although he knew he shouldn't, he didn't want to risk losing her. He missed her, so much more than she could possibly imagine. He'd had been away for so long, he begged whoever was out there that she would never forget him, no matter what would come his way and that she would be there when he could finally see her shining eyes again. It had been so long; the hopes were foolish... but that flower... its image was frozen in his mind as if it had never left his sight. It had probably long-since died but it was his tender memory. At least, it was the one thing that could give him hope...

...

It was still there.

Over one year and four months later, a patient and gentle reminder of the one who had gone. A year was not too long, better than forever, yet each passing minute without his touch felt like an eternity and without his heart it was unbearable. She'd had a chance to confess to him those undying sentiments the night he left, before doubting herself. Ever since he had begun to carry the load of all of those unavoidable burdens, no trace of love could be found in his eyes. His troubles already weighed down so much on his shoulders, how could she stress him with something like love? She couldn't say a word if just to save their friendship and their dignity. Now, after all of this time, she began to wonder if he had forgotten of her or worse... had been taken from this world without her by his side. She hadn't even told him how she felt... he would never know...

The white pearl of the petals replayed that night in her head relentlessly. The fragrant memory should have brightened her mood, as they were the most treasured gift in her possession, but they scorned her for her lack of audacity and therefore never being able to have his love.

Never having him.

Her glossed-over eyes never wavered from that flower...

...

If only he had told her...

If only he knew that she would keep that flower - that last wisp of him - alive at all costs, then he might have gone back in a heartbeat. His life had only begun to wind down from those harrowing days when seven and a half months into his fourteenth year, he had been whisked away into this world of sorrow and deceit. He would have told her, would have poured out his feelings for her, but he had chosen a simple flower instead. She had gasped and pulled him into a tight embrace; her tears, due to the knowledge of his departure, restrained. Now, he finally understood the hidden meanings of her reaction, but at the time, he had hesitated. She had run off embarrassed before a single word could be uttered. She had seemed so unsure and distraught that he'd refrained from speaking his heart.

He feared that she would leave him before his return - he was afraid that she would capture the heart of another and leave him alone, but now he knew that she had only hidden her feelings because she never knew how he felt. Oh, how he'd had to bid his feelings into repression for he wasn't supposed to feel those wild emotions... had to conceal them from even her. Of course she had been unaware that his passion had never faltered; but now he was sure that hers was strong as well. Thoughts of her forgetting him still flashed through his head occasionally, but then he would suddenly remember that flower.

Her reaction.

And his mind could be put at ease.

...

That flower.

Her memory. Her loss.

...

That flower.

His memory. His comfort.

...

A tear slid from her eye.

She couldn't possibly imagine the depth of how he felt for her now. All her hope had to latch onto was that night...

...

A thud in the stillness resounded across the house, causing her eyes to burst open. Tensed in the moonlight that bathed the room stood a slim figure entering; the girl whipped her head around, body defensive, until she recognized the sheepish face and kind eyes that stared back at her.

He offered up a small smile. She grinned.

She rose and strode over to him, loose hair trailing down her thin gown. He watched her gait, unable to fathom how radiant she looked as the darkened midnight glow played off of her skin. Her smile, he contentedly thought, was solely for him… for the time being. She watched his own lips slowly flicker and turn down from his smile and she, in turn, frowned.

Those two words.

"I'm leaving."

Her face, oddly devoid of expression, broke him; he couldn't bear seeing her so struck and sad. She looked to the floor for a moment, but soon returned to meet his gaze, composure intact. She was much too aware that this would have to be done.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

She allowed her mind to grasp the information as her eyes drifted shut. Why now? she sighed. She reopened her eyes, hoping for her face to epitomize at least some form of sincere encouragement. She didn't think she was succeeding.

"You'll be fine, I'm sure," she whispered.

He smiled at her, becoming distinctly conscious of his arm, still dangling behind his back; his hand's contents too precious to be ignored. Even in the shadows, she could see the slight reddening of his cheeks and he fidgeted nervously. His arm shot out from behind him ending up directly beneath her nose. The pungent scent from below sent her senses reeling in delight and a simple, graceful flower became focused in her view.

She gasped in surprise. Timidly, her fingers reached out to grasp it... it was so beautiful...

A flutter of happiness coursed through him as she maneuvered the offered gift. The warmth in his cheeks significantly increased when she threw her arms around him and held him tightly. He, shocked, could only think of hugging her back with just as much force.

He's leaving, she thought, pupils shining with the weight of unshed tears. The boy in front of her fought the urge to cry himself, and attempted to brighten the desolate mood.

"So… do you like it?"

Her face lightened considerably, noting his effort and inputting her own sense of humor.

"Yes. But I love you."

She froze. Had she just spoken that aloud? Silence ensued and she pulled away, uncertain. After staring into his surprised face for a few seconds she realized she had said that much more seriously than intended…

and yet she meant every word.

His very breathing had halted at her words, but he only seemed stunned as he looked into her eyes. Nothing less, and nothing more. She backed away nervously, feeling the ease between them drain and sense discomfort take its place. Her heart fell and crashed into pieces. She had ruined their goodbye, she thought. Never did she see the reciprocated feelings that were reflecting from within him, so she said her final few words.

"Good… good luck Aang…"

And she ran. He tried desperately to call after her, wishing to take back his silence that had expressed the total opposite of what he truly felt… but she didn't stop.

She had spoiled their final moments together… she couldn't bear to stay to hear his explanation of how he had stopped feeling that way for her long ago.

But he had waited all of his life to hear those words.

Of course, now she knew that she should have stayed and should not have given in to the fear of rejection that had possessed her. It had only taken sixteen months and sixteen days to figure that out.

She prayed he hadn't forgotten. He had to come back… come back for her…

But, for now, that wouldn't happen and she understood as much. All she had left was a sea of memories.

And a flower.


This whole thing came up when I was reading a fanfic of Aang giving Katara an arctic flower and her saying that she loved him. I wondered - hey, what if she hadn't meant to say that and it came across as dead serious instead of light-hearted like in the fic that I read? It's pretty much based on the fact that she still kept that flower alive, though. The scenario of Katara bending water through the plant to keep it from dying struck me as interesting... so here it is.