Kana was old.

This wasn't the first time he had seen her since their love affair had ended. But it was the first time he had seen such a dramatic change in her face.

It wasn't so much a change in her hair, which had only gained perhaps a few strands of gray. And it wasn't a change in her face, though her face no longer had the freshness of youth.

The change was in her eyes.

Her eyes held sadness, but wisdom too. The kind that comes with age.

He had never seen such a look in her eyes. He had seen those eyes when they were smiling at him. He had seen them with a sparkle, with a twinkle. He had seen them filled with desperation and a sadness so overwhelming you could drown.

But he had never seen such gravity, such weight, in her eyes until that very moment.

It was a look that showed its owner carried a burden, yet they also expressed resolve. Steel. Strength.

Here is a woman who has suffered, he thought. And survived.

'All these years I had thought she would never change…in my eyes, she would remain eternally young and happy. After she left me, I knew she would find happiness elsewhere. Her wedding wasn't a surprise to me. And even when I knew her husband had died and she was left a widow…I don't know why, and I did not know how she would recover, but I knew she would. As long as I wasn't a part of her life, I knew she would be okay. And it was true. I later heard she was doing okay. And I was glad.'

When Kana's husband had died, Hatori and Mayu had attended the funeral. Hatori had only exchanged polite formalities with Kana, while Mayu had embraced Kana for a long moment and they had a quiet conversation.

Hatori had tried to avoid meeting Kana's eyes. He told himself he didn't want to risk bringing back her memories of him. But really, it was because he did not want to risk losing himself in her eyes once again. Not with Mayu at his side. Mayu, who had waited so long for him.

But, there had been a moment, when he and Mayu were leaving, that he had inadvertently turned back and his eyes met Kana's. For one moment, time seemed to be suspended. Mayu disappeared. The voices were silenced.

And in that moment, Hatori's eyes somehow told Kana, 'I'm sorry. I hope you will find happiness one day.'

He had made that wish to her once already, years before. It had come true. Surely, the same wish made by him, for her, would come true again.

And Kana's eyes told Hatori, 'Thank you.'

It was a moment that shouldn't have happened. Hatori had felt guilty as he turned and walked away with Mayu at his side.

It had been such an intimate moment…strangely intimate, because Hatori knew Kana didn't remember their time together. To her, he was a distant relative and former employer.

But in that moment of shared pain and empathy, it was as if their tortured, secret history together had been revealed and laid out in the distance between them, for all to see.

And then the moment had ended, their history swept away and hidden back within the recesses of Kana's subconscious, while Hatori forced himself to forget.

When he and Mayu had left, Hatori knew, though Kana was not okay at that moment…that one day, she would be. He had not seen in her eyes the kind of despair that had haunted her towards the end of their relationship.

He hadn't known how to feel, he hadn't known how to understand why Kana could grieve for her husband and yet show signs that she was far more resilient than he had ever known.

Why had Kana's grief for him, Hatori, been so deep that he had to take back her memories of their falling in love for her to continue living?

Hatori hadn't known whether to feel a little happy that what they had had was so special, a little sad that they had lost it all, or a little bitter that he still hadn't gotten over it.

So he had told himself to let it go, and had walked away with Mayu.

As Hatori reflected, Kana's expression didn't change as she looked down on him. She wasn't smiling but her expression was calm, peaceful. Soothing.

"I've learned what suffering is," she said, as she now turned and looked into the distance.

Hatori asked, "So, you are a survivor now, Kana?"

Kana said, as she stared, "You see me here today, don't you? But if what you are really asking is if I have learned to live again, then…well, I am not the same person I was several years ago. I think you see it in my eyes."

She paused. "But I would not want to go back to that person either. The younger, happier, foolish version of me."

"Foolish?"

"Yes, foolish. I was naive. I took my happiness for granted. I thought life would always be wonderful. I had everything I wanted, everything I needed. I…I had never felt loss before." She paused.

Hatori didn't blink.

Kana continued, "So when the drunk driver killed my husband and took away my baby, all I could wonder was why he didn't kill me too. All I could think about, was why me?"

Kana looked away so Hatori could only see the side of her face. "I could only feel sorry for myself instead of being grateful for what I did have."

Hatori asked softly, "You were always the optimist, Kana. Did you lose that?"

She laughed, a short, brittle laughter. "I don't know if I lost it so much as it was taken away from me…" she trailed off. "Every day, it hurt to wake up. I would start to cry every morning. I cried so I would not have to think.

"And then, one night, I had fallen asleep in the living room. I woke up and I opened my eyes and saw that it was snowing. And I was instantly happy. I had always felt joy when I saw the snow falling. I could not stop myself from feeling that way once again. And then in the very next moment, I was sad, and angry at myself, because I had forgotten my grief for my family in my love of the snow."

"And I thought to myself, what kind of a person am I?" Kana trailed off, her voice trembling, before she regained her composure. "And I realized, I am a person who loved my husband, and loved my baby, and I am a person who loves life. And I did not want to turn into someone so bitter, so angry, and so sad that I could no longer take any joy in the things and people I loved. I had to stop crying so I could cherish my happy memories…the happy times that I had with my husband."

"And I remembered you…at the funeral…I remember you wishing for my happiness…and that comforted me. You looked at me like you hoped, like you believed, that I would be okay one day again." Hatori didn't say anything.

Kana smiled slightly, and the slightest bit of self-mockery tinged her voice. "I did not want to disappoint you, Hatori, by giving in to my despair."

"So I learned to live again, and carry my sadness with me. I will never let it go. But I have learned to survive with it." Kana's voice became a shade lighter. "Have I ever thanked you, Hatori, for your words to me? I don't feel guilty anymore when it snows…when something makes me smile…if it's something that I love, I don't feel sad over feeling that way anymore…"

She turned to Hatori and turned the full power of her beautiful eyes on him. He was always vulnerable to the power of those eyes – the kindness, the gentleness.

"I know everyone thinks you are strong. I know everyone expects you to be just fine. But I know you're hurting. I know that you have all this sadness inside of you. I don't know how I know. You should be like a stranger to me, but you're not." She looked at him, and Hatori felt as if she was looking into his soul. "I know."

Hatori had a sense of de ja vu…years ago, Kana had spelled out how he had felt exactly. Afraid to touch her. Afraid to embrace her. Afraid to love her. And here she was doing it all over again.

"If my weakness was that I could not stop crying, I think you don't know how to start." She leaned over, picked up his hand, and held it for a moment. One long moment in which the warmth from her hand spread to his. "I've wept for my husband and my baby. Today I wept for Mayu. Hatori…it's okay for you to weep too."

Hatori held her hand, leaned over it. Kana sat back down on the bench, and she held him while he wept.