Alice began searching for traces of Tarrant in the real world. Every time she walked through bustling streets, she couldn't help but glance around, hoping to spot that familiar tall hat amidst the crowd.
She paused in the marketplace, staring at rows of teapots, wondering if one day she might reunite with Tarrant in this world, even if only to share another cup of tea. But in the corner café, there were only unfamiliar faces and the silent murmur of the wind.
"What are you waiting for?" a crew member softly asked her. Alice just smiled, playfully lifting her teacup as if doing so would allow her to taste the warmth Tarrant had once poured for her. "Later," she whispered, a faint flicker of hope rising within her.
Perhaps everything began with her endless waiting. Alice started to believe that if she held on long enough, she would see him again someday. When night fell, she would step onto the deck, gazing at the boundless stars, imagining the moment they might meet again: Tarrant would approach with a smile, wearing that ridiculous tall hat, brimming with mysteries, as if he had never left. She hoped his words would no longer be "Later," but "I'm here, Alice."
In her dreams, they always met on time. Upon waking, Alice could still feel the lingering warmth in her heart. Though Tarrant's farewells were always casual, Alice believed it wasn't an end but the beginning of another chapter in their story.
Perhaps next time, they could walk along the seaside together—not in dreams, not with a "Later," but in a true and real reunion.
The dream tea party appeared sporadically, sometimes during nights at sea, other times in the calm mornings at port. In those moments, Alice could always smell the floral tea and hear the crisp clink of teacups, as if everything remained unchanged, with Tarrant still sitting at the end of the long table, wearing that conspicuous hat. Whenever she approached, he would look up with his mismatched eyes—one purple, one green—that seemed to peer into her soul.
Sometimes, Alice would question herself, wondering why she clung so stubbornly to these dreams. Each time she awoke from the tea party, she felt a pang of loss—a kind of inescapable loneliness, as if something crucial was missing from the real world. Yet every time she re-entered that dream and saw Tarrant's smile, all her doubts and sorrows would vanish. That moment belonged to them, needing no words or explanations; everything felt so natural and real in the clink of the teacups.
After countless meetings in dreams, Alice began to notice that Tarrant, too, seemed to be searching for something. His gaze was no longer purely joyous and whimsical; at times, he would quietly look off into the distance, as if it held answers just beyond his reach. Occasionally, he would pause, staring at his reflection in the teacup, where it seemed all his unspoken secrets lay hidden.
"What are you looking for?" Alice once mustered the courage to ask him. It was a quiet afternoon in the dream, with the noise of the tea party slightly subdued, leaving just the two of them—there had always been just the two of them. Tarrant looked up, and for a brief moment, a glimmer seemed to flicker in his eyes, but it quickly returned to his usual inscrutable expression.
"I'm looking for…" His voice was soft and elusive, like a petal falling into the tea, silently swirling in the eddies. "A goodbye that was never spoken."
Alice froze, and in that moment, she glimpsed the sea within Tarrant's heart—a sea deeper and more unpredictable than any she had ever sailed. Each farewell between them felt like an unfinished sentence, without a beginning or an end, leaving only that "Later" suspended between them, never quite landing.
After that, the dreams grew more blurred, and Tarrant's figure became increasingly faint. The tea party continued, but his laughter turned distant and muffled. They seemed to exist in different times and spaces, the long table stretching the distance between them. Every time Alice tried to approach him, invisible barriers kept them apart. Even so, she continued to wait, waking from each dream with the hope of another tea party reunion, hoping Tarrant might finally provide a clearer answer.
One rainy night, Alice found herself once again in that dream. The rain outside beat urgently against the ship's hull, like countless fingertips calling out, or a deep melody whispering softly. Lightning occasionally pierced the night sky, flickering shadows through the porthole, dancing behind her closed eyelids. She entered the familiar scene: the tea party was still ongoing, the long table laden with exquisite teaware, and wisps of steam drifted from the teapot, just like old times.
But Tarrant was not in his seat. The tall hat, those story-filled green eyes—gone. Alice looked around, moving through the recurring dreamscape—branches bowed to the ground, rooms cluttered with peculiar furniture, paths strewn with swirling petals—but no matter how she searched, his presence remained absent. The teapot continued to bubble, the teacups were neatly arranged, everything seemed to function as usual, except for him; even his "Later" had vanished.
An unprecedented panic gripped her. Alice tried to call Tarrant's name, but her voice seemed swallowed by the dream, not even an echo returning. It wasn't the first time she had lost sight of him, but it was the first time she felt so utterly isolated, as if the entire foundation of the dream had suddenly collapsed. The rain outside grew more insistent, intertwining with the thumping of her heart. She watched as the tea party scene gradually faded, familiar outlines washed away by the rain, all sounds receding into a distant hush. Alice began to fear she would never return to this tea party, never hear Tarrant's odd yet comforting voice again.
In that moment, Alice jolted awake. The rain had intensified, pounding violently against the deck and cabin walls as if to engulf the entire ship. Outside the cabin was an endless darkness, devoid of even a single star, with only the relentless pursuit of raindrops. She stood up, pushed open the cabin door, and stepped onto the deck, letting the cold rain pour over her face and clothes, soaking every inch of her skin. She looked out toward the distant horizon—the sea she had sailed for so many years—now felt so vast and silent, as if even the wind and waves had retreated into a quiet stillness.
Tarrant was not in the dream, but Alice knew he was still out there somewhere—perhaps in the depths of the dream or on the far shore she had yet to reach.
She stood on the deck, allowing the rain to lash and the cold to seep in.