Prologue
The wind blew softly through the leaves of a young tree, making a whispering sound as the sun began to set. The air smelled like dirt and sweet flowers, a mix of happy and sad feelings that matched how I was feeling too. As I got closer to the playground, the swings creaked back and forth in a familiar way that made me shiver. Each creak brought back memories.
The sun looked like a red ember burning down in a bruised purple sky, and it made long shadows in the park. I could hear laughter far away, but I felt heavy inside. I stopped at the edge of the playground, where the ground was smooth and cool under my shoes.
I looked at the only swing set under the big tree, with its branches hanging down like arms trying to protect something.
This was our special place, like a little secret world made of swings and chipped paint. Here, under the leaves and with the swings creaking, we had shared secrets and dreams. But just like being a kid, that world couldn’t last forever. Time kept moving forward, and now those happy times were gone, but there was a sad feeling for what I lost and a quiet hope that maybe something good would happen someday.
“Hey,” I whispered, memories flooding my mind – vivid and bittersweet. We were both ten years old, perched upon this very swing. The chipped paint felt as familiar as our own names beneath our fingertips.
A ghost of a smile played on my lips as I recalled her mischievous grin. “Promise me,” her voice echoed clearly in my memory, “we’ll be psychologists together, okay?”
“Definitely,” I reassured her, patting her hand gently. Her grip, normally strong and steady, had been unusually weak, a tremor hidden beneath a facade of bravery.
Sensing my concern, she held out her pinky finger, a playful glint sparkling in her hazel eyes. “Pinky promise?”
I mimicked her gesture, interlocking our pinkies, sealing a silent vow with a childish ritual. “Pinky promise,” I echoed, the words carrying a weight I hadn’t understood then.
But her next question shattered the lighthearted mood. “But what if...” her voice trailed off, barely a whisper, “...time runs out?”
A knot tightened in my stomach. Even as a child, I recognized the veiled fear lacing her voice. Yet, fueled by a fierce protectiveness, I squeezed her hand, my voice firm despite the rising panic. “It won’t,” I declared. “And I promise, no matter what happens… I promise I’ll find you again.”
Her gaze, intense and unwavering, met mine. “We’ll meet again,” I said, a strange certainty lacing my voice. “I promise you that.”
