Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 331

“Father, please……” I pleaded once more, my eyes watering: the second time today.
“Here.” My father handed me a delicate white flower. A sense of déjà vu overwhelmed me.
“This is a Yulan flower, your namesake. It will keep you company till I return.”
The scene resonated with memory: an old memory, an ancient memory; of a young girl, tightly grasping a
white lily; broken by the past, the present, and the future. Each a shadow of my grieving self; an echo of my pained
expression; a sister of my broken heart.
History keeps repeating itself in the circle of time. Perhaps there had been a war, a quest, or simply an
adventure; yet the parting was always the same: the same sorrow, the same torment.
“Farewell Yulan. I shall return!”
“Don’t leave……”
I blinked. Maybe it was the tears blurring my sight, but instead of my father, I saw a soldier pacing away, until
only a silhouette remained. And I? I became the young girl, who could do nothing but return home.