You watch intently as he fumbles for the key.  He abandons his jacket and bag on the floor as he struggles with the lock. 

                “Sorry,” he mumbles as he pushes the door open.

                “I can go in, right?” you ask as you peer into the dark room.

                “Yeah.

                You look at him slyly.  “You won’t yell at me?"

                “I won’t,” he answers immediately.

                “You won’t scold me? And tell me not to call you Tao?”

                He chuckles for a second.  “I won’t.”

                “Okay.”

                “Okay.”

                You step vigilantly into the chamber, Tao right behind you.  It’s pitch black and you have the urge to cling onto something as a form of security.

                “Aren’t you going to turn on the lights?  It’s so dark.”

                You hear a rustling noise as he brushes past you.  A second later, a small flame flickers against the walls.  Tao’s face shimmers in the glow.

                “I don’t like to use the lights.”

                You glance around gingerly.  Everything is painstakingly plain.  A twin-sized bed sits in the far left corner, with a single pillow and blanket.  A forlorn nightstand houses the flickering candle and across the room is a chair and desk, covered with papers.  The only window hangs on the farthest wall but it’s covered with a thick curtain.  There isn’t much other than that.

                “Where do you cook?”

                “There’s a conventional kitchen at the end of the hall,” he replies meekly.

                “And I’m guessing you don’t cook?”

                “Not well enough for safe consumption.”

                “Huh.”

                He plants himself at the desk and pulls out a pen and paper.  You collect yourself at the floor by his bed.

                “So tell me,” you begin after a few moments listening to the noise of his moving utensil, “the tale of Huang Zitao.”

                “What tale?”

                “I’ve told you everything about myself, but to me you’re still as blank as a clean sheet of paper.  That doesn’t seem fair, now does it?”

                “Where do I start?"

                “From the beginning.”

His shoulders wilt. “I don’t remember the beginning.”

                “Then…start from where you do remember,” you sigh, your voice matching his somber tone.

                He stands and finds his way to the nightstand.  His calloused hands pull open the top drawer.  “These,” he says, “will probably tell a better story than I do.”

The shadow of his hand travels under the candlelight as he hands you a stack of photographs. They’re brown with age and delicate in your hands. 

                You don’t know what to do with them but you eye the very first one.  “Is this you?” you ask as you hold up a photo of a young boy.

                “I don’t know.”

                You slowly set the picture aside, not questioning his bluntness.  “What about this one?  It looks like you.”  You hold the image of him dressed in a stiff uniform beside his solemn figure for comparison.  “It’s you, isn’t it?”

                He takes it out of your hand gently.  “This was taken a few months ago at the children’s home, when I was applying for the academy.  It’s ugly, don’t look at it.”

                You scoff with an effort to maintain the reserved moment, retrieving the photo again.  “It’s not ugly.  It’s handsome.  Like always.”

                Your compliment doesn’t seem to elicit any response from him, so you continue to look through the pictures without another word.  As you observe them, you find it like piecing together fragments of a puzzle, except without a template to refer to.  Many photos are recognizable as Tao, though he states he doesn’t remember them.  Others are so old, even the faces in the photos can’t be seen clearly.

                “From what I think, some pictures aren’t going to assist you in remembering most of your past.  There isn’t anything else that you think will help?”

                Tao looks up from his desk, where he had returned to.  “I have a box of papers, but I haven’t looked through all of those yet.”

                “Where? This?” you say as you crouch to pull it out from the closet.  You cough at the stale odor of dust and antiquity that rises.   The box is about a foot deep and twice as wide.  It’s heavy and you assume it contains an entire library of documents, judging by the way the sides bulge with the weight of its contents.

                “               ,” Tao says. 

                You pause in the middle of your endeavor to look at him. 

                “Don’t open it.”

                “But—”

                “Not today.”

                You’re dying of curiosity but you nod and return the box to its hiding place and rub your hands together. 

You place yourself beside the bed again and hug your knees into your chest.

 “Have you ever thought of finding somewhere else to stay?” you ask as you pick up the pictures one by one.  Tao suddenly stops writing again.  “I mean, this place seems a little…lonely?  You might begin remembering things with a good atmosphere.  Just a suggestion.”

You ponder over Tao’s picture again as he taps his pen against the wood of the desk rhythmically.  The Tao in the photo and the Tao that sits a few feet away from you are unconditionally different. 

“Maybe…” he says quietly, so quiet it’s barely audible.

“What?”

“Maybe…now that I have you, I will remember.”

You stare at him fondly.  You liked this side of Tao.  Gentle, cordial, and forming words that gave you a wonderful feeling. 

“What was that?” you scoff.  “So cheesy.”  With a smile to yourself, you stand and brush off your backside.  “It’s getting late anyways.  I should probably go home.  Before Grandfather sends Driver Kim out to track me down. See you tomorrow.”

You make your way out the door, down the street, and to the bus stop, still blushing stupidly.  You know you shouldn’t be like this.  You know that going too far with this will only end painfully.  You feel selfish for the way you’re treating him.  But sitting on the bus, you can’t help but smile to yourself when you realize you’re still holding Tao’s photo. 

A/N: Yay!!! I can finally write again! I missed it so much :(