What if she’s asleep? What if someone discovers me here? What if I fall and dislocate a limb?

                At this point, those judgments are invalid.  As I’m hanging perilously from the railing of her window balcony, all I think about is getting inside before my arms give way.

                Fortunately, the night is dark enough for my silhouette not to be identifiable.  I believe.

                I force a re-grip on the metal barrier—like I would my wooden staff while practicing—and swing a leg up to reach the vertical bars, an extreme battle between gravity and physics to ensure that the rail will hold me.  Or, just pure luck.

                My body clambers over the railing until I’m successfully grounded on the surface of the balcony.  I don’t mean to, but I land with a soft thud.  I hold my breath, until I’m sure no one has heard me.  I recover and stand up quickly. 

                By chance, the window is open tonight.  I suddenly realize how dangerous that is.  Anyone, if not me, could have snuck in easily, though it’s not every day that you find someone who knows how to climb up three stories from the outside. 

                I inhale deeply and breathe out. 

                Stealth, check.  Impulse, check.  Fervor, check.  This is an odd incident indeed, but I can’t turn back now.

                So I slip inside.

                “Who’s there?”

                I keep my back against the wall of the room when I hear her voice. 

                “If you’re planning to do something horrible, I’ll scream.  The entire house will hear me.  My kicks aren’t soft either.  If you don’t want trouble, then leave now.”

                I bite my cheek. 

                “Was that supposed to be a threat?” I murmur.

                I can tell she recognizes me because I perceive sound of her getting out of bed. 

“God, Tao, is that you?”

                I hesitate for a split second, but I step out of the shadows. 

“How did you know?”

                She glides over to me.  I can smell the sweet shampoo from her hair as she comes near. 

I wince as she slaps my arm.

                “You scared me.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                I catch a glimpse of her smirk as she turns around and crawls under her blanket again, lying with her back facing me.

                After a moment, she says, “It’s okay.  You don’t have to close the window.”

The bed shifts with my weight as I try to make myself comfortable.  My head rests on the bed beside her pillow.  It’s warm with her body heat, and I feel relaxed already.  I watch her form rising and falling steadily with every breath and a soothing sensation washes over me.

“Tao,” she whispers.

“Yes.”

“Why did you come here?”

I inch closer to her until I recognize her shoulders rounding under the covers.

“I ran out of tea,” I breathe.

I presume that she’s asleep after a long pause without response.  I’m surprised when she alters her position so that we’re facing each other. 

Our bodies are but a hair’s distance apart and her eyes are still bright despite the shade of the room. 

Slowly, her right hand surrounds the back of my neck, pulling me closer. 

“I missed you, too,” she hums. 

Her fingers tease the nape of my neck, the ends of my hair.  My nose buries into the crook of her neck. 

“Are you sleepy?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

She sighs with a quiet laugh.  “Tomorrow.  Let’s open the box.”

“What box?”

“The one you’ve been hiding in your closet.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to?”

“What’s the point?”

“What’s the point?  Tao, isn’t this what you’ve hoped for?” she says. “To remember?  To recall even the smallest moments of your life before the academy?”

“You mean life before you.” 

I can’t tell if it’s the truth in her words that hurts, or because she understands me so well.

“I’ve tried for too long.  I’m tired of it.  You don’t know this feeling,” I mutter.

She erases the void between us by placing her lips to the top of my head.  “I do know.  My entire life, I’ve lived without the power to make my own decisions, like you’ve lived without authority under your memories.  It’s suffocating.  It’s like you’re stuck on an endless road, forever walking forward without knowing what you’ve left behind.  You’re a falcon with a broken wing, trying to fly against the wind.  I know that.  But wounds heal.  Your broken wing, I’ll help you fix it.”

“Opening that stupid box isn’t going to fix anything.”

Her thumb runs across my cheekbone, searching for tears, though there are none.

“How would you know, when you’ve never tried?”

She says I can.  But I know I can’t.  She says there’s time. But I know there isn’t.  She tells me that anything is possible. But written words don’t lie.  I can’t stop time while the world is still spinning.  The way she looks at me makes me dizzy and the words I want to say die before they reach my lips.  The only things I can do is lie here and listen to the sound of her heartbeat against the quiet of the night, and hope that I find the truth tomorrow.

I close my eyes.  Her name echoes in my mind and the word ‘sleep’ suddenly doesn’t feel so foreign any longer.