Tiffany

It’s raining here. Do you remember the spring we spent under the apricot trees, flowers everywhere? The rain has never felt so fresh and lively. And, like nature’s gift, you blend in perfectly, beautifully.

I wait here.

Jessica

The letter catches in the breeze and drifts away. The postman doesn’t look back, the chain of the bicycle never faltering or halting to retrieve the fallen letter. He rings his bell and the students make way for him, parting for the arrival of the long-awaited letters from loved ones. They eye him as he slots the envelopes into the appropriate letter-boxes and mounts his worn bicycle to deliver the others.

A young girl races down the stairs, books cradled against her chest. She brushes her hair behind her ear, hurrying down the stairs and artfully dodging the oncoming students. Her fingers slide down the railing and her foot are now used to the steep stairways. She spares a glance out the window and smiles at the dried, yellow leaves collected at the base of the skeletal tree. The leaves dance in the wind, scattering around almost in reply. Her thin soles touch the ground in fast-paced steps, then to a small run. Her fingers produce the bunch of keys involuntarily. The thinning crowd of undergraduates is no obstacle to the determined girl.

She sees the few envelopes waiting to be opened in her letter-box and breathes deeply. She smells the sudden scent of apricots and her hands reach out to grab the letters, setting her books aside as if there are of no importance. Well, they aren’t now. The envelopes are all addressed to her, but she doesn’t see the name she yearns to see written on the envelope. Or the scented paper she longs to smell again.

The mellowing autumn never felt older. The girl goes through the envelopes again; just to be sure the letter has not escaped her deceiving eyes. A letter comes from her father, from her sister, from the Ministry of Education but not from her. She peeks into the neighbouring letter-boxes. Maybe the postman had given it to the wrong person. She waits for the arrival of the saint who will deliver her the letter she is certain will come. But no one is there.

The girl fidgets uncomfortably as she fingers the envelopes in her hands with some apprehension. Her skirt is now wet with the small rain drops and she feels the cold liquid soak through it. Still, she wills herself to wait.

Again and again, Tiffany goes through the envelopes with only one name in thought.

Jessica Jung.