“You’re useless.”

“Talentless freak.”

“Don’t be stupid and focus on school.”

“You have to let go of those ridiculous dreams.”

“They won’t come true anyways.”

Again. They were same words, the ones I've always heard.

From my family, my friends, and myself.

They hurt, no matter how many times they were thrown at me. One would’ve thought that the pain had numbed by now.

But it hadn’t, and it always came back stronger than ever.

I closed my eyes, letting the scent of the salty sea calm me down. The cool ocean breeze felt icy against my tear-streaked cheeks. I relaxed with a deep breath and laid back against a large rock, listening to the gentle lull of the ocean waves.

I always came here.

It was a solitary strip of beach, two miles behind the city. There were rarely any people seen here; I’ve only spotted two or three trucks crawl along the lonely road leading here out of the many times I’ve come here.

But I didn’t mind; I loved the silent sounds of nature, so different from the constant clamor in urban cities.

I came here whenever I felt a need to detach myself from civilization. This was my sanctuary for escaping the pressure, the torments, and the sharp words. I would sit on the soft beach and stare at the crystallized waves, occasionally watching the grains of sand pour endlessly through the cracks of my fingers.

Sometimes, I would bring my guitar and pluck a few broken notes, stringing together a messy melody in minor. And sometimes, I would find the courage to open my mouth and let my muse take over my soul.

Then, I would feel better. I would forget all the troubles I had in life; all the stress and all the sneers. I would focus only on my singing, my guitar, and the orchestra of the rolling waves.

I’ve always been here alone, until that one day.

That one day when I met her.

The weather had been surprisingly sunny and clear, considering the fact that it was just approaching winter. Leaves had already lost their reddish color, now a dull brown, crunching noisily beneath my sneakers as I trudged along the rugged path. The boughs of the trees were bare, save for a few crows littered upon the branches, cawing out a dissonant melody.

I had decided to take a different route that day. Instead of heading towards the sandy shore, I climbed a small, rocky hill, heading towards the top of a cliff. I had been there only a couple of times, and I found it quite a quaint place. It was quiet; there was no roaring of the ocean, though one could still hear the echoes of the waves crashing against the rocks.

With every step I took, my guitar case bounced on my back rhythmically, the charms fastened to the zipper tinkling an accompaniment to the crows and the waves. The sharp wind stung my skin, but I welcomed it, as the sun’s tender warmth would dispel the pain almost immediately after. I was heading towards a certain maple tree, one that still had a few forlorn leaves desperately clinging onto its branches, shivering weakly in the breeze.

The tree stood alone at the edge of the bluff. It looked even more sorrowful with the forgotten leaves painting the monotonic ground. The bark was slowly peeling off, revealing a soft, white interior. There, next to the maple tree, I saw her standing in a simple teal dress, the ends of her skirt billowing in the wind.

An angel, I had thought, taking in her divine figure through a blurry film of tears.

Finally, she’s here to take me away, to relieve me of my pain.

I had felt fresh tears leak from the side of my eyes. I brushed them away roughly with the back of my hand, wondering if they were from relief or regret. I took a small step forward.

“I know you.”

The words had come abruptly, the letters knocking the wind out of me. I stopped in my tracks, feeling a strange sense of reminiscence as her voice washed over me.

“You’re the boy that plays a broken guitar,” she stated, once again using the blunt, flat tone, asking for no answer.

“I…” I opened my mouth, letting one syllable pass through my lips, before shutting it again, feeling more confused than ever.

Her black hair was a few inches past shoulder length, free-falling down her back. It was unadorned, yet the raven locks seemed even more beautiful in its simplicity. A loose, white cardigan was wrapped around her torso, a feeble attempt as protection from the ocean wind.

“I listen to you play often.”

Her voice had changed. The brisk, edgy tone turned soft and gentle, the sounds mingling perfectly with the soft whistle of a conch shell.

 “I like your voice. It’s pretty.”

There was a tinge of urgency lacing her words, as if she was waiting for a reply, a confirmation that I was still there, that she wasn’t alone.

“No one ever tells me that.”

My eyes widened as I heard the words roll from my tongue. I had meant to say something along the lines of “Thank you” or “I’m flattered” and not those six words that were heavily laden with implication.

“I-I mean, thank you very much, no one has ever said that to me before. I’m very flattered and t-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she said softly, the end of her sentence anticipating a laugh that never came.

“Zhang Yixing, right?” She asked.

“Y-yeah,” I mumbled as reply, thoughts spinning through my mind as I wondered how she knew my name.

“I’m Han Ye.”

Han Ye…

Radiance.

I couldn’t help but think that the name matched her perfectly. She was not one of those people who would turn heads as she strolled casually down the main street of a big city. She was not one of those people who would cause cheers as she strutted down the catwalk of a large stage. She was one of those people who would appear in one’s life quietly and disappear just as silently. Yet, she left an unforgettable mark in one’s history, in one’s life, like a faded tea stain on an old piece of parchment.

She was one of those people whose soft, gentle glow wasn’t appreciated until it was gone.

Almost like the sun.

“Yixing, why do you come here?” She asked, her calm, cantabile voice complementing the sharp staccatos of the waves.

“I… I like the ocean,” I answered in an almost trance-like state.

“Why?”

“It’s… free,” I said simply.

“Are you not free?”

I thought for a moment, not responding right away.

Was I free?

I was free to venture wherever I want, however late I want. Even when I arrived home at nearly dawn, my parents would not question my actions.

I was free to buy whatever I wanted, in any amount. I could purchase half a store and never use any of the products without so much of a comment from my parents.

Any other sixteen year old boy would jump at the chance to live my life, to have their so-called “freedom”.

But I was not free.

I was tied down by family, by values, by morals, and by fear. These four elements dictated my life, keeping me in a suffocating hold until my lungs were crying tears of blood for another drop of oxygen. Yet they seemed to almost mock me, tightening their grip with every plea I uttered.

But the ocean was different. Standing on the sandy beach, one could only see a mass of infinite blue disappearing into a smooth gradient formed with the ever-changing sky. The sea was vast, seemingly endless, with waves that tumbled on an eternal journey. It was free, not held down by anything.

“No.”

“You are not free?” She asked again, a small pinch of surprise sprinkled over her words.

“No,” I repeated. “I’m not free.”

“Why is that?”

“My… dreams are so far away,” I murmured. “But I can see them. They’re right at the end of the dark tunnel, they’re the light. But…. But I’m bound by the strings of conscience, a web that is indestructible with the wreckage of self-esteem slowly strengthening it. And… and with ever steel cable added, the light travels further away… until… until I almost can’t see it anymore.”

I heard my voice trail off in the end, the last syllable a mere unattractive, hoarse noise coming from the back of my throat. I lowered my eyes, embarrassed.

“Then why don’t you break free?”

My head shot up again.

She said the words so nonchalantly, so casually, as if it was the easiest thing to do. As if forgetting everything I’ve been brought up as was as easy as scribbling my name at the end of a letter.

“I… can’t.”

“Why not?”

“My parents need me.”

“Your parents love you.”

“I-”

“If they loved you, they’d let you fulfill your dreams.”

I didn’t miss the longing wistfulness weaved so loosely between her words.

“Yixing, you probably do not remember, but the first time I saw you was six years ago,” she began, her voice stronger than before, indicating that she did not want me to interrupt.

I didn’t.

“You were playing the guitar in an empty amphitheater, simply sitting cross-legged on the stage floor. The notes were messy, the guitar was tuned incorrectly, yet you still sang and played as if it was the most beautiful melody ever.”

She hummed a few notes.

“Greensleeves, wasn’t it?”

In one fluid motion, much too fast for me to react, she turned around to finally face me, one foot in front of the other, and flashed me a blinding smile that radiated her beauty.

Then, she fell.

The motion was deliberate and graceful, her movements drenched with unspoken goodbyes. The gentle swish of her dress seemed to hum a nearly non-existent “farewell”.

The silence was deafening as I watched her figure disappear from my sight. Horror seeped through my veins, and I felt a scream threatening to tear out of my throat.

Before I knew it, my toes were teetering at the edge of the bluff, broken pieces of rocks crunching under my feet. I felt a wave of nausea hit me as I gazed down at the rough sea, trying to catch a glimpse of that teal satin, or the white cotton, or even a flash of ebony.

All I saw was the sparkling water, formed by a million shades of blues and topped with a soft, white foam that disappeared and reappeared in mere seconds.

The urge to howl in utter despair did not leave my chest. A monster was threatening to rip through me and blame God for everything gone wrong.

Blame God for ending the life of a girl I had met half an hour ago.

I in a deep breath, closing my ironically dried eyes, working to calm myself. With clenched fists, I turned around stiffly, walking slowly towards the maple tree. I stopped in front of it and brushed a hand over the surprisingly soft bark. My eyes glanced at the last leaf remaining on the tree, and I couldn’t help but feel a small, glowing pride for the brave little leaf.

I’ll hang on to the end, it seemed to say.

I won’t give up unless I have to, it seemed to say.

I let a small, bitter smile fall upon my lips as I felt the incoming air currents of a particularly harsh wind. I kept my eyes open, unblinking, despite the sting, watching the leaf struggle to keep its hold on the thin twig. The tree seemed to respond; it wrapped its branches protectively around it, as if it knew that without the leaf, it would be facing the harsh, cold winter all alone.

The wind slowly settled, my hair now blown all over the place. When the breeze disappeared, and it was calm again, the leaf was barely hanging on to the tree.

Then, almost with a weary, satisfied whoosh, it floated down from the tree, landing neatly atop the pile of its friends. Feeling a bit of attachment to the poor thing, I walked over and leaned down to pick it up, brushing the soil off of its surface.

As I glanced down, a sudden burst of blue against the brown, yellow leaves caught my eyes. I swept the dead leaves away and picked up what seemed to be a small notebook, almost like a diary.

I realized with a start that it was the same shade as Han Ye’s dress.

Not knowing what made me do it, I flipped open the first cover and read the name written in black ink.

Han Ye.

Feeling an odd sensation take over me, I turned to the next page. There was a hand-drawn music staff with the familiar notes and melody of “Greensleeves” neatly transcribed onto it.  

Transfixed and mesmerized by the notebook I held in my trembling hands, I slowly flipped through the pages one by one.

After the sheet music for “Greensleeves”, there was no other writing, and the pages were left stark blank, pale green lines scrambling across the thin paper, save for the last page.

There, on the center of the page, were the words:

Be free, Yixing.

You can do it. I believe in you.

There was no missing person report filed; it was almost as if the girl had never existed. No one mentioned anything about finding a body floating in the ocean or about a person committing suicide on a cliff.

Although her presence was imprinted into my mind, I often wondered if the whole thing was just a dream. Even though I was so sure I saw her and that I still have her notebook… sometimes, I was unsure if it was really reality or if she was just an apparition.

Until one day, I found a newspaper article dated six years back.

Six years ago, a fourteen year old girl had gotten into a car crash, losing her vocal chords in the accident. According to statements from her parents and family, she fell into a depressed state, having seen her dreams wrenched out of her hands and torn into shreds all because of a careless spin of the steering wheel from her father. A few days later, her parents woke up to a suicide note from their daughter. It was rumored that she had jumped off a cliff.

Her name was Han Ye.

~~~

“Ge! Ge, thank God I found you! I knew you’d be here!”

A familiar, sweet voice floated towards my ears, and I glanced away from the ever-changing sea and to the speaker.

“Zitao? What are you doing here?” I asked, more out of courtesy than curiosity, turning to watch the waves chase each other across the shore again.

“Ge,” he whined, squatting down next to me. “They’re worried about you. Come on, let’s go back!”

“Worried about me?” I breathed, laughter mixing with my words, almost as if I found the whole idea of someone worrying about me ridiculous.

I turned to face him and saw his worried, serious orbs staring back at me.

“Yes, we’re worried about you,” he said softly. “It’s almost our debut soon, you can’t be like this!”

“Our debut?” I said, suppressing a scoff. “Shouldn’t it be your debut?”

I saw the hurt flash through his irises and felt the twinge of guilt clawing at my heart, but I ignored it, looking away from him.

“How… can you say that?” He whispered hoarsely, choking on the words. “We… All of us are members of Exo!”

“Members of Exo?” I muttered. “Am I not just the black hole?”

“Who cares if you’re the black hole?” He exclaimed impatiently, his voice gaining volume again.

“I’ll only bring you guys down.”

He sprang to his feet, evidently fed up and frustrated by my dejected tone and stubborn behavior.

“So what if you’ll bring us down? We’re all in this together, right? You were picked by the company, which means you have the potential! Ignore what those antis say; ignore what your parents say!”

He took a deep breath and lowered his voice again.

“Ge, believe in us,” he pleaded in a gentle voice. “If you make mistakes, we’ll fix them for you. If we make mistakes, I’m sure you’ll fix them for us too. Don’t forget, somewhere in this world, there’s someone looking forward to your debut, looking forward to your performance. You can’t let them down, can you?”

My mind flashed to the girl in the teal dress and cotton cardigan and her words to me.

“You can do it. I believe in you,” Zitao said quietly with a small smile, reaching for my hand.

I let him pull me to my feet and felt his arms wrap tightly around me.

Be free, Yixing.

You can do it. I believe in you.

A smile slid onto my face as I unconsciously raised my arms to hug Zitao back.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “Thank you for believing in me.”

Maybe… just maybe… the pain had numbed. Just a bit.

As we left the beach and the forever free and tumultuous waves, my eyes trailed across the rough ridges to the top of a cliff, landing on a strong standing maple tree.

There, I caught a glimpse of teal, white, and obsidian.

____________________UPDATED_____

A/N: Probably going to be my only story with a long Author's Note because I think it's quite self-explanatory.

Well, except for the title maybe. But yeah.

It was fun writing this :D

---edit--- nvm it's going to have one LOL