It was a Autumn night somewhere in California. They were in a park bench so similar yet so different to the one in that place far away. Mark was twenty-five. Jenni was twenty-four. But together their spirits enjoyed an eternal youth.

            “That star,” Jenni said, pointing with her finger, “that star holds my dead chance of finishing this blasted education any time soon.”

            “You shouldn’t think that way,” Mark replied, laughing. “That star,” he mimicked her previous actions, “holds Miss Jenni Lim’s positivity. In the seven years I’ve known her, she’s gone from an optimist to a cynic.”

            She gave him a scrunch of the nose, the expected response.

            “That star,” she said, changing her tone like that night so long ago, “my parents are there, I’m sure of it. I think they’re laughing at us.” She said it in a peaceful way, for the tears and the longing and the selfishness had past. They were gone, but they would always be with her.

            “I wish I could have met your dad,” he let the thought run out before realizing it.

            “Your father isn’t as bad as you make him out to be, you know. When you first introduced me to him, I could barely breathe. I thought he would disapprove of me and put you into some kind of arranged marriage, like those crazy dramas,” the analogy made Mark laugh aloud. “But he was just a simple man.”

            “He’s been getting better these