At seventy years old, Vince often found himself drifting—lost in thought, lost in time. That afternoon, standing in the middle of the sunflower field just outside the city limits, he let the warmth of the sun melt the years away. He remembered the day he met her. The field was brighter then, the air younger, and in his hands, a butterfly had rested briefly before taking off into the sky. Just like her.
He'd always told himself she was like that butterfly—beautiful, impossible to hold onto, destined to disappear just when he thought she might stay.
She had. And for four decades, the memory of that summer had lived quietly in his chest. Now, as the wind whispered through the flowers, Vince thought about how lucky he was to have known her at all—and how unlucky that all he had left was the memory.
Forty Years Earlier
"Sir, did you get a chance to look over the documents I sent?" Dale asked, poking his head through the office door. He was Vince's assistant—and had been his best friend since grade school.
Vince didn't turn away from the skyline. The city of Manx stretched out in all directions, glass towers and steel cranes clawing at the sky. His voice was distracted, tired. "More paperwork? Didn't I already sign off on that project weeks ago?"
"This is a new one," Dale said, walking in and placing the file on the desk. Hotel development. You've missed three meetings, Vince. I can only cover for you so many times."
Vince finally turned, running a hand through his slicked-back black hair and adjusting the collar of his white shirt. He gave Dale a smirk. "Isn't that why I pay you? To make me look good even when I'm not around?"
Dale frowned. "It's a multi-million dollar project. You can't just blow it off."
Vince moved to the desk and flipped open the file without really looking. "I've been dealing with CJ. They're trying to scoop up that land on the edge of town."
"You mean the sunflower field?" Dale asked. "Why are you so obsessed with that place? It's just a piece of dirt with flowers."
Vince looked up, and for a second, something old flickered in his eyes. "That 'piece of dirt' is the only thing in this city that still means something to me. You'll understand one day—how much the little things matter."
He signed the paper and grabbed his jacket.
Dale watched him, confused but curious. Vince had built skyscrapers, malls, luxury condos—he was a man of ambition, of plans. But now and then, he disappeared into silence, as if haunted by a life Dale had never seen.
The sunflower field wasn't just land. It was the last trace of a time Vince had never let go of, a moment when love felt eternal and the future was still unwritten.
And somewhere, buried beneath the deals and deadlines, Vince was still chasing the butterfly.
"Where are you going?" Dale asked.
"The usual spot," Vince replied without turning.
Dale raised an eyebrow. "You still looking for her?"
Vince shot him a look. "Why would I be? 'Usual spot' means the club, stupid."
Dale sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "You're always lying. You're the one who let her go. So why are you still chasing her?"
Vince didn't respond. He just hit the elevator button and stepped inside as the doors slid shut between them.
Down in the private garage beneath the BALSA corporate tower, Vince walked between two gleaming cars: a black Aston Martin Vanquish and a white Mercedes-AMG GT. Both were spotless, perfectly maintained. He swung both sets of keys in his hand like dice at a poker table.
"Which one?" he muttered to himself. "This one."
He clicked the Mercedes, and its lights flashed in response. Slipping into the driver's seat, he fired up the engine, the low growl echoing off the concrete walls.
As he pulled out of the lot, he waved to the security guard at the gate—then his eyes caught a massive billboard overhead, a towering ad that loomed above the city: BALSA GROUP – Powering the Future. His grandfather's company. Now his.
He stared at it for a moment as he waited for the light to change.
"You proud, Grandfather?" he said quietly. "All this money, all this power... and yet your own family couldn't stand the sight of you."
The light turned green. Vince pressed the gas and disappeared into the veins of the city.
Vince pulled into a cracked lot beside a run-down convenience store tucked in the corner of a crumbling neighborhood. This part of Manx had been forgotten by the city planners—just narrow alleyways, broken sidewalks, and streetlamps that flickered out before midnight.
He stepped inside, the bell above the door letting out a tired chime. The store smelled like old newspapers and fried noodles. Vince made his way to the fridge, reached in, and grabbed a handful of banana milk—the only thing he ever bought here.
He took a seat by the dusty window, the same booth he always used. He didn't drink the milk. He just held one in his hand and stared out the window, watching strangers pass—hoping for a familiar face.
Behind the counter, Tau rolled his eyes. "Old man, you gotta stop coming here. You're starting to freak people out."
Vince didn't look away from the glass. "Please. I'm probably the only thing keeping this place alive."
"Afloat, my ass," Tau muttered. "You just show up, buy your creepy banana milk, and haunt the window like a ghost. Aren't you supposed to be rich or something?"
"I'm poor," Vince said without missing a beat.
Tau gave him a long look, then let out a sigh. "It's been a year since she passed through here. You finally saw her—and you still didn't say anything. You're a loser, old man."
Vince chuckled quietly. "Sometimes... losing something is harder than people think. Even if all I get are glimpses, that's enough for me."
"That's messed up," Tau said. "If she ever finds out you've been sitting here like a weirdo, I hope she reports you for stalking."
"I hope she does too," Vince said, smiling faintly.
For years, this store had been his quiet corner of the city. Not because of the banana milk, or the worn-out booth, but because of a moment—a flicker of the past that had once walked past that very window. She never saw him, or maybe she did and pretended not to. He never knew. All he had were the memories he couldn't forget.
And so he waited. Not for her to return, but for time to give him something it never had—closure.