Sharon sat at her desk, fingertips grazing a small silver charm bracelet on her wrist something Jia had given her years ago, its cool smoothness grounding her amid the swirl of memories. Outside, the late city hum flickered against the windowpane, lights painting fleeting patterns on her polished wood.
The meeting replayed relentlessly in her mind: Sid's measured voice, the shock in her chest, and the tremor she'd barely contained. Yet beneath all the control, a quiet ache stirred a familiar, stubborn ache.
For a moment, Sharon's thoughts drifted back, pulled by the weight of a night long before the empire, before wounds and armor.
She was eleven then.
The night air had wrapped softly around her as she left her evening class behind, the sidewalk warm beneath cautious feet. Shadows stretched long, the scent of rain lingering just beyond reach, and her textbook was clutched more out of habit than worry. The old building at the end of the street glowed like a worn lighthouse, both a beacon and a border.
Sid's memory folded into hers at fifteen, standing beneath a flickering yellow gate bulb, spinning a cricket ball between practiced fingers. He had noticed her before, too quiet, too alone, eyes searching the world with a hesitant spark.
He timed his steps to cross hers, shedding his usual bravado. "Hey," he'd said, softer than expected.
Sharon, with the tentative bravery of a child learning the rules of connection, had offered a small, steady "Hello."
Sid glanced at her curiously. "What's your name?" His voice wasn't demanding, more like he truly wanted to know.
A moment of hesitation, then Sharon whispered, "Sharon."
He smiled, nodding as if her name fit the quietness he'd sensed around her.
He'd asked about the building she lived in; she'd nodded, suddenly self-conscious as if privacy were a fragile thing to protect.
Sid had fallen into step beside her, deliberately slowing his gait, becoming an unexpected guardian for those few minutes. At the elevator, her fingers trembled lightly as she pressed the button, the uncertainty of cold, nerves, or something unnamed. The doors slid open, spilling warm light.
And then an impulsive gesture, Sid leaned down, pinched her cheeks, grinning awkwardly: "You're so cute."
Sharon's reflection stared back from the mirrored elevator wall, wide-eyed, startled, a mix of discomfort and shy curiosity. Not special, not giddy. Just... noticed.
Sid's present-day heart ached at how fragile that moment had seemed, how much he'd wished only to leave a smile, not unease.
The memory melted back into now.
Sharon's fingers brushed the charm bracelet again, the cool metal a delicate echo of that childhood night, grounding her in the present as a soft ping vibrated from her phone.
A message from Jia:
"Check your drawer. Chocolate emergency kit activated. And hey, you're braver than you think. Always here. "
Sharon's lips curved faintly in a grateful smile.
Beyond the glow of the city, the past and present hummed quietly intertwined, both fractured and whole, a tether linking two paths that had once diverged but now converged again.
Tomorrow would bring new questions, harder truths. But tonight, amidst silver light and lingering echoes, Sharon found a fleeting peace in shared memories and an unspoken understanding that the road ahead might be uncertain, but she did not walk it alone.