Chapter 12 – "Pieces of Us"
The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting soft golden shadows on the cobbled path ahead. Birds chirped faintly in the distance, and the scent of hibiscus danced in the breeze. The third memory spot was quiet, almost sacred—the old greenhouse behind the botanical garden, the one they used to sneak into as kids.
"I didn't even remember this place existed," Yin Yin whispered, eyes scanning the rusted frame and dusty glass panes.
Yu Yin stood still, her fingers lightly grazing the chipped gate. "It's… beautiful," she murmured. "Familiar. But distant. Like a song I used to know but can't sing anymore."
They stepped inside. It was a small haven of forgotten time—vines growing wild, sunbeams slicing through broken glass, and the faint scent of lavender clinging to the earth. As Yin Yin led her deeper in, Yu Yin's breath caught in her throat.
"This was our place, wasn't it?" she asked.
Yin Yin smiled sadly. "One of them. You used to call it our secret kingdom. You made up stories about us being warriors in a forgotten land. I had to wear that ridiculous flower crown every time we came."
Yu Yin laughed—soft and unsure, but real. "I made you wear a flower crown?"
Yin Yin nodded. "Every single time. And if it wilted, we had to make another. You were stubborn about it."
"I sound annoying."
"You were," Yin Yin said, nudging her playfully. "But you were also my favorite person in the world."
A silence fell between them. Yu Yin turned, her fingers brushing over an old wooden bench beneath a crooked fig tree. She sat down slowly, the memories pressing faintly against the walls of her mind like waves lapping a shore.
"There was a time," she said slowly, "you told me I was the only one who understood your silence."
Yin Yin froze, blinking. "You remember that?"
"I… don't know. It just slipped out," Yu Yin said, frowning. "But it feels real."
Yin Yin took a deep breath, her voice softer now. "You said that to me first. I was upset one day after school. You didn't ask questions. You just sat beside me in silence. After a while, you whispered, 'Don't worry. I understand your silence.' I cried like a baby."
Yu Yin smiled faintly. "Sounds like something I'd say."
The greenhouse air was thick with dust and old secrets. But in that moment, it felt sacred. Yu Yin's gaze lingered on the edges of the space—every broken corner, every vine-strangled bench. Each one tugged at a corner of her memory.
"I remember… something about sneaking out late," she whispered. "We… had a bike. We painted it bright pink."
Yin Yin gasped. "Yes! 'Thunder Sparkle.' You named it that because you said it sounded 'dangerously girly.' We took turns riding it down the hill behind the school."
A laugh bubbled out of Yu Yin. "I crashed it into the neighbor's fence, didn't I?"
"You broke his gnome!" Yin Yin was laughing too now, eyes wet. "He came out yelling with a rake and we ran like idiots—hid in your mom's pantry behind bags of rice."
Yu Yin clutched her head. "Why am I suddenly remembering all this?"
"Because you're here," Yin Yin said, placing a hand over hers. "Because we're retracing the parts of you that never really left."
For a moment, Yu Yin was silent. Then she whispered, "I feel… sad."
"Why?"
"Because I missed so much. I left you behind without even knowing it. And you—" she turned to Yin Yin, eyes shining—"you held onto us this whole time."
Yin Yin's smile trembled. "Of course I did. You were my person, Yu Yin. No matter where you went, I never stopped believing you'd come back to me."
Yu Yin's throat ached. Her vision blurred. "Do you hate me for forgetting?"
"No," Yin Yin whispered. "I just want you to remember how much we loved each other. How stupid and loud and loyal we were."
Yu Yin pulled her into a sudden hug—tight, trembling, emotional. For a long time, they didn't say a word.
"I'm sorry," Yu Yin whispered.
"You don't have to be," Yin Yin murmured. "You're finding your way back."
The wind stirred through the broken glass roof above them, scattering old petals across the stone floor. Yu Yin pulled back slowly, her eyes scanning the greenhouse again.
"There was a tree," she said suddenly. "In the back… we carved something on it."
Yin Yin stood. "Come on."
They found the fig tree tucked near the corner, still half-wrapped in climbing vines. They peeled them back, slowly, until the rough bark beneath revealed the faint carving:
"YY + YY = Forever Trouble"
Yu Yin stared, her breath caught in her throat.
"I made the joke that we'd both marry rich, become evil stepmothers, and still meet once a month to gossip and drink iced tea," Yin Yin said, laughing through tears.
Yu Yin reached out, tracing the letters. "I was the first 'YY', right?"
"Always," Yin Yin said.
More images surged forward—Yin Yin tripping over her untied shoelaces, them sneaking cupcakes from Yu Yin's aunt's bakery, the time they both faked a fever to avoid math class and ended up in bed watching cartoons all day.
Yu Yin looked up, face pale with emotion. "I remember your laugh," she said, blinking rapidly. "I remember how you always made me feel… safe."
Yin Yin smiled, tears streaking her cheeks. "I remember everything for the both of us. But now, you're starting to remember too."
And for the first time in ten years, Yu Yin felt whole.
Not fully restored.
Not yet healed.
But whole—because the missing pieces were no longer lost.
They were just waiting to be found.