Bridge

I didn't think I'd run into Diane when I set out on my bicycle that evening. The sun was lazily drifting out of the sky, its long rays casting soft shadows among the trees in the park. A brisk wind blew, with pale green leaves dancing about in its wake. The ground was still damp from the shower the day before, and it crunched pleasantly as the wheels of my bike went over it.

Up ahead was one of the better parts of the route - a bridge that crossed over the park's central river. At this time of day, the sunset presided on the left-hand side of the bridge, and it offered a glorious panorama as it painted the park in warm hues of pink and gold.

I turned into the bridge, and my eyes were frozen in place as they gazed at the sky. Today's sunset was especially breathtaking - Van Gogh could not have framed it better. When I summoned the will to look away, I realized I was about to cycle headlong into a slender figure ahead of me.

I swerved, and swerved again to avoid going over the bridge. The end result was that the joggers on the bridge were treated to a collapse that could compete for clumsiness with a one-legged penguin.

As I lay dazed on the ground, trying to blink away the stars that dotted my vision, a pair of big green eyes floated into view.

"Ishmael?"

I knew that voice. I hadn't heard it in ages.

"Diane?"

***

Diane and I did the same degree at the same college, so we used to occasionally bump into each other during lessons or exams. She had always been the introverted type, not one to mingle with the masses too often. Being something of a wallflower myself, we never really got to know each other during those heady college days.

After I managed to pull myself into a reasonably upright position, I found out that she had recently moved into the area, and was discovering the park for the first time.

"Well, I've been in the neighbourhood a while - want to check out my route? It has some excellent views along the way, especially at this time."

Diane smiled at the offer. She had a strikingly pretty smile.

"Sure, I don't mind. How long is it from here?"

"Not too long. We can probably walk the rest of it in about twenty minutes."

"Perfect - let's get going then!"

We caught up on the leisurely stroll through the rest of the park. I told her about the software firm I was working for, and then found out that she had an identical position with one of our direct competitors. We couldn't help but chuckle at the irony.

"So we're at the end of the route - what do you think? Trés scenic, yes?"

Diane agreed.

"I'll admit, you have very good taste in background foliage. And hey, my place is not too far from here. It's really close to this cafe with the best hot chocolate EVER. Want to check it out?"

I could sense my jaw hanging open. I am drawn to hot chocolate like a mosquito to blood. This was going to be the start of a beautiful friendship - and maybe more.

***

The meetings with Diane became a weekly event. I would cycle up the bridge and then meet her there, before walking the rest of the way to the cafe with the amazing hot chocolate.

The more I met her, the more things I discovered we had in common. She loved a lot of the same movies and TV shows that I did, and was even into the same hobbies like Dungeons and Dragons, cooking and playing the flute. I found myself wondering why I hadn't gotten to know her better back in college - and vowing to correct that glaring mistake as fast as possible.

I don't recall when it was that I started to have feelings for her. But at some point, I started to yearn every week for those big green eyes, the tinkling laughter and that dazzling smile of hers. And the two of us were single - it was only the nearly crippling fear of rushing into things, and uncertainty as to whether she felt the same about me, that stopped me from moving on to first base.

I do, however, recall the day it all came tumbling down.

Diane had messaged me beforehand saying she wouldn't be coming that evening because she was meeting friends. I didn't think much of it as I cycled through the park, drenched in the haze of the late summer.

On my way back home, I decided on a whim to cycle past the cafe. When I approached though, I saw Diane just outside the cafe with a friend. Singular. And their lips were unmistakeably locked in a passionate embrace. As the soup of emotions came to a boil within me, I bolted from the scene before I could do anything violent.

My hands were trembling as I furiously rode home. The wheels on my bike screeched as I swerved wildly past startled passers-by. I couldn't think straight even as I stumbled blindly into my apartment, my things tossed carelessly on the couch.

I broke off all contact with Diane that day. I deleted whatever contacts of hers I had, blocked her on whatever social networks we were a part of. I avoided our usual haunts, and even changed my cycling day so that I wouldn't run into her.

The initial anger passed after a few days, but the sense of betrayal lingered for much longer. Anytime I did something that reminded me of her, a sharp pain would pierce my thoughts, and for a few minutes I would lose focus of the things going on around me. It was the first time anyone had left such a deep wound in my emotions, and I hoped it would be the last.

Diane messaged me a few times after that day. I didn't respond, and I think she got the hint. Either that or she stopped caring. I didn't want to dwell on which one it may have been.

***

A year passed, and after a relationship with another girl that nearly went somewhere significant before abruptly falling off a cliff, I was tired of it all. I realized that trying to be in a relationship for the sake of being in one was not worth the effort, and ultimately not satisfying. I didn't want to admit it, but I started missing Diane's company - I didn't have that many other friends with as many interests in common, so there still was a vaguely Diane-shaped hole in my heart.

It was plugged quite unexpectedly at a second-hand book sale.

I had just found a very engrossing mystery thriller, and was unconsciously drifting about the alleys within the stacks of books with my nose buried in its pages. As a result, I didn't notice the bag that had been placed directly in my path. I felt a fleeting sense of weightlessness before the ground gave me a hard, painful welcome.

My face was still plastered onto the pages of the book when I heard an exclamation somewhere above me.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I really should be more careful where I put my...Ishmael?!"

I knew that voice.

I hadn't heard it in ages.

***

After the initial greetings, she popped the question I still didn't want to answer.

"What happened? It was like you just disappeared off the surface of the planet!"

I hesitated.

"Well, I...I had some relationship issues to deal with. You could say I got into an anti-people phase - it's been a trying year."

She definitely detected the reluctance in my words. I hoped she didn't catch on to anything else.

"Yeah, I haven't been doing too well on the personal front either. Kapil and I are still seeing each other, but our parents are both very against the two of us. So we're just keeping a low profile and waiting for them to change their minds. But parents can be so stubborn."

I felt a small part of me die just then. I tried not to let it show.

"So, what did you think of the latest season of The Saga of Flame and Frost?"

That used to be one of the shows Diane and I loved watching. I stopped watching it back when it started reminding me of her.

"Um...to tell you the truth, I haven't watched it for a while now. I've... been busy."

Diane's jaw dropped slightly.

"WHAT? It was one of the best seasons yet! I just have to bring you up to speed on it! How about we do it over a cup of hot chocolate at the cafe?"

I had all but lost hope that this moment would arrive. Ever since my last relationship ended I had nothing but regret for my actions regarding Diane. And here I was, being given the opportunity to make amends for them.

I didn't hesitate this time.

"Sure, let's do it this evening, if you're free."

Diane smiled. It was still just as striking as it used to be.

I had been far too hasty in burning this bridge that fateful day. As I walked out of the bookstore, I silently vowed to throw away the matches this time around.

Metamorphosis

Garrick needed a purpose in his life, although he would never tell you that himself. He had just finished schooling, and was at the stage in life where adults kept nagging him to think about university and his future, and all he wanted to do was hang out with his buddies and do the exact opposite. The immediate present, filled with video games and popcorn combos, was far more appealing than trying to decide which degree was the least yawn-inducing.

His hair was perfectly spruced up with gel and hairspray - during the day, it could shine more than his glasses did. He and his friends had just started workout routines at the gym - leg days followed chest days, protein shakes followed swills of energy drinks. He was so firmly entrenched in the philosophy of living for the moment that even an industrial crane would have trouble yanking him out of it in one piece.

And so it was that one day, after an intense session of gaming (with many obscenities screamed into his headset along the way), Garrick found himself waiting at the lights of a crossing, the train station that led home on the other side of the road. He had earphones on, and angst-ridden tones of a teenage punk band rumbled in his head.

He didn't notice the man tapping his shoulder until a particularly loud song just ended. He cautiously removed one of his earphones.

"Are you interested in watching this movie? I have an extra ticket because my friend can't make it."

The man was holding out a very authentic looking movie ticket for a showing at a nearby cinema. Garrick had been to it several times before, but hadn't seen the movie being offered. He cautiously grabbed at the ticket, as though it would suddenly spray acid on his face.

"The movie's starting soon. Hope you enjoy it."

And just like that, the man with the familiar face was gone.

Garrick looked around, but he couldn't find the man. The crossing light was about to turn green, and the ticket in his hand still felt extremely legitimate.

The movie on it was about to start in ten minutes.

The light turned green. He turned around. The cinema wasn't far, and he didn't have anything else planned that day.

***

The movie was about black holes, and space-time, and worm holes, and relativity, and the final frontier, and it all just simply blew Garrick's mind. A desire deep inside him had been dislodged, set free to prowl about inside his soul. He wanted, more than anything, to explore the vastness of the universe. To feel gravity loosen its clutches on him, to see cloud patterns swirl across Earth's blue surface from afar, to hear the absolute nothingness of space.

When he woke up the next day though, the excitement had faded away, as it would have for most impressionable teenagers. But the desire still survived, lurking within his subconscious.

***

The first lecture of the semester was about as interesting as watching a snail cross the road. Garrick managed to listen to the lecturer drone his way through Physics 101 for about ten minutes before immersing himself in a game with a far more interesting demonstration of physics on his phone. The girl to his right glanced at him with a clearly affronted look - not that Garrick cared. She wasn't much of a looker, so Garrick didn't bother looking for long.

***

Garrick had managed to breeze through most of school, so he expected university to be more of the same. He had been smart enough to get by without studying all those years, so why start now?

So he thought before he got the results from his first test. There was so much red on the paper it wouldn't have looked out of place at a murder scene.

It took a while to sink in that university was going to a very different beast from everything he'd known before. One of the hardest things a smart person has to accept is the possibility that he really isn't that smart after all.

***

He'd been lumped into a group project with the annoying girl, and didn't enjoy her company one bit. She was too academic, too focused on getting all the details right. All he wanted to do was scratch the online gaming itch he'd been feeling all week. His friends were going to get together and play a match any moment now.

"Garrick, did you research the articles on the applications of the quantum tunnelling effect? We need the write-up for the third part of the report!"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, let me email it to you."

A moment later...

"This write-up is horrible! This is all fluff! Why didn't you add more technical details from the articles?"

Garrick bemusedly let the girl finish her rant, then suggested that if she could do better, then by all means go ahead. While she fumed, he got a text from his friends - they were going to start a match soon. He packed up his things and scurried off from the table before the rest of the group could finish objecting to his sudden departure.

***

The end of the semester felt like it would never come, but it finally did. Garrick had managed an average grade of B- after picking up some slack. But he knew he could do so much better. Getting into the aeronautical stream of engineering was going to be tough, and a grade of B- would get him nowhere near it. The dream to go into space hadn't died yet, and he didn't want it to die by his hand.

He absently ran a hand through his gelled hair, and then stared at it for a while. Maybe it was time for a change of priorities...

***

Annabel was positively beaming when he finished his section of the presentation. She held her hand up for a subtle high five. Garrick awkwardly returned it. He was trying his hardest not to emote, but he couldn't help it - working together with the rest of the group had felt good. He tried to remove the slight smile on his face, but it refused to budge.

Annabel wasn't as annoying as she used to be all those months ago either - then again, he wasn't as much of a selfish bum as he used to be either, and maybe that had helped.

He'd started being more helpful in group projects because it would get his grades up. Now, he thought maybe grades weren't the only good thing about his change in attitude.

***

Garrick managed to finish his degree in five years with a 2nd Upper Class and Honours. When the time came to throw up his graduation cap in the air, there were no traces of hair product on it.

***

The interview to get into the Space Station Apprentice Program had been nerve-wracking. The panel had been impressed with his academic turnaround during university, but his grades were still a bit lower than what they were looking for. Garrick had kept himself in shape though, and there was no question that he was healthy enough to be an astronaut. The doubt only lay in his qualifications.

The next few days had all begun with the same routine - clamber out of bed, switch on the laptop and open up his email. It mostly ended in one of two ways - a deflated sigh when there were no new emails, or some skipped beats of his heart followed by an exasperated huff as the new emails turned out to be junk, or near enough.

And then the email he'd been waiting for arrived. The first line said "It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted..."

He was too busy whooping and jumping about in his underwear to read the rest just yet.

***

Ten years of hard work and perseverance later, the dream had finally come to fruition. He was seated in the pilot's seat of the spacecraft, his suit checked and securely fastened, his pulse pounding in his ears. He looked at all the indicators, making sure they were the right colour, or in the right place. The sheer number of knobs and dials had blown his mind the first time he'd seen them. Now, with many experiences in the simulator behind him, he knew exactly how to read them.

"Ground Control, all systems go, ready for launch."

"Adventurer, all systems check, launch in T minus 5 minutes."

The flight was going to be simple, a round trip to Mars and back. Garrick remembered a time when the journey needed a few years to be completed - with recent advances in technology, it could now be done in just one.

The countdown had begun. "T minus 15 seconds to launch. T minus 10...9...8..."

His heart was racing so fast it was in danger of bursting out of his chest. He could feel his fingers trembling with excitement.

"5...4...3...2...1...we have lift off!"

He was shoved back into his seat hard by the sudden burst of speed of the spacecraft. The rocket engines were firing away with the force of what felt like a thousand bombs. His body had been trained to withstand the tremendous G-forces, but the training had only ever been a simulation. The real thing was an experience to behold.

After what felt like hours, gravity let loose its grip on him, and he could feel the familiar tingle of weightlessness settling in. He unclasped his seatbelts and floated out of his chair, joining the rest of the crew as they drifted about the cockpit. He had floated in swimming pools. He had floated in a free-falling airplane. But they were all pale imitations of what he felt now. This was simply breathtaking. It was ethereal. It was amazing.

It was a dream come true.

***

2 months into the voyage, Garrick's crewmate had detected an anomaly on the path ahead. Confirmation with Ground Control established that it was a wormhole that had begun opening up just after they finished slingshotting around the moon a few weeks back. Within a few days though, it had expanded in size alarmingly quickly, so much so that at the speed they were cruising at, the Adventurer would be unable to avoid it - they couldn't use the fuel they had to deflect from the path either, because it was needed to turn them around when they got to Mars. Garrick suddenly thought back to the movie he had watched all those years ago - the astronauts in the movie had gone through the wormhole and discovered some spectacular worlds on the other side. Although Ground Control was apprehensive as to their fate, maybe a little optimism was in order.

The rest of the crew seemed to have come to the same conclusion. They all drifted to their seats and buckled in as the wormhole's gravitational pull tugged them closer. A few rattles of the ship later, they were sucked in with what Garrick imagined would have been a sharp plop, if space had allowed for one.

They flew through what could best be described as a tunnel with dark, eerily wriggling walls. Garrick thought he could see the milky haze that had helped give a name to the Milky Way galaxy, but it too was writhing about like faint, other-worldly tendrils.

And then, just like that, they were on the other side of the wormhole, and the familiar vastness of space greeted them.

A few quick calculations later, Garrick's crewmate discovered that they were, surprisingly, still in the Solar system. As a matter of fact, on their current trajectory, they would reach Earth in two to three months.

Garrick sat back feeling a bit disgruntled. The wormhole had been a big letdown.

Or so he thought.

***

"Ground control, this is Adventurer, we are approaching Earth's exosphere."

A few minutes interspersed with static later:

"Adventurer, we have no records of your ship leaving Earth. Please clarify your launch details."

Garrick looked at his crew. The air was thick with confusion. His crewmate transmitted their launch details.

The response, when it came, took a while to comprehend.

"According to your data, Adventurer, your launch took place 16 years - from now. Please confirm your launch details."

The crew were stunned. Even the repeated questions from Ground Control did little to break the silence.

***

They landed safely in the middle of the ocean, but during the final descent, the heat from the atmosphere's friction had weakened some parts of the ship's hull, which had then cracked open on contact with the water. The crew made it out alive, but had to despondently watch their ship sink into a watery grave from their inflatable raft. It felt anticlimactic, and Garrick didn't like it one bit.

When they finally reached Ground Control, the place was buzzing with a suppressed awe. Even though there were a few in doubt, most of them had accepted the strangeness of what had just occurred - the crew of Adventurer had travelled back in time.

They decided to keep the incident under wraps, since time travel would have been a little too incredulous for the public to take in. Also, the wormhole through which they had come out had collapsed weeks ago; this along with the fact that their ship was sleeping with the fishes somewhere meant that there wasn't enough evidence for a convincing story.

The crew, Garrick included, stayed on as advisors at the Space Station. Their information about future developments in technology, though lacking in some detail, was extremely valuable nonetheless.

One day, while browsing the internet, Garrick happened upon a trailer for an upcoming movie. It was about travelling into space, and wormholes and black holes were some of the main attractions. The trailer looked very, very familiar - and then he remembered where he'd seen it before.

Another realization, one with far more intensity, struck him almost immediately after. There was something he needed to do.

***

The newly bought ticket was held firmly in his hand. He stood quietly near the wall, giving him a good view of the crossing ahead. Any moment now...

There! He found the person he was looking for. A teenage boy with ridiculously spruced up hair, walking nonchalantly towards the crossing, earphones blasting punk music into his head.

Garrick took a moment to realize just how much things had changed. How much HE had changed. He couldn't believe that the boy he was looking at right now, so pompous and carefree, would grow up to become a meticulous, hard-working aerospace engineer. But that was the thing about change, wasn't it? Even the smallest incidents could set in motion a turn of events with unimaginable outcomes. A butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil could set off a hurricane in Texas.

It was time for this butterfly to get to work. He briskly strode over to the boy and tapped on his shoulder.

"Are you interested in watching this movie? I have an extra ticket because my friend can't make it."

Summer

Brandon woke up two minutes before his alarm rang.

He freshened up with water that was so cold he felt like he'd dunked his face in an ice bucket. He carefully put on his neatly pressed work suit - if there had been any creases, they had been shamed away by the rest of his clothes. Breakfast was a sad bowl of cereal drowning in an excessive pond of milk, followed by a mug of coffee so dark it was sucking the color from the mug. He threw on a coat and hat a slightly darker shade of grey than the suit he was wearing, and stepped out into bracing winter air.

He was at the bus stand three minutes before his bus arrived. He sat at the seat four rows behind the driver - at this point, it should have had his name stitched on it. As the bus rumbled through the city roads, he glanced out at the smooth alabaster sky, occasionally poked at by the taller buildings that called the industrial district their home. There were no birds flying in this cold - they either had far too much sense for it, or they didn't and weren't up there for long.

His workstation, spotless and soulless, awaited him in his cubicle. With a sigh, Brandon sat down in his sparsely cushioned chair and tried to look forward to the day's emails and engineering work.

He gave up at the sight of his inbox.

***

The bus back home was delayed. A puff of misty air escaped his lips as Brandon sat down on the lightly frosted bench.

The evening had brought with it a moderate snow fall. In a happier place, the snowflakes would have been twirling daintily on their way to the ground, and a cheery musical score with glockenspiel notes would have played in the background. This was not such a place. Here, the snow simply plummeted, as though it just wanted to get this falling nonsense all over with. And there was no music - unless you counted the scratchy whistling of the evening breeze (but calling that music would cause the standard of music to plummet like the snow).

Sitting idly at the bus stand often has the side-effect of letting one's mind run wild with introspection. Brandon's was no exception. It was slow at first, as though it had just woken up from a night's drinking and wasn't quite sure whose couch it was in. But then the cold air kicked it into gear, and it started to run down the path of bleak pessimism. Thoughts about his monotonous life and comatose dreams started to buzz in his head like a swarm of despondent bees. Brandon sighed deeply and buried his face in his gloved hands.

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?"

The voice was chirpy and friendly, maybe even melodic. It was a voice that wouldn't be out of place in a kid-friendly musical.

Brandon turned around. "Excuse... me?"

Her skin was the only thing he noticed for a while. It looked like she had just walked out of a skin care billboard. Her skin was so smooth and flawless that it almost glowed - or maybe it was glowing, and his eyes were trying to rationalize the faint aura around her. It was the kind of skin that a high-strung model would look at and then burst into jealous tears, before flinging her make-up around the room and storming out the door.

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't speaking to you just now. It was my... well, brother, I guess. He's being a little overbearing right now. He normally doesn't emote too much, but he can be so depressing when he does -  I've disturbed you too much already, haven't I?"

Having recovered a bit from the radiance of her skin, Brandon was able to make out a pair of blue eyes and a bright smile. She looked more than a few years older than him, but not too old either. Blond strands of hair peeked out from under her amber shaded beanie. She was wearing a cheddar-colored coat over what looked like a dress with a floral pattern. Strangely, her coat didn't appear damp from the snow.

"Erm, no, not really. I was just... no, it's nothing."

The lady continued to glance softly at him, as though expecting a few more words. Brandon awkwardly obliged.

"I'm Brandon. I work at the engineering firm a few blocks that way. Macronics Inc."

"Nice to meet you, Brandon. Do you like working there?"

He usually had an answer for that question. It involved words like "stable" and "good pay" and was designed to be succinct and not leave room for more enquiries. This time though, it seemed to have melted away, exposing a deeper, flawed version.

"Well, it pays the bills I guess. And it's a good career. I've been working there for almost four years now, and I've been promoted once or twice. The work's not too bad - it's what my degree prepared me for. I really shouldn't complain, but..."

He hesitated. The lady nodded encouragingly, leading him on like a parent trying to persuade their child to recite a particularly embarrassing poem they had written.

"...I feel like this is all I'm ever going to do, to be, for the rest of my life. It sounds like that's a good thing, you know, have a steady job, get a car and house, family - but the thought terrifies me. I feel like I should be doing other things, but this job is the only one I've ever been good at, the only one I've ever known. I feel like I'm stuck in a sewer tunnel, scurrying along in the same direction as all the other rats because it's the proper thing to do, and... and... it just depresses me. Or maybe it's the weather making me think like this. But I feel miserable."

He was almost surprised at the burst of honesty. He also had the eerie sensation that he was watching himself from a distance.

The lady smiled again. She had a very pretty smile.

"Hmmm, I'm not quite sure why, but this reminds me of a story I once heard, a long time ago. Would you like to hear it? It might cheer you up."

Brandon nodded. And then wondered why he did.

"It begins with a chieftain of a tribe, a fierce and courageous warrior. His name was Metkachin. He and his group of loyal followers were the most feared and respected in all the land. They mostly defended their own village from outside threats, but sometimes they went on the warpath and raided other villages for food and supplies. And Metkachin, he was almost invincible. Other men trembled when they saw him approach, axe held high and steel in his eyes."

"He was as loyal and dutiful a soldier to his people as one could ever hope for. To him, he lived only to fight for and protect his people. Nothing else mattered. In due time, he was married to the prettiest and kindest girl in the village, Nyoma, who bore him a fine looking son that they named Tikal. He was proud of his son, but did not waver from his vigil as chief. To him, the boy would only matter once he had come of age. Nyoma would look on longingly as he rode out to his patrol, or on a raid, hoping he would come back safely. And he returned every single time, with only ever a few scratches and a stern countenance."

"But one day, he returned with far more serious injuries. Nyoma was aghast, but attended to them quickly. He recovered, but wouldn't be able to fight for at least a month. He was stubborn at first, refusing to stay at home while his men were out, but the pain of his injuries knocked some sense into him. So, grudgingly, he stayed at home, while Nyoma happily tended to him."

"One day, while walking around the garden behind his home, he saw his son, a young boy of four now, playing in the sand. At first, he stayed away, content to merely watch and ensure was safe. But then he saw that Tikal was drawing in the sand - and curiosity got the better of him. He walked over to where his son was, and sat down beside him. Tikal was startled at first, and shied away. The two of them looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Then Metkachin, slayer of many mortal men, began to draw in the sand himself. Tikal slowly ambled over, and joined him. Together, they created many masterpieces in that patch of sand in the garden. Sometimes, they even laughed and smiled at their work. And Metkachin learned that there were other things in life that mattered just as much as his duty and position. And he learned to smile more often."

The lady ended the story there, looking into the distance as she did. Brandon didn't quite know how to respond.

"That was... was that a folktale of some sort?"

The lady's cheerful face turned on him once more.

"Maybe it is. Maybe it's a real story that happened long ago. Maybe it's a myth. But that's not why I remember it so fondly."

"Okay. Um..."

"I'm a firm believer in happiness and optimism. I'm also a firm believer in taking a break, and stopping to smell the roses - especially when they're in full bloom."

Understanding dawned on Brandon.

"Sometimes, people are so focused on surviving that they forget to live. And I like to remind them that there's more to the world than what lies within their little bubbles. I love the sound they make when those bubbles pop, and the people step out and realize what they've been ignorant of. It can be harsh at first, but in the end, it only ever results in joy and contentment."

Brandon let the words sink in. Then he ventured, "So, you think I should quit my job?"

It was amazing how the lady could make even a snort sound musical.

"That seems a bit drastic, don't you think? Maybe all you need is a holiday. Travel somewhere, try something new like, hmm, cooking or painting. Give your life more color. Maybe starting with your clothes. Even my brother isn't so monochromatic."

Brandon didn't approve of the chuckles that followed. But he couldn't maintain his disapproval - it was like staying mad at a puppy.

"Is that your bus?"

Brandon turned to look. Sure enough, there it was, slogging through the thick layer of snow on the road.

He turned back to say goodbye, but the lady was gone. All that remained of her presence was a few tendrils of mist rising from the bench where she had been sitting. Puzzled, Brandon clambered into the bus. He was still looking at the misty patch as it pulled away from the bus stand.

He realized the lady had never told him her name. But he was somehow quite sure that he already knew.

It was Summer.

Name

"It pains me to say this, but..."

Oh no. Not again.

"...her lungs haven't developed as much as they should have at this point of development. Now, this is not a death sentence - there have been cases where babies with defects like these have been able to survive and lead relatively normal lives, but I don't want to give you false hope..."

After the doctor had awkwardly shuffled out of the room, my wife Maple and I exchanged a look of uncertainty amidst a heavy silence. One which I finally broke.

"Should we name her now?"

***

Our first child would have been a boy named Harley. He was born 2 months premature though, and had defects in his bone marrow that caused complications with his blood circulation and oxygen intake. He died after two weeks and a day; he never even left the hospital. We had tried to cling on to some hope during those agonizing days, only to break down in tears when we saw those hopes take their last strangled breath.

Our second child would have been a girl named Nikita. She was born with my dark brown eyes and her mother's tender features. Just a few hours after her birth, she died in her sleep for reasons we may never know. The doctors called it "Sudden Infant Death Syndrome", as though giving it a cold and sterile name could numb its torment somehow. Looking back, I can only remember feeling hollow from the shock that day.

***

A rose by any other name may smell just as sweet, but by giving it a name it becomes more than just a rose. A stray dog on the road is a mere mongrel; a stray dog you adopt and name Rover will become your closest friend. By naming something, or someone, they take up a space inside us; their roots grow into our hearts. And when they disappear from our lives, those roots painfully rip out a piece of us as they go.

Maple and I had been torn up enough. I didn't think we needed to go through it again.

Maple thought differently.

"I feel like we still should. If we don't name her now, it's like we're not even giving her a chance to have a life."

"But do you really want to go through this all over again? After what happened last time?"

Maple looked away, furtively clutching the faded scars on her wrist.

"We don't have to do it now," I continued, as rationally as I could, "we can wait until she's born, until we're sure she'll live. A lot of couples don't even name their baby until weeks after birth."

Maple took a while to respond.

"But we don't. And it feels wrong to stop now. We gave our - we gave them a chance. We shouldn't leave her out."

I couldn't look into those pale brown eyes and argue any longer. I sighed.

"Alright then. So, any ideas?"

"We should name her after someone stubborn. Someone with a forceful personality."

"So we're naming her Maple then?"

I got a reproving glare for that one. But it came with a smile - the first smile we shared that dismal evening.

***

As though the Gods would never stop toying with our emotions, Hazel was given birth to six weeks premature. The doctors had to immediately place her in an incubation unit and plug an oxygen tube into her wrinkled little mouth. Even then, her fragile little lungs seemed doomed to fail - she couldn't even whimper, let alone cry. Maple and I could only stare with tear-stricken eyes as our little girl lay inside her high-tech little cot, a mass of tubes snaking in and out of it.

Every tick of the clock was a stab, chipping away relentlessly at our resolve. The beeps and murmurs of the machinery around the cot were cold, unfeeling. As I sat beside Maple's bed day after day, the shadows would crawl menacingly across the room as they heralded the restless spring nights. I couldn't help but shudder as they crept across Hazel's incubator, like spidery fingers slowly stealing the life from her fragile little body.

The flashbacks began about two nights after Hazel was born. I would look towards Hazel's cot and see Harley, his pearly eyes staring bleakly at me, the life draining out of them far too rapidly. I would see blank figures mull around him, their faces vague from a hazy recollection. And then, always, the visions would end with an empty cot - the worst flashback of all.

The pain I was feeling was nowhere near Maple's though. When she wasn't gripping my hand like a vice, she would bury her head in her arms and moan. Those moans were terrible, the soundtrack of a haunted asylum on an evil night. It took all of my strength to be there holding her, trying to keep us afloat in the storm of misery we were floundering in.

One night, when Maple had somehow drifted into an uneasy sleep, I walked out of the room to the nearest vending machine. Caffeinated cola in hand, I tried to make it back to the door, but slumped against the wall outside instead. I must have looked a pathetic heap, collapsed there while slurping despondently at the cola.

I couldn't hear the words Harley and Nikita anymore without feeling a stab of pain at my insides. I didn't want to add Hazel to that list - it was far too many names to mourn.

***

It was the morning of the thirteenth day. The doctor walked in with an air of finality. I sleepily looked up, saw him approach the incubator and feared the worst. Maple was in a state of semi-drowsiness, so she didn't seem to have noticed the doctor enter.

He stood beside the incubator with his white-coated back to us for what seemed like an eternity. When he turned around, my heart tried to prepare to be torn apart one more time.

But he was smiling. Faintly, but smiling.

He gestured for me to walk towards the incubator. Hesitantly, I approached him to find that he had removed Hazel's breathing apparatus. My heart stopped at first, thinking Hazel wasn't breathing anymore. But it was the opposite. She was breathing. Without the tubes.

Her lungs were working.

I had to sit down to process this. The doctor, in the meanwhile, gently lifted Hazel out of the cot and carried her over to Maple. It was then that we heard it.

Hazel cried.

Actually, it would have been a cry for a normal baby. For Hazel, with her feeble lungs fighting against all the odds, it was a whimper. But it was enough. I gasped with relief, and ran over to Maple, who was cradling Hazel in her trembling arms.

As we both stared at the little girl, her soft mustard-colored hair atop a peaceful angelic face, the tears began to flow again. But these were the best kind of tears.

We were going to have a baby daughter. She was going to survive and grow up to become a proud and stubborn little girl.

Her name would be Hazel. And she wouldn't be mourned.