The morning came gray and silent, the air thick with mist.
Meilin stood before the charred remains of what was once her home — the house that had burned down seven years ago, the place where her first life had ended.
The wind carried the faint scent of wet ash, even after all these years. She took a shaky step forward, her shoes crunching over the blackened ground.
Every corner of the ruin whispered memories — laughter, arguments, and the sound of a little girl crying somewhere in the distance of time.
She knelt near the spot where her old bedroom had been. The floor was cracked and covered in moss, but when she brushed the dirt away, she saw the faint outline of a scorched locket. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up.
Inside was a tiny, half-burned photo — of her, Rui, and baby Xiaoya.
> "You kept this…" she whispered, her voice breaking.
Footsteps crunched behind her. She turned sharply, heart pounding. Rui stood there, holding an umbrella over both of them. His face was unreadable, rain dripping from his hair.
"I thought you might come here," he said quietly.
Meilin looked down at the locket, tears blurring her vision. "You knew all along, didn't you? That I'd never let this place go."
He didn't deny it. "You used to say this house was proof of your love. Even after everything, I thought… maybe it still was."
Her lips trembled. "Love?" She laughed bitterly. "This house burned because of love — because I was too blind to see who truly cared for me."
Rui's eyes darkened. "It wasn't love that burned this house. It was hate — mine, my brother's, and yours. We all played a part."
She turned away, clutching the locket. "And Xiaoya almost lost both her parents because of it."
He took a step closer. "But she didn't. You're here now. You have another chance — we both do."
Meilin looked up, meeting his gaze. "You think a second chance can fix everything?"
"No," he said softly. "But it can start something better."
The rain fell harder now, soaking through her clothes. Yet for the first time, Meilin didn't shiver.
Her anger, her grief — it all felt distant, washed away by the storm.
"I came here to bury the past," she said finally. "Not to forgive it."
Rui nodded slowly. "Then let me help you bury it."
He knelt beside her, pressing his hand against the wet earth. Together, they buried the locket — not as a symbol of loss, but as a promise to let go.
When they stood again, the clouds began to break. A thin beam of sunlight pierced through the gray sky, landing right on the spot where the locket lay hidden.
For a moment, Meilin felt something inside her ease — a quiet acceptance she hadn't known she was searching for.
Rui reached for her hand, hesitated, then withdrew. "When you're ready," he murmured, "I'll be waiting."
She didn't stop him when he turned to leave. Instead, she stood there until his figure disappeared down the path, the mist swallowing him whole.
The rain had stopped. Only the sound of the wind remained — gentle, forgiving.
And Meilin whispered
to the ruins,
> "Goodbye, to the woman I used to be."