The late November wind whipped across the campus, scattering the last of the brittle leaves. Ariana, buried in thought about her thesis, hurried along the main path when a hesitant figure near the administration building caught her eye. He was a tall man, but stooped, his frame lost in a worn coat. His hair was more white than gray, and deep lines of time and regret were etched into a face that was hauntingly familiar. š
She stopped. Her breath hitched. It was a ghost from a faded photograph, a memory from a lifetime ago.
"Ariana?" his voice was a rasp, fragile and full of fear.
She could only stare, her mind refusing to connect this weathered stranger with the father she once knew.
"Lucas?" she finally whispered, the name foreign on her tongue. š„
Tears welled in his tired eyes. "Iā¦ I got your forwarded address from your aunt. I had to see you." He looked down at his worn shoes. "I know my letter was not enough. I don't expect your forgiveness. I justā¦ needed you to see the man I became. And to tell you I'm sorry."
The initial shock began to melt, replaced by a torrent of confused emotion;anger, pity, and a faint, stubborn flicker of a connection she thought long dead.
"Why now?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Because I'm out of excuses," he said simply. "And I'm tired of being a ghost." He took a shaky breath. "I've rented a small house just a few blocks from here. I'm staying. I justā¦ I wanted to be nearby. No pressure. Justā¦ nearby."
Ariana looked at the shell of the man who was her father, standing alone in the cold. The path to forgiveness was a mountain, but he had just taken the first, trembling step by simply appearing. And for now, that was enough. š