Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past

The room was small, its wooden floor creaking beneath Mei's footsteps as she set her suitcase down by the low table. Outside, the rain continued to whisper against the paper-thin windows, a rhythmic patter that seemed to seep into her bones. She shivered, glancing around at the simple furnishings—a narrow bed draped in faded linen, a cherrywood wardrobe with peeling lacquer, and a porcelain teapot resting on a tray, steam curling from its spout.

Mei poured herself a cup, the warmth spreading through her palms as she took a careful sip. The tea was floral, delicate, with a sweetness that lingered on her tongue. She closed her eyes, letting the fragrance curl around her senses.

Suddenly, an image flashed behind her eyelids—a narrow stone bridge, pale petals drifting down like snow. Laughter, soft and carefree, echoing across the water. And someone's hand, warm against hers, fingers intertwined.

Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding. The memory slipped away like mist, leaving only a dull ache in her chest. She set the cup down, its porcelain clinking against the saucer.

Frustration burned in her. Ever since she arrived, fragments of the past had been surfacing—vivid and fleeting, like scenes from a forgotten dream. She had been here before. She had stood beneath these same clouds, watched the river's silver current, tasted the rain on her lips. But everything was fractured, broken into pieces she couldn't quite fit together.

The stranger's face came to mind, his dark eyes piercing through the drizzle, unwavering. Her heart stumbled. Who was he? And why did the sight of him feel like remembering a name just on the tip of her tongue?

Shaking off the thought, Mei rummaged through her bag, pulling out an old photograph. The edges were frayed, the image slightly blurred, but the faces were unmistakable—her younger self, grinning widely, arms wrapped around another child. A boy. His face was turned away, but she could see his messy hair, his slender frame leaning toward her as if he couldn't bear the distance.

On the back, a few words were scrawled in childish handwriting: Li Mei and Jun. Spring Festival.

Jun.

The name echoed in her mind, stirring a faint warmth that spread through her chest. She ran her thumb over the letters, feeling the indentations of the ink. Why couldn't she remember him clearly? Why did his face refuse to take shape, remaining just out of reach?

A knock at the door startled her, and she hurried to open it. An elderly woman stood outside, wrapped in layers of wool, her hair a silver cloud around her lined face. She smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Welcome, child," she greeted, her voice warm and lilting. "I'm Madam Chen, the owner of this inn. I hope the room is to your liking?"

Mei managed a smile. "Yes, thank you. It's lovely."

Madam Chen's gaze softened, lingering on Mei's face. "You look familiar. Have you been to Lushan before?"

The question hung in the air, heavier than Mei expected. She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "A long time ago. But… I don't remember much."

The old woman's expression turned wistful. "Ah, memory is a funny thing. This town is full of echoes. Sometimes the past whispers when you least expect it." She paused, her eyes drifting to the photograph in Mei's hand. "That boy… is that Jun?"

Mei's heart skipped. "You know him?"

Madam Chen's smile faded, replaced by a look of deep sadness. "Everyone here knows Jun. He never left." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He's been waiting."

A chill ran down Mei's spine. She opened her mouth to ask more, but the woman was already turning away, her footsteps soft against the corridor floor.

Mei closed the door, her fingers trembling. She looked back at the photograph, her vision blurring as a memory surged forth—Jun's laughter, bright and clear, as he ran ahead of her, his hand reaching back to pull her along. She could almost feel his fingers brushing hers. Almost.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, the rhythm echoing the steady thud of her heart. Mei sank onto the bed, clutching the photo to her chest.

Jun was waiting. And she had no idea why.