Affection's Facade

As time turns

Tae-hyung's past POV:

"Adisa Elera Osei," she said confidently, extending her hand. Both she and So-yeon had recently celebrated their eighth birthdays, and in Elera's playful mind, this new age meant an occasion for reintroductions.

I raised an eyebrow and chuckled, playfully pushing her arm away. "Of course, I know who you are, Elera."

"But did you know my full name?" she shot back, grinning mischievously. "Now that I'm a big girl, I should introduce myself properly, don't you think?" She picked up a grape, popping it into her mouth, her little legs swinging in the air with a childlike abandon.

I remembered our first meeting. She had been timid, dare I say more than I was. She was speaking only sparingly and often relying on So-yeon to voice their shared thoughts. But as the days went by, especially during those times when So-yeon wasn't around, I noticed a subtle transformation in Elera. It was as if there were two sides of her, both equally captivating in their own unique ways.

One day, as she was engrossed in her coloring, in the playroom, my father came home unexpectedly early. He glanced over at the familiar young girl, his expression unreadable. "If So-yeon isn't here, then you shouldn't be either," he said coldly and left the room. " We didn't move here for you to spend time with the help."

My father, always an enigma, preferred his hair just a touch longer than the norm, often swept into a neat ponytail. He was the kind of man who looked like he walked straight out of a classic film, always impeccably dressed in a suit. His demeanor matched his attire — orderly, and structured, with little room for the chaos of emotions. An impassive critic of anyone who dared to stray from their assigned role.

On the day of So-yeon's art show recital, Elera was conspicuously absent, having been advised to remain home. Strangely, I'd imagined Elera in So-yeon's place, being the art aficionado she was. However, silver linings prevailed, and the two of us found solace sketching and coloring, lost in a world of our own.

My mother, the contrast to my father's sternness, had always been the gentle touch to his firm hand. She wore her heart not on her sleeve, but in her eyes. They were large, almond-shaped windows adorned in a soft hazel hue, reflecting an ocean of understanding and compassion. Draped in elegant pastels that matched her grace, she moved with quiet confidence, her soft curls cascading like a gentle waterfall down her back.

Upon overhearing our exchange, she guided us with a nudge toward the sanctuary of our kitchen. "Don't mind Mr.Choi, he's just having one of those days. Don't let it weigh on your heart," she whispered, her voice like the gentle rustle of autumn leaves. Bending down to meet Elera's gaze, she cupped the girl's face with a tenderness only she possessed. "Elera, never forget that within you resides a radiant spirit, deserving of the world's joys."

Elera responded with a silent nod. Whether those comforting words found a home in her heart right then, I wasn't sure. But as the days unfurled, their profound depth would manifest in ways we couldn't foresee.

One thing that rang true about Elera, apart from her spirit, was her unique scent. She always carried the aroma of buttercream mango, an olfactory delight she attributed to the homemade oil and lotion her mother crafted. At the time I remembered thinking, the scent was intoxicating, encapsulating the essence of Elera – sweet, vibrant, and utterly unforgettable.

Her scent fluttered about even as we were engrossed in our outdoor games later that day. I curiously asked her why she preferred to go by her middle name.

She simply replied, "It's the name that So-Yeon's mother thought sounded prettiest alongside So-Yeon." At 10, I didn't fully grasp her sentiment, but the significance became clearer with time.