Behind the Mask

First Love

They say you never forget your first love. Their eyes, their smile, the way the sound of their voice made your heart skip a beat, their touch, and most importantly, the way they made you feel. It's a sentiment I've heard time and time again, a romantic notion that your first love remains a permanent fixture in your heart and mind, an indelible mark on your soul.

For a long time, I didn't question it. I didn't think about whether it was true or not. My first love, Daichi had left me with more pressing concerns—like raising our child alone. When he disappeared, he took more than just himself. He took the dreams we had woven together, the future we had imagined, and the trust I had placed in him. He left a wound that took years to heal.

But here's the thing about scars: they fade. The pain dulls, the memories blur, and life moves on. I moved on. I focused on Chiho, on building a life for us, on carving out a career that I could be proud of. I didn't spend my days pining for the past or longing for the ghost of a love that had left me behind.

So, when they say you never forget your first love, I realize now that it isn't true. You do forget. You forget their eyes, their smile, the way their voice used to make your heart race. You forget the touch that once felt so familiar. All those details that seemed so vivid at the time eventually fade into the background.

That's why it hits you like whiplash when they suddenly show up on your doorstep more than six years later. It's like seeing a ghost, a phantom from another life, standing there as if no time has passed at all. But time has passed. So much time. And in that time, you've learned to live without them.

"I'll call you back," I said to Kenji before hanging up.

As I stood there, staring at the man who had once been my everything, only one thought echoed through my mind: Why the hell is he here now?

"Who's there, Mama?"

Chiho's voice cut through my shock. I tore my gaze away from the man on the doorstep to look back at her. She had a bounce in her step as she skipped over. Her little hands grabbed my shirt, and she peeked past me.

Daichi's gaze fell on her. A flicker of surprise, followed by a warm smile spread across his face. He crouched down to meet her gaze. "Hello there," he said.

"Hi," she muttered shyly, her grip on my shirt tightening.

"What's your name?" he asked gently.

"Chiho," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

"Chiho," he looked up at me. "I'm Daichi. I'm your-"

"Chiho, go back to grandma," I ordered.

Her eyes widened. "But Mama—"

"Now, Chiho," I cut her off, my tone stern.

She bit her lip, then slowly released my shirt. She shot Daichi a cautious look, then scurried away. I turned my attention back to Daichi. He stood, his eyes meeting mine, and his expression shifted from surprise to remorse.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

He winced, running his fingers through his hair. "Can we talk?" he asked.

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"Ami, please," he pleaded. "I just want to talk. I'm not here to cause trouble."

I clenched my jaw and peeked out into the hallway. If we stayed here, we'd attract the attention of the neighbors. "Fine. Come in," I said, stepping aside.

He nodded and walked into the apartment. I closed the door behind him and turned, my heart hammering against my ribs. He looked almost the same as he did back then, just a little older. His eyes were still the same shade of warm brown, his hair had been cut short, and his features were more chiseled. The mole below his eye was still there, too. He wore a dark gray button-up shirt and black slacks, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms.