The Drabble Challenge

TEMPUS

THE PROMPT ;;
❛ At a garage sale, your character buys an antique urn that might look nice decorating a bookcase. But when your character arrives home, your character realises that there are someone's ashes in it...

GENRE ;; 
Romance

AUTHOR ;; 
feggienan

TRIGGER WARNINGS ;; 
N/A

+

Home.

Is all that occupied Mae's thoughts as her hands steer the car towards the exit to get off the highway. She follows the green board that points her towards Yangsu, a small town just north of Busan. Slowly, the wide roads narrow down, trees line both sides and houses appear more abundantly. The scenery change causes her stomach to begin churning with nervousness. Her fingers find themselves raising the volume of the radio, immersing her in the tunes of Korean pop— a genre she had lost touch with shortly after leaving the country.

She's finally back, and it was strange for her being here again after so long. Although the navigation continues voicing directions to her, at this point, Mae knows the area like the back of her hand and before she has time to let it sink in, the car is parked alongside a familiar driveway— wheels merely over the curb and she stands in front of a humble two story house.

"Home." She whispers, as if hearing it out loud might make it seem more real or pinch her awake. Mae couldn't believe it had been five long years since she'd last been here. Her divorced parents had decided it best for her to finish highschool in Paris, France, where her father lived, yet little did the girl know she'd end up continuing her higher education with the French as well.

Time flies.

Of course, Mae's mother visited her in Europe frequently, until recently, due to the deteriorating health of her grandmother, leaving the fragile woman on her own was no longer an option. So it was up to Mae to return home again.

Just as Mae takes a step towards the door, with her suitcase dragging behind her, her gaze shifts to her side and lands on a familiar bicycle, left fallen on the grass of the neighbouring house. Before she can resist, her eyes instantly flicker to the window— one she knew very well, sitting opposite to her former bedroom, where she catches it open with movement on the blinds. She stares longer than she should, and for a passing heartbeat, Mae's skin prickles in anticipation of seeing the bicycle's owner and his smiling face again after years.

One second turns to ten, and no one appears. Mae knows she has to go through the day in one piece, yet hates to admit the nervous tingles and the vague stress that the sight of the window sends through her. And although the swaying of the blinds almost halts now, she tells herself it was probably the wind.

"Mae-ah!" A voice calling out to her catches her attention, as her mother waves from the doorway.

For a moment, Mae feels as though all the troubles of the world evaporate, making the sides of her lips curve upwards. Even more so, when she leans down for two warm arms to squeeze around her, when a familiar aroma engulfs her, giving away the surprise of baked goods as she steps inside the abode, and when her presence plants a soft smile of recognition on her grandmother's face.

"Halmeoni, it's me, Mae." She tells her, as she crouches down in front of where the elder woman sat on her arm chair, meeting two deep brown orbs that belies her 86 years. Her grandmother's hair is whiter than she remembered, combed neatly into a bun on top of her head. The wrinkles on her face show the map of her soul, she has laughter lines, made intricate from the many paths she'd danced since birth.