Violent Delights, ATLA

chapter thirty one, two halves of a whole

31
TWO HALVES OF A WHOLE

SAN WAS A STATUE BEFORE her old house, a rural home a little away from a Fire Nation town. Vines invaded the walls and covered the windows, dying flowers left untouched in rows nearby though there was a filled watering can nearby. Thinking it'll ease her nerves, she picked it up and watered the plants. Once she finished, she found herself rooted to the spot for who knows how long in front of the too familiar spruce door.

Would her mother recognise her after all these years? Did she read all the letters she sent? What will she do once she sees her? Was she even living here anymore after all this time?

Swallowing her anxiety, she raised her hand in preparation to knock. The action never came. Her hand stopped midway and then fell to her side. San tried again. No contact was made against the spruce door and she yielded to nothingness.

"What's the matter, San?" Aang appeared beside her. Everyone else (including Appa and Momo) decided to wait a little away in the woods after dropping her off. "I know we said you can take all the time you need to catch up to your mom but, er, you're going to have to make a start somewhere first."

"Right. Sorry." She cleared her throat, preparing to raise her hand once more, "I'm just... so nervous. And afraid."

"I know. That's normal. Just know you're not alone, San, because we're all here."

Once she finally gathered the courage to knock, Aang let her be and presumably flew back to where everybody else was. There was no change in the wind, no sounds detected on the other side after she knocked. San drew in a sharp breath and tried again. This time, there was a faint sound of shuffling footsteps.

This was it.

She waited nine years for this reunion.

Until the door swung open, she waited with bated breath.

Her eyes sparkled, excitement replacing her anxiousness when the silhouette came into light—

And the greeting meant to have been full of unadulterated joy stuck to her throat, excited eyes immediately becoming crestfallen.

Her father answered the door, looking at her with furrowed brows.

Time seemed to become slow-moving for the moment. Neither of them made a move nor let a sound escape. Neither looked like they could hear anything but the silence ringing in their ears as they stared at each other; one in disdain and the other in bemusement.

Finally, time pulled the rug from under their feet as her father opened his mouth to speak, "...San? Is that you?"

For a father who obsessed over turning her into a weapon during her childhood, she was beyond surprised he could recognise her the way she currently was.

"Yeah..." She stuttered out, the anxious feeling returning like a wave crashing ashore. "Is- is mom here?"

Her father turned as pale as a ghost, ashen hands quivering. Dread sunk itself in her abdomen and the world around San began spinning. No. She bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself to reality. No. His reaction doesn't mean that. He hasn't said anything yet. Mom's okay. Mom's okay.

"Why don't you come inside?" The sun rose overhead as the afternoon rolled by, her father stepping aside and gesturing to the indoors. "There's something I have to tell you."

✷

HER MOTHER WASN'T DEAD. SHE divorced him seven months ago and embarked on a journey of self-discovery.