Crossword

twelve | 爱

AT TWENTY-THREE, JUN THINKS HE KNOWS HOW TO LOVE.

He's always had to practise hiding his emotions - from his friends at twelve, asking him about Yen; from his brother, asking him why he was spending hours on music he never even listened to; from his relatives, asking him why he wanted to set up a company from scratch.

Jun has got used to burying them, like small flames just setting out on their paths, terrified if he shows them to the world, they'll be extinguished before they have a chance to burn.

It's partly because of this, perhaps, that he finds it difficult to explain how he's feeling right now as Yen stares at him, waiting for an answer. He's always been the one who listens. Now that it's his turn to speak, he's at a loss.

On the water, a ship horn sounds as it pulls into port. Yen's face falls. It turns out some things do not change - like the way Yen's emotions flicker over her face. Her breath comes out in a rush. "It's okay, you know. I've managed. I just had to try." Her gaze falls on the spot before the window - the spot he stood in years ago, hesitant to leave her. "One last time."

"Don't." The words escape before he can process them. "Don't say it like it's a goodbye."

Her eyes flick upwards to meet his. Surprise and caution fight a war in them.

Jun takes a deep breath. Now that he's steeled himself, the words flow, revealing the truth he's worked hard to conceal. "I never know how to talk." He thinks back to himself at twelve, seventeen, twenty. Always letting her go. "I've always thought that people should be able to choose what they want. If you want to leave, I won't make you stay. I don't want to make you stay if you don't want to stay.

"I've known you for seventeen years, Yen. I've known you long enough to know that you're independent. That you do the best you can. That you'll make the right choices.

"When we met last time," he says quietly, "we talked about goodbyes. I remember thinking it would be the last goodbye we'd ever say."

When his eyes find hers again, he realises they're reflecting Singapore's glow - a young city, built on hopes and dreams of so many people, a small city with a huge capability. It's an apt description for Yen. The hope in her eyes. The fear that he'll crush it.

His gaze drops to the floor. This close, he realises Yen is still wearing the Nike shoes he gave her so long ago. They're scruffy now, worn after years of use, but it doesn't stop the warm current enveloping him.

He still loves her, he knows. The soft smile on her lips whenever she looks at him. The glint when she's accepting a challenge. The way she devotes herself to the people she loves, heart and soul, like she's afraid that if she doesn't protect them they'll slip from her grasp.

When he gets the courage to look up again, Yen is looking out at the boats. He joins her. She points. "See that one there?"

"Which one?"

"All of them," she says. "All the boats. The lights are pretty, but they were my favourite thing about the nightscape."

"Why?"

"Because when the water is clear, you can see their reflection," she says, turning bright eyes on him. "Boats come and go all the time, and the people on them always change. But there's always their reflection, and that never changes. It stays with them wherever they go."

In spite of himself, his lips turn up slightly. "So I'm a reflection?"

"No." Her eyes search his. "You're the port. Because no matter where the boat goes, it always needs somewhere to call home."

He remembers Yen's wild eyes, searching for something she couldn't see. I don't know where home is anymore. The exhaustion in her voice. It feels like I've been searching for it for years, and I don't even know what I'm looking for.

Because that's not what home is. It's not a place - it's a feeling.

"Home," he echoes in the place they met for the first time. If he closes his eyes, he can almost see them - two six-year olds sitting on the banister, legs swinging, like it'd always be the two of them against the world.

A single tear drips down Yen's cheek. His finger acts without thinking, brushing it away, and before he knows what he's doing, his forehead is touching hers.

Images flick through his mind like a gallery. How his designs never seem to stray far from her. How he's added stars to a map, a convenience store with Yakult to another. How all the games he's been designing somehow have a character with long, always messy hair and bright, laughing eyes.

Eyes that are staring at him now, waiting for him to move. He sees his own patience. Resolve, softened by years of waiting that culminates into this. To now.

Their lips meet. At some point, Yen chokes back a sob, but he smiles, and it's okay. It's a learning curve.

Because that's what life is, anyway. Finding words and giving meaning to them - together.