The first time I saw a firefly,

I thought it was magic.

I was nine, standing barefoot on the grass outside our house, chasing tiny flickers of light in the dark. They glowed softly—appearing, disappearing—like they were alive in a way I couldn’t understand. I remember trying to catch one, closing my hands gently as if I could keep its light forever.

But when I opened them… it was gone.

My mom once told me, “Some lights aren’t meant to be kept, Jimei. They’re only meant to be seen.”

I didn’t understand it back then.

Not until I met him.

—

“Jimei! Wait up!”

I didn’t have to turn around. I already knew who it was.

Justine.

He caught up beside me, slightly out of breath, his usual easy smile on his face. His hair was messy like he had just run his hands through it, and his uniform looked like he didn’t really care how he looked—as long as he made it on time.

“You’re late again,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “I just wanted to walk with you.”

I rolled my eyes, pretending it didn’t affect me. But inside, something warm settled quietly in my chest.

We had been neighbors for years. Same street, same school, same everyday routine. Somewhere between borrowed notes, shared snacks, and walking home together…

He became my favorite part of the day.

...****************...

There was nothing dramatic about us.

No confessions under the rain. No grand promises. No labels.

Just simple moments.

Like sitting on the pavement, watching the sky turn shades of orange as the sun slowly disappeared.

“Hey,” Justine said one afternoon, lying beside me, staring at the sky. “If you could relive one moment over and over again, what would it be?”

I didn’t think twice. “This.”

He turned his head slightly, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I nodded softly. “It’s quiet. Peaceful. No problems.”

I paused.

I looked at him.

“And you’re here.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. The silence between us felt heavier—but not uncomfortable. Just… full.

Then he smiled.

“Same,” he whispered.

And just like that, something unspoken settled between us.

—

I didn’t realize I was falling in love.

Not until everything about him started to matter more than it should.

The way he laughed.

The way he said my name.

The way he looked at me like I was someone worth noticing.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t overwhelming.

It was soft.

Like a firefly glowing in the dark—small, but impossible to ignore.

-

"jimei!" he called from afar

I turned around and saw him running towards me—holding a bouquet of lilies.

I liked them.

And,

He remembered.

"Yeah? What's with the flower's?" I chuckled jokingly to him.

But there's a hint of a smile on my face, it was brief, but it's there.

"I made it!" he says proudly while saying it breathless because of running.

 "here!" he handed it to me smiling.

There it was again.

That smile,

How can I ever refuse that smile.

"Thank you…" I bought the lilies to my nose to smell "it smells nice…and, you remembered that?"

"Of course! It was you after all" he giggled

"And actually I have more surprises" He put his hands on the back of his neck like a shy little high school boy.

"Eh? More?...you better not scare me again!" I asked curiously and curiously with a hint of fondness

"O-of course…no!" He explained frantically "Well can you put this on?" he handed me a red scarf to cover my eyes.

I think for a minute.

"okay.Just this once" I teased

-

We walked there.

I felt a grass hitting my feet, and I am lying if I say I didn't love this moment with him.

"Okay you can remove them now" he says proudly.

As I started to remove the folds.

A cold breeze hit my face.

There it was—

Magical, Beautiful and glowing.

Fireflies.

And I am standing in the middle with so many of them flying.

Suddenly a small firefly flew to my hands and rested there.

"So… What do you say? Jimei…i prepared this for you....for us." He looked so genuine that time, The kind of person you won't suspect to leave.

The firefly got started by his voice and flew away.

I looked at him lovingly that night.

"It's pretty…" my eyes looked like it could cry any minute "Justine...this…this is wonderful…"

That time we played all night,

Together,

selfless,

And

Full of love.

...****************...

But just like that firefly I once tried to hold onto…

Some things don’t stay.

And I was about to learn that the hard way.

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.

.

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To be continued…

I didn’t notice when things started to change. At first, it was subtle—a shift in the wind that you don't feel until the temperature has already dropped.

Our routine had been the heartbeat of my day. Every morning at exactly 6:45 AM, I would hear the familiar thud of a pebble hitting my bedroom window, or the low whistle Justine used to signal he was waiting by the gate. We’d walk to school, shoulders occasionally brushing, talking about everything and nothing. But then, the pebbles stopped. The gate remained quiet.

Our walks became less frequent, replaced by rushed hellos in the hallway and quiet, awkward goodbyes at the end of the day. The golden afternoons we used to spend sitting on the pavement, sharing a single pair of earphones, slowly disappeared. It felt like time was pulling us in different directions, and I was the only one trying to hold onto the rope.

“maybe he's just busy,” I told myself, clutching my bag straps a little tighter as I walked to school alone.

He’s just busy.

That’s what I kept repeating, like a mantra, like it would make the hollow ache in my chest feel normal again. I convinced myself that he was just focused on his studies or tired from basketball practice. I chose to believe the lie because the truth felt too heavy to carry.

“Jimei, have you seen Justine lately?” one of my classmates asked during recess, leaning over my desk while I tried to focus on my history notes.

I didn't look up, my pen hovering over a page. “Why?”

“He’s been hanging out with the seniors a lot,” she said casually, oblivious to the way my heart stuttered. “Especially that girl… what’s her name again? The one from the student council?”

I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I couldn't.

“I don’t know,” I answered quickly, lowering my gaze until my hair shielded my face. “I haven't really noticed.”

But that was the biggest lie of all.

I noticed everything.

I noticed the way he started wearing his uniform a little neater.

I noticed how he laughed louder when he was with a certain group in the canteen.

I noticed that he no longer looked toward my seat during the flag ceremony.

Something in my chest tightened, a knot of anxiety that refused to be unraveled.

That afternoon, I decided to wait for him.

I went to our spot—the crumbling sidewalk near the old acacia tree where the shadows stretched long and thin. This was where we had shared our secrets. This was where he had whispered "Same" when I told him I'd relive our quiet moments forever.

I told myself it would be like before.

I imagined him rounding the corner, seeing me there, and breaking into that easy, lopsided smile that always made me feel like I was the only person in the world. He would sit beside me, we’d watch the sky melt into shades of orange and violet, and the distance of the last few weeks would evaporate like mist.

But minutes passed.

Then an hour.

The sky turned from a vibrant orange to a bruised purple, and then to a deep, ink-like blue. One by one, the streetlights flickered on, casting long, lonely shadows across the pavement. My legs felt stiff from sitting on the cold concrete, but I didn't move. I couldn't leave yet. If I left, it meant it was really over.

“Jimei?”

I turned at the sound of his voice, my heart leaping into my throat.

There he was. Justine.

But he wasn’t alone.

Standing beside him was a girl I had only seen from a distance. She was pretty—effortlessly so—with long, shiny hair and a smile that seemed to catch the light of the streetlamps. She stood close to him, her hand occasionally brushing his arm with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. She looked confident in a way I never was, like she belonged exactly where she stood.

“Oh… you’re here,” Justine said. He sounded surprised, but beneath that, there was a flicker of something else. Guilt? Discomfort? I couldn't tell.

I forced a small, brittle smile, standing up and brushing the dust off my skirt. “Yeah. I was just… waiting.”

“For me?” he asked.

The question was so simple, yet it felt heavier than anything he had ever said to me. It felt like an admission that he hadn't expected me to be there—that I wasn't part of his "afternoons" anymore.

“Yeah,” I answered softly, my voice barely reaching him over the sound of the evening crickets.

There was a pause. An awkward, suffocating silence that stretched between us like a canyon. Justine looked down at his shoes, then back at the girl beside him.

“This is Claire,” he said, his voice regaining some of its usual strength. “We’ve been… spending time together. She’s helping me with the upcoming school gala.”

Claire smiled at me politely, her eyes kind but distant. “Hi. Justine has mentioned you. You’re the neighbor, right?”

The neighbor. The label felt like a slap. Not the best friend. Not the favorite part of his day. Just the girl who lived next door.

“Hi,” I replied, my voice a mere whisper.

Something inside me sank, a slow-motion collapse of every hope I had been nurturing. I felt small. I felt invisible. I felt like a childhood toy that had been outgrown and left in a dusty corner.

“I should go,” I said quickly, stepping back into the shadows of the acacia tree. “I forgot I have a lot of homework. Research stuff.”

“Jimei, wait—” Justine started, taking half a step toward me.

But I didn't stay to hear what he had to say. I was already walking away, my footsteps fast and uneven, my blurred vision making the world look like an impressionist painting.

That night, I sat by my window, staring into the dark. My room felt too big, too quiet.

And then I saw it.

A single firefly.

It flickered softly just outside the glass, a tiny pulse of light in the vast, oppressive dark. For a moment, I just watched it. I watched the way it shined with everything it had, and then the way it disappeared, leaving me wondering if I had imagined it at all. It came back again a few seconds later, hovering indecisively, like it didn't know whether to stay in the garden or fly away into the woods.

Just like him. Just like the way we used to be.

Tears blurred my vision before I even realized I was crying. They were hot and silent, trailing down my cheeks and dripping onto my pajamas. I pressed my hand against the cold windowpane, my palm over the spot where the firefly hovered, as if I could reach through the glass and catch it. As if I could hold onto a memory that was already turning into a ghost.

But deep down, I knew the truth. My mom’s words echoed in my head, cruel and honest: “Some lights aren’t meant to be kept, Jimei. They’re only meant to be seen.”

No matter how much you want them to stay, some lights are just passing through.

The next day, the sun rose just like it always did.

The world didn't stop because my heart had broken. When I saw him at school, he still smiled at me. He still called my name when we passed in the corridor. He still acted like the Justine I knew.

But it wasn't the same. The warmth was gone. The "unspoken something" that had settled between us on the pavement had been replaced by a polite, hollow friendliness.

He wasn't mine anymore.

And as I watched him walk away with Claire, laughing at something she said, a cold realization settled over me.

Maybe… he never really was.

Maybe I was just the girl who mistook a passing light for a permanent sun.

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To be continued...

It was always the same.

The setting never shifted, no matter how many years passed or how many different beds I woke up in. It was always that specific stretch of sun-baked pavement outside our old houses. The air always smelled of approaching rain and the sweet, cloying scent of the jasmine bushes overhanging the neighbor's fence.

And there was the same fading sunlight, casting long, honey-colored shadows that made everything look like an old Polaroid photo.

“Jimei,” he called.

His voice was gentle—familiar in a way that still had the power to cut through my defenses. In the dream, he looked exactly as he did when he was seventeen: messy hair, a tie loosened around his neck, and eyes that seemed to hold all the light in the world.

I tried to move closer, my feet heavy as if I were wading through water. But no matter how much I strained, no matter how fast I tried to run toward him, the distance between us remained perfectly, cruelly static.

“Wait,” I whispered, my voice sounding thin and fragile in the golden air. “Justine, wait.”

But just like that afternoon under the acacia tree, the light around him began to flicker. It didn't fade out; it pulsed, erratic and weakening, like a dying firefly trapped in a jar. He gave me one last look—not of malice, but of a quiet, devastating goodbye.

And then—he was gone.

...----------------...

*Alarm ticking*

I woke up with a sharp, ragged breath, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I stoped my alarm clock from ticking.

For a long moment, I simply lay there, staring at the shadows dancing on my ceiling, trying to force my brain to separate the ghost of the dream from the cold reality of the room. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the city waking up outside.

It had been years. Nearly a decade of deliberate forgetting. I had moved cities, changed my number, and buried my head in textbooks and spreadsheets until the memory of a boy next door felt like a story I had read in a book once, rather than a life I had actually lived.

And yet… he still found his way back into my dreams. Like a recurring glitch in my system.

“Why now?” I murmured to the empty room, my voice raspy from sleep.

I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair and letting out a long, shaky sigh. Today wasn’t supposed to be about the past. Today was the most important day of my professional life. Today was about the version of Jimei who had survived, the one who had earned a degree and fought her way into a prestigious management trainee program at one of the biggest firms in the country.

Today was my first day at work.

...****************...

The morning sunlight filtered softly through my window, but unlike the dream, this light was real. It was steady, unmoving, and slightly too bright. It didn't promise magic; it promised a long day of orientation and paperwork.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, meticulously fixing my hair into a professional low bun. I smoothed out the imaginary creases in my charcoal-grey blazer, checking every detail of my reflection.

“You can do this,” I told the woman in the mirror.

My voice sounded more confident than I felt, but I needed to hear it. I had spent years crafting this persona—the efficient, detached, and reliable Jimei Chen. A fresh start wasn't just a hope; it was a necessity. I needed this building, these strangers, and this career to finally act as the wall that kept the past where it belonged.

—

The city was already a frantic hive of activity when I stepped outside.

Jeepneys roared past, their colorful bodies a blur of motion. People moved with purpose along the sidewalks, their faces set in expressions of morning determination. Everything felt like it was moving forward—fast, unstoppable, and entirely indifferent to my internal tremors.

I tightened my grip on the strap of my laptop bag, taking a deep breath that tasted of exhaust and street food.

This was it. No turning back to the quiet streets of the province. No more looking over my shoulder.

—

The office lobby of the corporate tower was colder than I expected, the air conditioning set to a temperature that demanded productivity.

It was a cathedral of glass and polished marble. Bright lights hummed overhead, and the quiet, rhythmic sound of heels clicking on stone filled the cavernous space. It was intimidatingly modern, a place where emotions seemed like they would be out of place, which was exactly what I wanted.

“Good morning,” the receptionist greeted me, her smile practiced and bright. “Checking in for the new hire orientation?”

“Good morning,” I replied, forcing my lips into a professional curve. “Yes. Jimei Chen.”

I followed her directions toward the elevators, feeling like a small fish entering a very large, very sleek ocean. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe the sheer scale of this place would finally swallow the lingering fragments of my childhood.

—

“New hire?”

I turned at the sound of a voice as I stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor. A woman in her late twenties, dressed in a sharp navy suit, smiled warmly at me. “You must be Jimei. I’m Sarah from HR. I’ll be showing you around your department.”

I followed her, nodding as she rattled off names of departments, protocols for the pantry, and the hierarchy of the regional managers. I tried to focus, I really did, but my mind was a traitor. Fragments of the dream still clung to me like cobwebs.

The way his voice had sounded. The way the light had flickered.

I shook my head slightly, a sharp, internal no. Not today.

—

“And this will be your department,” Sarah said, stopping in front of a massive set of frosted glass doors. “This is the core of our operations. You’ll be reporting directly to the executive suite.”

I took one last deep breath, centering myself.

Sarah pushed the doors open.

The room was a flurry of high-stakes energy. Phones ringing, hushed but urgent conversations, and the rapid-fire clicking of keyboards. It was a world completely unaware that for me, the air was starting to feel very thin.

“Everyone,” Sarah called out over the hum, “this is our new management trainee, Jimei Chen. Let’s make her feel welcome.”

A few heads turned. Some people offered distracted smiles; others gave a quick nod before returning to their monitors. It was normal. It was professional. It was exactly what I had prepared for.

Until my eyes traveled to the far end of the room, toward the glass-walled corner office.

A man was standing there, his back to the room, looking out over the city skyline. He was wearing a suit that cost more than my entire year's rent, his posture radiating a quiet, absolute authority. He looked like he owned the horizon.

Then, as if sensing the eyes on him, he turned around.

The world didn't just slow down; it stopped. The sounds of the office—the ringing phones, the chatter, the hum of the AC—all vanished, replaced by the roar of blood in my ears.

...Justine....

...----------------...

The eyes were sharper, the jawline more defined, and the easy smile of the boy next door had been replaced by the cold, calculated gaze of a man who moved markets. But it was him.

The same presence that had once filled my small world now filled this entire floor. He wasn't just a coworker. He was the reason everyone in this room was holding their breath.

He was the CEO.

My chest tightened so hard it hurt. My breath caught in my throat, and for a terrifying second, I thought my knees might actually give out. Out of all the buildings in this sprawling city, out of all the companies I could have applied to, it had to be this one.

The past I thought I had buried under years of silence hadn't just found me. It was now my boss.

“Jimei?”

He spoke my name, and the sound of it—deeper now, and maybe colder, but with that same lingering cadence—shattered the last of my composure.

The firefly hadn't disappeared.

It had just been waiting for the dark to get deep enough.

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To be continued…