It is much easier to become a father than to be one. - Kent Nerburn
Ten years ago in Notios
Notios was the country where Aerith was born. It was dubbed as an island where the mountains meet the sea. The country she called home, was a group of islands in the pacific region, thus blessed with a tropical climate of either dry or rain all year.
She remembered it was a muggy summer day, and the then ten-year-old Aerith found solace under the shade of a mango tree. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath when the wind blew past, shaking the golden clusters of fruit that hung on the tree branches.
Lovely. Sweet. Tropical Bliss.
Unsatiated, Aerith took another breath, holding it longer this time, her cheeks puffed like a blowfish. Her ears turned red, her hands clenched into a fist as she held her breath longer than she should.
Not far from her, muffled noise echoed from the background, but she did not bother to look where it was coming from.
They'd made fun of her again for sure, she thought. That was why she went as far away as possible from the other kids, or more aptly—the bullies.
To her surprise, a big hand clamped on her shoulders.
Looking up, an oddly familiar green eyes greeted her.
She'd seen those eyes before.
She'd seen it every time she looked in the mirror.
And it's not just his eyes that looked familiar, that felt familiar. It was his face that was a replica of hers. Or maybe… she was a replica of him?
Aerith tried to stand, but the man was quick to sit beside her.
Regarding the man, she tilted her head to the side and waved her hand. "Hi," her mouth said. She wanted to say more, but talking wasn't really her strongest suit, especially in the presence of a stranger.
Her eyes darted far across the field and she saw two figures side hugging. The man passed a pocket square to the lady who seemed to be crying.
She found it weird. What was the prince doing on this side of the country?
The stranger beside her was quiet for a minute… or more. Aerith didn't know. She was so lost looking far out on the horizon, enjoying the view of the ocean.
Then, from the corners of her eye, she saw the man who was sitting beside her hold a photo. It was of a group of friends hanging out in a football field.
Her eyes grew by the second it landed on one particular person.
She was four when her mother left her, and she could remember every millisecond and detail of that rainy day. Her mother said she'd come back for her, so she patiently waited, sitting on the icy steel chair along the hallway of the monastery.
Her short legs swayed back and forth as she counted to infinity. The bright day turned into an amber afternoon, then soon into a star-filled night, but her mother never returned.
"Mama," she choked. "Mama." She pointed.
"Yes, that's your mama," Wyatt trailed off. His finger traced from the woman's face, across to his on the far side. "Papa. See?"
He brought up the photo next to his face just to prove his point. A cheeky grin curved his lips, the same one he adorned in the sepia photo.
And that was how Aerith met her papa for the first time.
It was awkward yet light. Perhaps it was the color of his green eyes with flecks of gold akin to the green leaves and golden mango fruit that were her solace for the last years she was in the monastery that pushed Aerith to take his outstretched hand, as he said, "Time to go home, my precious Aerith."