It had been 16 years since she first stepped into Singapore. 16 years of building a life that now felt full, structured, and real. A husband of almost ten years, two young children who filled her days, and a rhythm that left little room for the past.
And yet, the past found her anyway.
He had been gone since 2013.
A fire, sudden and cruel, had taken him before the world… or she… was ready. By then, they had already broken up. Life had moved on as it always does. He had someone else. She had, too. But some endings never truly end; they just get buried under time, responsibility, and the quiet discipline of moving forward.
Last night, he came back.
Not as a memory, but as something almost real.
They met at an event, just like strangers who used to know each other too well. There was no shock on his face, only recognition. As if her presence made sense, even if the story behind it didn’t. Because he didn’t remember. Not everything, at least. Not the parts that mattered most.
This wasn’t the first time.
A year ago, she had dreamt of him too. In that dream, he was alive again, but his memories were gone—wiped clean by time or fate or something kinder than reality. She remembered feeling relief more than anything else. Relief that he existed somewhere, even if he no longer remembered her. She had searched for pieces of his life then, even finding his sister, who still missed him dearly. It had felt like trying to stitch together a life that had once been abruptly torn apart.
But this time, things were different.
This time, he remembered something.
Not everything, but enough.
He knew they had broken up. He knew the ending. Yet, strangely, it didn’t seem to weigh on him. He didn’t dwell on it, didn’t question it. It was as if the past existed only as a faint outline, something acknowledged but not felt.
He approached her.
Just a simple “Hi.”, with a hand wave.
He was working as a promoter, just like he used to back in their poly days. It felt almost surreal, as though time had looped back on itself, placing him in a version of life he once knew. As if, after disappearing for almost a decade, he had simply slipped back into survival mode, picking up from where everything once paused.
They walked together for a while.
Nothing dramatic. No grand declarations. Just two people sharing space again.
But inside her, everything was louder.
She knew she had a husband. She knew she had children. Those truths didn’t disappear in the dream… They stayed, grounding her, reminding her of the life she had built.
And yet, there was something else.
A pull.
A quiet but persistent desire not to lose him again.
This time, she didn’t want to let him go so easily.
It wasn’t about rewriting the past. It wasn’t even about love in the way it once was. It was something harder to name…perhaps… it was a need to hold onto a moment that reality had once stolen from her without warning.
In the dream, she took their meeting as a sign - a second chance. Not necessarily to start over, but to not walk away so quickly this time.
To stay a little longer.
To feel a little more.
To not leave things unfinished again.
And then…
She woke up.
Her daughter’s voice pulled her back into the present. Morning light, familiar walls, the soft chaos of motherhood waiting for her just outside the door.
He was gone again.
Just like that.
But this time, something lingered—not him, but the feeling. The echo of a life that could have been, a story that never fully closed, and a version of herself that still existed somewhere deep inside, quietly remembering.
And perhaps, in some unexplainable way, still waiting to say goodbye properly.