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February 2024, Aÿ-Champagne. Han Rin watches the drops racing down the glass — each one a story of destiny, of beginnings that already contain their endings.
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One. Two. Three.
Four.
Five.
Hanrin traced the racing drops with her finger. She watched them form, swell on the glass pane. Slide down, die into the wood of the frame. Some fell straight, without hesitation. Others, suddenly, changed direction—joined for an instant to a larger drop, or pushed away by something invisible.
The wind.
She was only ten years old, but she understood in that moment. Not all lives are the same.
Some flow straight, as if nothing could divert them.
Others are torn from their path, with no time to choose.
In Aÿ-Champagne, most of the time it rained. At least three seasons out of four. Or so Hanrin believed. She had learned to wait for the sky to clear, between a book and a friend. Then, in May, the long days revealed the vivid colors of the French countryside.
The bright green of the vines, the rooftops and the bell tower stood out against the deep blue of the sky. Vivid, like the pastels with which she sometimes drew that enchanted scene. And in that moment, she would fling open the gates of the estate, run into the vineyard, lose herself among the rows, clutch the fragrant earth in her hand. Only three months remained until that moment. Eternity in her eyes. Then she would be reborn. Free. Like Spring.
Her thought shifted, her gaze changed course. A blonde woman was pacing in the courtyard, back and forth. She was looking for something. Or someone.
— Hanrin, have you finished your homework?
— Auntie, look! She pointed to the window. There’s someone down there.
Luna leaned forward to see who it might be.
— Auntie, who could it be?
— I don’t know.
She stroked her head, eyes fixed on the unfamiliar figure.
— Hanrin, stay here. I’ll go check. Stay with your mother, alright?