The Park Game

You hadn’t lied — you were good with children. From the wooden bench, I watched you steal glances at me between bursts of laughter, a small smile tugging at your lips before you resumed chasing Mia and little Mingze across the grass.

They played “Catch the Dragon’s Tail,” their shrieks echoing off the trees. You were the Dragon’s head, your dark hair wild in the wind, your summer dress billowing, rising like a curtain that revealed glimpses of something forbidden. The sunlight stretched shadows of your moving form across the grass, as if the park itself were holding you in memory.

It stirred something inside me. The last time I’d played that game was when my mother was alive. Happy Mother’s Day, I thought, watching. The children had warmed to you now — unlike yesterday. And I had since apologized for Hua. My ex’s sharp words still clung to me like the echo of a slammed door.

“It’s okay, Mingze,” you had told me. “Maybe just change the locks.”
The rest of your meaning — before she barges in on us doing something really bad — had remained unspoken, but your eyes told the story.

---

The Dinner Table

“Is this your new girlfriend, Daddy?” Mia had asked last night, eyes wide with her mother’s same unflinching gaze.

You stifled a laugh, hiding your mouth behind your dainty hand, while heat flooded my face.

“Oh no, no,” I blurted, “this is Ichika. She’ll be helping me… mind you.”

“Mind us?” Mia tilted her head.

“It’s like a babysitter, dummy,” little Mingze corrected, rice spilling from his spoon.

“Who you calling a dummy, dummy?”

“Enough,” I snapped, playing referee as always. Hua once told me she carried a whistle for moments like these, and I’d laughed then. Now I understood.

But then my son leaned forward, voice muffled with food: “Daddy, why is Ichika sleeping in my room?”

“Because you weren’t around, and it’s just temporary. You can share with your sister for the weekend.”

“No!” he barked. “I want my own room back tonight!”

I shot you a worried glance, but you only smiled behind your hand, those amused eyes saying, It’s fine, kids are kids.

Then Mia — always too bold for her age — struck again. “Why doesn’t Ichika sleep with you, Baba? At least you won’t be lonely anymore, now that Ma’s gone.”

I froze. “That wouldn’t be appropriate, Mia.”

You laughed lightly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind the couch.”

“No, Ichika,” I insisted. “You’re a guest. Take my room. I’ll use the couch.”

But you shook your head. “And miss falling asleep in front of the television? Bù, xièxiè.”

---

The Living Room Sanctuary

That night, I found you sprawled on the couch. The glow of the television painted you in flickering strokes: silk nightdress clinging, hair spilling across the cushions, your face softened by the weight of sleep. A schoolbook rested on your chest, and your glasses, still perched on your nose, lent you the air of someone older, wiser.

I gently lifted the book away, grazing your breast by accident, removed the glasses from your delicate face. For a moment, I just looked — drinking you in from head to toe. You were beautiful in the way silence is beautiful.

I covered you with the blanket, then slipped a folded page into your book. Another piece of the secret story I was writing — two characters based on us, destined to live out what I couldn’t say aloud. I knew when you had read them. I could always see it in your starry eyes the following day.

“Mmm… thank you, Mingze,” you whispered suddenly, half-asleep. Causing me to nearly jump out of my skin.

---

The Bench

Now, watching you in the park with my children, a dangerous thought stirred — the idea of family, whole again. But Hua’s warning still rang in my ears: You’re not being careful enough, Mingze.

She was right. You were a mystery. Where had you come from? What was your true story with Tao? How old were you really? I hadn’t dared to snoop, afraid of truths that might collapse everything. Better to stay foolish, I told myself. Better to savor the sweetness before the aftertaste arrived.

“Hey, you,” you startled me, slipping behind me, your warm hand brushing the back of my neck. I jumped. You laughed like a child, then sat beside me, your presence filling the space like light fills a room.

“You’ll give an old man a heart attack one day,” I said.

You raised a brow, playful. “Then your heart better learn to keep up. I’m just getting warmed up.”

We laughed, but then your voice softened. “I’m so happy, Mingze. The kids like me.”

“Indeed,” I murmured. “And they’re not the only ones.”

Your eyes dropped, blush threatening to betray you. I tilted your chin, stealing a kiss while the children played.

“Huh—Mingze,” you whispered, looking around excitedly. “We’re in public. Someone might see.”

“Then let’s not disappoint them.”

I kissed you then — tentative at first, tasting the uncertainty that lingered in the curve of your lips. The tall brick façades lining the park, the wrought-iron railings curling like grasping fingers, the angular shadows of nearby buildings — they leaned in, pressing, judging, enclosing. The architecture was not neutral; it was a silent antagonist, the city itself conspiring to expose what was meant to be secret.

But we ignored it.

Our lips met again, more boldly this time. The world narrowed to the heat of your skin, the tremor in your hands, the small sighs you tried to stifle. You were beautiful in the way vulnerability is beautiful: raw, unguarded, human. I kissed you recklessly, and held you like you were mine.

---

The Flash

Then — click.

A camera. A burst of light.

The world cracked open.

The sudden intrusion fractured the spell. Shadows leapt across the park, sharp and accusing. You blinked against the light, your cheeks aflame, and for a heartbeat, the park felt like a cage. The trees, the paths, the very benches — even the sunlight — became witnesses. And yet, even under the city’s unflinching gaze, we remained tethered together, suspended between fear and desire, secrecy and confession.

“I—Mingze…” you whispered, your voice fragile, trembling.

I held you tighter. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The bitter aftertaste had come sooner than I had ever imagined.