Tea was a bit awkward. Mum seemed uncomfortable. I left as soon as I could. My cello was waiting. I had been wanting to play for such a long time. I missed making music.

I sat on my cello stool. My music rested on my bed, supported by a pillow. I sat my cello between my legs. The bow sat comfortably in my right hand. I tuned the cello and then began to play. I was rusty, but I had played this piece thousands of times, so muscle memory took over. My body began to move in tandem to the music. The music washed through my mind. The world seemed to melt away. Playing the cello was my favourite form of escapism. Nothing mattered to me but the music. Where my fingers fell. The gentle movement of the bow across the strings was all that mattered when I played the cello.

I have no idea how long I played the cello. At some point I stopped following the music; my mind chose the next note. My emotions lead the music. That had been my favourite thing about getting good at the cello; it allowed me to play what I felt in a way that made sense to me and others.

I was interrupted by my door opening. I looked up to see who had disturbed me. It was Dad. I lept to my feet and embraced him. He squeezed me tight to him.

“I missed you so much, dad!” I squealed.

“I missed you to Coco.”

He let me go and took a seat on my bed, gesturing for me to join him. I slipped off my indoor shoes and sat down next to him cross-legged.

He looked me up and down. He pointed to the scar across my face. “Nice scar. How did it happen?”

“The Tiffer invaded our camp. It was a dumb reason, really. It shouldn’t have happened. I stabbed the person in the gut, but they somehow got enough strength to make one last attack. I was lucky it didn’t take out my eye.”

My dad nodded. “Adrenaline is a magical thing. That soldier must have had a lot going through his system. I’m glad you didn’t lose an eye. You have very pretty eyes.”

“He also got my arm.” I pulled up my sleeve to reveal the ugly scar it was covering.

He ran his finger down the scar. “Don’t show your mother that. She’ll have a fit. The one across your face was probably enough to give her a heart attack.”

“She was pretty panicked every time she saw a scar.”

“We’ve all been so worried for you. Every time we get mail, I can see a flash of fear in her eyes before she realises it’s not from the army. When we got the letter telling us you had Sting, she had a panic attack. She was convinced you were going to die.”

“I was too. I was pretty bad at one point.”

“We figured as much considering you were sent to the Capital Hospital.”

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“Mhmm. I did meet a really nice nurse there. I wish I had got his address so I could send him a letter thanking him again. He was basically the reason I recovered.”

Dad took my hand in his and looked kindly into my eyes. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but I think you should pay a visit to the Qi family. They lost their only son, and you were his boyfriend. I know this is a lot to ask, but I think it would mean so much to them if you visited.”

I looked down. I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “All right. I have his stuff with me, so I should probably get that to them. Was his funeral nice? Is there a grave to visit?”

“The funeral was beautiful. He’s buried in a graveyard. But I think it’s better to see him in the stars. That’s where he really is. He’s not on earth anymore. He’s up there.” Dad gestured upwards as he said it.

I nodded. “Please hug me, Dad.”

“Always.”

He took me into his arms. With my head buried in Dad’s shirt, I cried silently. I think Dad may have been crying as well, judging by his irregular breathing.

I detangled myself from Dad's arms. “Dad, how did you deal with watching so many people you knew die?”

“I didn’t really. I just forced myself to keep moving forward, but I never forgot. While I’m awake, I can forget them, but when I close my eyes, they're all there. My best piece of advice is that they will never leave you, so remember their life, not their death. It helped me keep their memory happy. Their death does not define them in my mind; their life does. You can’t forget them, so at least make the memory happy.”

I thought about that. Turned it over in my mind. It made sense. If you can’t forget, why not make the memory a happy one?

“Can you play your cello again? I’ve missed your music.”

“Of course, dad.”

I needed something to escape my thoughts, so I took up the cello again and began to play. The music flowed through me once more. I allowed my emotions to flow out of me through my music.

Dad just sat there and listened. He had always loved to listen to me play.

It was a form of escapism for both of us.

* * *

When I finished playing, I excused myself. There was one more person I had to see.

I walked the very familiar path to the stables at the back of the house. That’s where Mimõe was. When he saw me, he scratched his hooves on the ground, nodding his head up and down impatiently.

“Mimõe! Come here, boy. I’ve missed you so much!” I gently rubbed his face along the white blaze. Mimõe nickered softly at my touch.

When I stopped rubbing his face, Mimõe rubbed himself up and down my front until I started again. With my free hand, I unlatched the door to the stable. I slipped in, closing the door behind me.

I sat down on the hay-covered ground, leaning my back against the wooden wall of the stall. I patted the ground next to me. Mimõe lay down beside me, stretching his wings out and offering his head up for more ear scratches. This was a trick I had taught Mimõe when he was a foal.

I just sat with Mimõe until Calula called me to dinner.

When I entered the house, I was overwhelmed by the smell of Mums food.

The food that was laid out on the table looked amazing. We were having tofu and pickled vegetables wrapped in a thin savoury pancake. I took my seat on my pillow. My sitting pillow had been my first embroidery project. The stitching on it had come undone a few times over the years, but as my sewing got better, I needed to mend it less and less.

Mum took a bite of her food, signalling us to begin eating as well. The food was so amazing. It had been way too long since I had had this much good food.

He took a bit of the heavenly food. “Mum, you are the world’s best cook.”

She laughed as I inhaled her food. I should have savoured it, but I was just too impatient. After every bite, I just wanted more.

The meal was light and fun with Dad there. He had the power to brighten a room just with his presence. It really was a superpower I wished I had inherited.

I was so happy to just be sitting with my family enjoying a meal. I had missed them so much.