[original] The Girl with the Yellow Umbrella
Title: The Girl with the Yellow Umbrella
Author: Luna (dreamweavernyx )
Summary: She waits there every day...but for who?
Notes: The original fic that inspired White Camellia.
Inspired by She Will Be Loved (Maroon 5) and Hachiko.
~
The umbrella was there again.
It was a familiar sight by now to him, the small girl with the bright yellow umbrella who stood outside the train station all day, every day.
Sometimes, he wondered who exactly she was looking for. It had to be somebody pretty important, for her to waste her days away standing outside the busy station, whether rain or shine.
Ever since he first saw her two and a half years ago, he had been extremely curious to find out her reason for being there. But he had always been too busy to ask, to stop, to fight against the rush of the human tide at peak hour.
Besides, he had his own work to go to.
However, today was different. Today, his company had declared a special off-day to celebrate the son of the boss inheriting his father’s business.
He had let curiosity overtake him, and his feet somehow brought him to the station even without him being aware of it.
The girl was there again, standing under a tree away from the rush of people going in and out of the station. She looked too pale, with her white skin and light brown hair. To him, she appeared not Asian with her hair, which stood out against the sea of black heads. And yet, her features were undeniably Asian.
She was like an enigma.
The only colour on the faded girl was her bright red dress, with a pastel pink ribbon as pale as her chapped lips.
He frowned, and the wind blew around him, a reminder of which season it currently was.
Why would a girl stand outside a station in summer clothing when it’s nearly winter?
Her yellow umbrella protected her from the falling snow as her eyes scanned every wave of people that exited the station. And every time, he saw her stance slump in disappointment, as she had not found whoever she was looking for.
Gathering his courage, he headed towards her, beige coat billowing as cold air blew in his face.
“Hello,” he said when he reached her. “Aren’t you cold?”
She started in surprise, then tilted up the canopy of her umbrella to look at him.
“I’ve gotten used to it,” she replied, voice hoarse from lack of use.
He frowned, and unwound the thick white scarf that was wrapped around his neck.
“Here,” he said, “you need to keep warm in winter.”
The scarf wrapped around her thin frame four times like a shawl, leaving her lower forearms free to keep the umbrella up.
She said nothing, only continued to scan the crowds. Sighing, he sat down on the bench next to where she was standing.
“Who are you waiting for?” he asked softly.
Her face was turned away from him, and she kept silent for a while before replying.
“I am waiting,” she said, after the latest crowd had dispersed, “for Papa.”
“Your father?” he repeated incredulously. “I’ve seen you waiting here for two and a half years!”
She whirled around to face him, eyes filled with the fury of a nine-year-old scorned.
“He will come! I’m sure of it,” she said.
Startled by the firm conviction in her words, he could only nod and go along with her words.
After a while, when she showed no further sign of speaking, he ventured to ask again.
“Your father’s away for work?”
She gave a non-committal shrug.
“Mama said he left for a place with a starlit sky,” she said.
He nodded slowly. He knew that the starless skies polluted by industrial smoke were indeed an extremely depressing sight.
“But,” continued the girl, “I wrote a letter to him to ask him to come home, because I have a star for him. So even if the sky doesn’t show any, he’ll have his own!”
She indicated her yellow umbrella.
He could see hope radiating from her eyes, and decided not to point out that two and a half years of silence didn’t exactly portray a very positive picture of her father’s ability to return home.
“Don’t you get tired of waiting?” he asked instead.
She shook her head.
“If it’s Papa, I could wait forever for him!” she said.
She beamed at him, and he sighed, patting her head gently.
So naïve, he thought to himself, so sweet but naïve.
~
A week later, he arrived at the station to see that the yellow umbrella was nowhere in sight.
Puzzled, he scanned the area, and finally on his third sweep saw a sliver of yellow on the other side of a large bush.
She was there, alright, but she looked as if she were sleeping. He thought she was, too, until he reached down and touched her hand, lying in the snow.
It was colder than ice.
The scarf he had given her was no longer tied around her, most probably stolen by street thieves.
“I could wait forever!”
“Forever indeed,” he murmured. He reached down, and opened up the umbrella to shield her frozen little body from the weather.
Her soul is resting with the stars now, he thought.
I wonder if she can see her father from where she is in the starlit sky?