Scenes outside the car window slipped by, light and shadow intertwining. The taxi played "Back in Time."
The driver, sensing my mood, tried to engage me in conversation.
"Miss, they say listening to 'Back in Time' a thousand times can take you back to the past."
"Is that so? Do you believe in that, sir?"
"We are just mortals, living in this world. We need to believe in something to have the strength to carry on. Why don't you try?"
"Okay, I'll listen to it as soon as I get home."
In fact, I had already listened to it nearly two thousand times.
I wanted to return to the past more than anyone, to that time and space where Ethan existed.
Back to our first encounter.
After my stepmother came into my life, I felt like an outsider.
After school, I preferred wandering aimlessly rather than going home.
It was during one of those wanderings that I accidentally stumbled into Ethan's tattoo shop, named "Inked Impressions," tucked away in a quiet corner.
Two walls were lined with bookshelves filled with thick old books, magazines, and picture books, alongside several small wooden tables.
Initially, I thought it was a small bookstore where one could study.
I found a seat by the window, took out my workbook, and started working on my homework quietly.
Before long, a muscular man with tattoos on his bare chest emerged, startling me to my feet.
"Don't be scared, little girl! I'm a good guy," he covered his chest when he saw me.
"Hey, it's finished. Get up and put your shirt on," a clear, magnetic voice commanded from behind him.
The next moment, a T-shirt flew over, landing on the man's head.
The man who followed was tall, his broad shoulders covered by a black T-shirt, his demeanor cold yet striking.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to... interrupt your business," I hastily gathered my things to leave, but the man blocked my way.
"Hey, kid, did you misunderstand something?"
"I won't tell anyone, you don't have to explain."
He chuckled softly. "This is a legitimate tattoo shop. What were you thinking?"
My heart raced slightly as our eyes met.
"Alright, I was overthinking it," I surveyed the place and said sincerely, "Perfect, boss, can you give me a tattoo too? Something that makes me look tough."
"You?" He scanned me up and down, smiling. "Sorry, we don't serve minors."
"Well then, can I stay here for a bit?"
"As you wish."
Not used to interacting with people from society, I mustered up courage. "I'm Sophia."
"Mm, nice to meet you, Sophia. Always with the workbook, huh? No wonder you carry it around."
"..."
He did that on purpose.
Later, I learned his name was Ethan.
And that he was seven years older than me. He was not only the owner of "Inked Impressions" but also an artist who had held his own exhibitions, jokingly calling himself a half-hearted artist.
Recalling our first meeting always made me laugh.
But the laughter was followed by piercing pain.
