Chapter 9: Distant Worlds

But that scene didn’t happen.

My mother’s almond-shaped eyes widened in confusion: “Ji… ji what?”

She looked at me as if I had started speaking in riddles, her brow furrowing. The silence stretched between us, heavy and thick.

I was shocked too.

The air in the room felt strange, as if even the shadows paused. What’s happening?

My mind raced through the possibilities. The secret code no work?

Had I said something wrong? Did she not remember? Or… were we truly from different worlds?

I didn’t let go of my mother’s hand—if anything, I held it tighter.

Her palm was warm, slightly calloused from years of work. “Mama, you travel come too, abi? From modern society?”

When I said that, my mother’s face changed.

A muscle twitched in her jaw. After a moment, she sighed softly. “Travel… that’s the right word.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, eyes clouding with memories. “It’s just, modern society…?”

She looked at me as if I were a mystery, half-familiar, half-strange. Now it was my turn to open my eyes wide. “Mama, which year you come from?”

“1940—the time when the British still ruled, before independence.” She watched my face, then added, “The 29th year of the old Republic. And you?”

For a heartbeat, the world stood still, as the gulf between us yawned wide—one foot in the struggle, one in the dream of peace.