10:01

It is not only the living who are killed in war. - Isaac Asimov

A month after meeting her father for the first time, Aerith was woken up from her slumber. Looking outside the window, she could see it was pitch dark, and the only thing bright for her was the white shirt that her father always wore to sleep.

She looked at her digital clock and it said 10:01.

Stirring in her bed, a gasp escaped her lips when her father scooped her up, taking long strides out of her bedroom and then out of their home inside the military camp in rushed yet silent steps.

She was ten-years-old, and he shouldn't be carrying her. She could have insisted to be put down, but she'd opted to bask in the warmth of being cradled by her father. Hugging him tight by the neck, she smiled as what was once long strides turned into a full sprint.

Behind them, the sky turned red as fireworks exploded from a distance. And with every burst of red and orange from a mile away, she could feel her father's heart ram in his chest.

She smiled. Surely, he loved the fireworks just like her, right?

Pulling away, she beamed at Wyatt who mirrored the smile on her face, and when he cupped the back of her head, burying it to the crook of his neck, Aerith took a deep breath, imprinting the smell of his skin in her memory.

Soon they found themselves deep in an open field, a helicopter whirring in the center. Placing her down, Wyatt took his dog tag off his neck.

He hung it on hers. It was too long for her to wear as it dangled, kissing her belly button, but she was happy. She always secretly played with his dog tag every time he came home from work.

"Go. Go." Her father pushed her to the man with a pair of blue eyes whose hands were outstretched to her. She knew who the man was just by the color of his eyes and hair. He was Prince Maxen, her father's best friend that was like a brother to him.

Like the good little lamb that she was, she followed his instruction, only to run back, hugging his thigh.

Wyatt tried to wiggle himself free from her clutches, but little Aerith was laughing, and soon he was laughing too.

Kneeling down, he pulled a pink scrunchie from his wrist, tying her bed hair in a low ponytail, one that he did every single day since they met. "Go, precious," he whispered in her ears.

This time, she listened to him, stealing glances over her shoulders as she walked towards the helicopter's direction.

Soon the helicopter lifted off the ground. The tingling sensation in her belly and the company of strangers made her seek her father's warmth one more time, so she took a peep through the window, sending him a flying kiss with her two fingers pressed to her lips, planting it on the glass.

Her father did the same, making her smile.

Just as she was to buckle up in her seat, she looked one more time on the window; her smile turned into a downward curl, her eyes pooled salty tears as her father's favorite white shirt slowly painted crimson red.

She watched as her father knelt on the ground, hands limp on both sides. His head turned towards the heavens as if asking for absolution for all his wrongdoings.

And she knew he saw her, because for one last time, with all his might, her father sent her their signature two fingers kiss salute.

"PAPAAAAAAA!" she screamed, pounding the window. She tried to run for the door, ready to jump out of the flying helicopter when she felt a prick on her arm. Slowly, her eyes felt heavy, and the loud thump in her heart slowed down. The whirring sound of the rotor blades albeit loud was enough to lull her to sleep.

When she woke up the next day, a dull ache weighed in her chest. Her heart painfully throbbed when she knew what happened last night was nothing close to a nightmare. Scanning the big room she slept in for the night, her eyes landed on the lady who was standing by the window.

Sensing that she was already awake because of the duvet's shuffling sound as she sat upright, the lady turned to her direction with a rueful smile on her face.

Drawn to the lady's lips, she watched as it moved, speaking words that Aerith didn't bother to process. Her eyes then darted to the pool of hazel eyes.

It looked tired. Worn out. Sleepless even. The dark circles under her eyes was enough proof to that.

For a second, Aerith felt they had something in common the longer she pierced her stare into the lady's eyes. And she knew the lady felt it too.

So she lifted her hand, cupping the lady's face, who cried the tears that Aerith couldn't shed.

Maybe, the lady lost someone special too.

…

It was almost Christmas time, a time for celebrations after the country survived the war, and today was a special day for Aerith—she even marked her calendar with a star.

Inside a clinic, Aerith and her mom—Olivia, sat side by side as they waited for the audiologist to adjust the buttons on her tablet.

Sliding her chair on the marbled floor, the audiologist clicked 'OK' on her tablet, gesturing to Olivia to say something.

"Hi, precious." Olivia smiled, the corner of her eyes pooled tears, in anticipation of a positive result. It had been a year since they started Aerith's hearing therapy. As you see, Aerith was born with hearing difficulty.

"Hi." Aerith mouthed her reply, yet no words came out of her mouth.

"I can't hear you, precious. Can you speak louder for us?" Olivia urged her, squeezing her hands.

"Yes!"

Everyone's hands flew to their mouths at what could be considered the loudest reply they heard from Aerith to date.

Clearing the lump in her throat, Aerith's lips quivered, a big fat hot tear rolled down her cheeks as she uttered the words she never thought she'd had a chance to say, "Beautiful voice, Mama."

That was the day Aerith heard the world's symphony for the first time in her entire life.