Always alone

It was Ethel. The moment I saw her, exactly the Ethel I knew, whose paintings I admired, I just felt faint.

Looking at her was like looking into the past. Only that past had finally become the present.

"Ethel! What are you doing here?"

"Professor, you haven't changed at all. You're even younger now. Only why did you cut your hair?" she asked and walked over to me.

She hadn't changed at all either. The same fragile, graceful but strong girl in whose eyes I noticed too much sadness.

"Say, is everything alright?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. As you can see, I was able to hold an exhibition in New York. And this is what's left of the exhibition. There were a lot of people here. And they all liked my paintings. I gave them almost all my paintings. This is the only one left."

"How's your mother doing?"

She lowered her head. I knew something was wrong.

"She died."

"How did it happen?"

"She got hit by a car."