Classical music filled the ballroom, flowing like a kind of luxury air that adults breathed every day. Crystal chandeliers hung high above, spilling warm golden light across the polished marble floor in long, gleaming streaks. Adults stood in small clusters, wine glasses in hand, exchanging conversations that held no meaning for a ten year old like Lena.

She stood tucked behind a marble pillar, small fingers wrapped around a glass of orange juice that had already lost its chill. From there, Lena could see almost the entire party. The long tables draped in white cloth. The carefully arranged floral centerpieces. Children running wildly across the hall. And her parents faces, wearing their practiced smiles as they entertained business partners.

It was the year end celebration of two major corporations. People called it a strategic partnership, a milestone for the future. Words Lena had heard too many times through closed meeting room doors at home. To her, it was simply another night of wearing a pretty dress, uncomfortable shoes, and trying not to disturb anyone.

She disliked parties. Disliked loud laughter. Disliked the feeling of being looked at like something on display.

"Lena, come say hello to your uncle," her mother called from across the hall.

Lena lifted her gaze, nodded obediently, and stepped out from her hiding place. She walked over, bowed politely, and repeated the lines she had memorized long ago. Hello sir. I am doing well in school. Yes, I will do my best like my parents. Everything passed like a rehearsed scene. When the adults returned to their conversation, Lena quietly retreated back to the pillar.

She did not join the children at play. The shouting, the laughter, the constant calling of names tired her. Lena was not good with noisy places. She chose to stand here, where the lights were softer and no one truly paid attention to her.

Until she saw another child.

Among the bright dresses and familiar looking faces of children from wealthy families, one girl stood out in a different way. A simple white dress. Hair tied neatly high. Round eyes so bright they seemed to reflect all the light in the room. She ran freely, her shoes tapping against the floor, laughing without any concern for who might be watching.

Lena watched her without meaning to.

It was not intentional. Her gaze simply followed that figure on its own.

The girl spoke to everyone as if anyone could become a friend. Pulling one child by the hand, laughing with another, spinning in the middle of the group as if she were the center of their orbit. Even the adults glanced over with fond smiles. No one scolded her. No one told her that children should stand still and behave properly.

Lena found it strange. Why was she allowed to be so free.

The girl moved from place to place, playing, then suddenly turned her head. Her bright eyes swept across the room and, absurdly, stopped exactly where Lena was standing.

In that moment, Lena felt as though she had been seen straight through. She shifted instinctively, but it was too late. The girl had already noticed her. Those round eyes widened slightly, then curved into a smile.

Lena stood still. Her heart did not race. It slowed, yet grew heavier. Not the weight of fear, but the feeling of something dropping quietly into her chest. Something not yet formed, but already important.

The girl said something to the children beside her, then without warning, ran straight toward Lena.

Lena stepped back half a pace. She had never liked strangers coming too close. But the girl stopped right in front of her, cheeks flushed from running, breath light and warm, smile unchanged.

"What are you hiding here for?" Her voice was clear and unhesitant.

Lena blinked. "I am not hiding."

"Then why are you not playing?"

Lena glanced toward the children in the center of the hall, then back again. "I am not good at those games."

The girl tilted her head as if considering something, then suddenly held out her hand.

"Then play with me."

Lena stared at that hand. Neatly trimmed nails. A small bracelet with a star charm resting on the wrist. An ordinary hand, yet to Lena it felt like a doorway to somewhere she had never been.

"What is your name?" the girl asked, her hand still extended.

"Lena."

"I am Miu." She smiled, the expression reaching her eyes. "Come on, Lena."

Before Lena could refuse, Miu took her hand and pulled her along.

The hand was small and warm. A simple sensation any child might find ordinary. But to Lena, it was strange enough to sharpen all her senses.

Until then, most touches in her life had been casual pats on the shoulder, firm grips pulling her away from meeting rooms, embraces performed for others to see. Miu's hand was different. It was steady without being rough. Warm without hurting. It pulled Lena out of the shadows and into the noise without making her feel like a burden.

"Stand here," Miu said, leading Lena toward the group of children. She turned to the others. "This is Lena. Play with us, okay."

Lena did not say much. She did not run in circles or shout when nearly tagged. She stood slightly to the side. But every time she looked back, Miu glanced at her, as if silently asking, you are still there, right.

Lena did not know why that unspoken question made her feel reassured.

The party passed more quickly than usual. Adults changed topics, changed conversation partners, changed the glasses in their hands. The children slowly scattered, tired, finding places to sit. Miu sat on the steps near the garden, holding a vanilla ice cream, legs swinging.

Lena sat a short distance away, still holding the same glass of orange juice.

"Lena," Miu called, a bit of ice cream on the corner of her lips. "Was today fun?"

Lena thought for a moment. Fun was not a word she usually used for parties like this.

"It was less boring than the others."

Miu laughed. "That is good then."

She took another lick of her ice cream, then said casually, as if stating something obvious. "Let's meet again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. Or next week. Let's meet again." Miu said it simply, as if meeting again were a certainty.

Lena looked at that smile and felt the weight in her chest deepen.

"Okay." She nodded.

That night, back home, Lena could still hear Miu's laughter echoing in her mind. She changed clothes, took a bath, sat on her bed, but could not fall asleep. The soft glow of the night light on the wall, the ticking clock, everything was familiar. Except for one thing. The image of a girl in a white dress, holding ice cream, smiling as she called her name.

Miu.

Lena opened a drawer and took out a small sketchbook she usually used for idle drawings. She picked up a pencil and slowly traced the tied up hair, the smiling eyes, the white dress, the little shoes. The lines were uneven and childish, but enough to remember.

Beside the drawing, Lena wrote a single line in crooked letters.

"If we do not meet tomorrow, we will meet again someday."

The next day, Lena did not see Miu.

Nor the day after. Nor many days after that.

Weeks passed. At dinner one evening, her mother mentioned something casually. "That family sent Miu abroad for a while. They want her to experience a new environment."

Her father nodded, continuing to talk about contracts and projects. No one mentioned Miu again.

Lena did not ask. Did not say a word. She lowered her head and kept eating, as if the news had nothing to do with her.

But that night, back in her room, she took out the sketchbook once more. Looking at the drawing of the girl in the white dress, Lena slowly added another line beneath it.

"I will remember you until we meet again."

She was only ten years old. No one had taught her what to call that feeling. She only knew that from that night on, in a world with very little light, Lena had one small brightness of her own. Something to remember. Something to look toward. Something to hold onto when the noise of adults became too heavy.

And when a child like that says, I will remember you until we meet again, it is not a promise.

It is a quiet decision. Steady. Enduring. Known only to Lena, and the name Miu written on the page.