The applause rang in my ears, ricocheting off the high domed ceiling. The cherry red heels that matched my graduation robes clicked against the wood-paneled auditorium. 

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

This felt unreal. As I walked up the steps, through the arch, past the podium, I smiled and waved, the motions automatic.

It was all I’d ever been taught- smile through it all. 

I received my diploma, shook hands with the principal, muttering empty words, nodding through all the obligatory chatter. I turned, and saw my family. All of them were here to see me graduate business school with honors, as valedictorian. I could see my aunt complaining about my postponed speech, my grandmother crying, my parents already discussing where I would work. 

But amidst all the faces I was so proud to see, there was one I couldn’t find. 

I wanted to see his gap-toothed smile, the friction of his grey stubble against my skin when I hugged him, the smell of tea leaves when he entered the room. I could almost hear his booming laugh, echoing through me, penetrating my soul. That’s all I have left of him now.

I tottered back down the ramp, nearly tripping on the runway set for us graduates. I felt like a ghost trapped in my own body, imprisoned since childhood.

Before he was gone. 

I sat down in my assigned seat, waiting for the commencement speech to proceed. The day was brightly lit, the sun hugging the Earth, the wind a whisper in our hair. I looked up at a murky brown crow swerving violently left, and suddenly, the world tilted. I was back in my old New York apartment…

I was sitting upright on my bed, ramrod straight, impatient. It was 10:57; they should be here any minute now. I grabbed my unicorn plush, like any six-year-old would have, closed my eyes,  and made a wish. I only ever wished for one thing; to see him as soon as I could. 

And just like that, my door opened. The aroma of tea leaves enveloped me, and I smiled. I opened my eyes, and saw the one person I was waiting for: my grandpa. 

As nimble as I was, I bounded off my bed into his arms. He laughed, but even in that joy, I noticed his unsteady sway—something I’d never seen before. His heartbeat was quicker, louder than usual with this simple act. I saw him smile, though his leg twitched uncomfortably. Maybe I should have helped him. 

But I didn’t.

Instead, I begged him to play hide-and-seek with me, the way he did so many times with me before. But my grandfather just sat down heavily beside me, and sighed, as if every breath carried the weight of a lifetime. He fingered the wisps of my hair, pushing back strands that framed my face and tucking them behind my ears. 

“You’re growing up too fast,” he chuckled gravely, dispassionately. “Soon, you’ll be a young woman, and forget about silly old people like me.”

I pouted, declaring angrily, “Of course I won’t! We will live together forever and ride unicorns into the sunset!” 

He smiled wryly. 

That evening, my grandfather brewed a cup of tea for himself- ten minutes on the stove, an equal ratio of milk and sugar, an infusion of cardamom, ginger, and clove. When pouring the concoction into the cup, the sieve shook slightly, vibrating from the irregular motion of his hands. He noticed my vibrant eyes on him, and laughed saying it was just old age. 

“I played too hard with you. Be kind to your old grandpa!” he laughed.

But thinking back, I remember how long it took him to steady the cup before finally bringing it to his lips.

Later that night, voices filtered through my walls. I remember my voice, trying to clear my head. I recognized my mother- she was crying quietly, like she didn’t want to alarm me. My father’s voice was low, steady, trying to anchor her. Fragments of the conversation pierced my ears. 

“Hospital”

“Tomorrow morning”

“Don’t tell her yet.” 

I remember crushing my face into the pillow, blocking out all noise. My unicorn plush lay forgotten beside me, the vision of my grandfather’s shaking hands still lingering in the shadows of my curtains. I told myself he was fine. He had to be. 

But the next morning, he wasn’t there. 

I didn’t understand it then- how love could root itself in everything it touched, long after the person was gone. I thought my loss, my sorrow, would end, like the end of a book. But I know now that it never really does, it just changes its form. 

The memory shattered as applause brought me back to the present. The sound was thunderous, like waves rising and falling, but I barely heard it. The vibrant hues enveloping me felt gray, the sharp light from the sun piercing my eyes uncomfortably. My new diploma felt like a stone in my lap. 

Like the model student I was trained to be, I tried to pay attention to the commencement speech. Yet the syllables blurred together, the enunciations sounding like an echo, hollow and distant. I felt suspended, caught between the life I was creating and the life I had lost- the life I had loved. My family still looked on proudly, waving excitedly from the crowd. My dad caressed my mom’s trembling shoulders. My grandmother sobbed unashamedly. The same scene as 15 years ago, but with happiness now. Happiness for them, not me. 

I stood when everyone else did, clapping when I was supposed to, laughing when I was cued to. Just like I had been taught. But inside, my chest sagged with the same heaviness that resided there when I was six. 

After the ceremony, the graduates sauntered down the sunlit steps outside the auditorium. My heels clicked against the marble walkway, the same steady rhythm that I had built throughout the day, the one that let me stand tall without crumpling. I sniffed the faint scent of something- earthy, rich, deep, familiar. Tea leaves. My breath caught. I turned, scanning the crowd, half-expecting to see his frail frame in the vast crowd. 

Of course, he wasn’t there. But the smell lingered. 

I wandered across the lawn, the fabric of my gown billowing in the wind. My family followed me, their laughter overlapping in a chorus of voices and sounds that I just wanted to stop. I just wanted peace for the moment. Just him. 

My mother hugged me tightly, whispering about her pride, my future, my promise. I nodded unconsciously, and smiled for her, for the camera, for everyone but myself. 

Then, in my peripheral vision, I saw a little girl- about five- running across the lawn, excited to be with so many people. Her straight hair streaked behind her, her laughter carrying across campus. She tripped, fell, and started to cry, but before anyone could help, an old man rushed over to lift her up. He helped her sit up, brushed the dirt off her knees, and ruffled her hair. He whispered something that made her laugh, and she wrapped her little arms around his knees. I didn’t need to hear what he said; her vibrant smile told me everything. The scene unfolded like a memory I had once lived. 

For the first time since I was six, I let myself cry ceaselessly, without purpose. Not the kind of crying that pleaded for comfort, but the kind that was a release. The tears felt warm and cleansing. Freeing. 

I found a bench just behind the auditorium, where the crowd had not managed to reach yet. I sat down, the diploma still clutched in my hand. I turned it over, reading the permanent letter, the weight it had on the rest of my life. 

He had always told me to chase love, even when it eluded me. He said that the world wouldn’t wait for me, but love- real love- endured, even when people didn’t.

And I think, finally, I understood. 

I realized love isn’t something we gain or lose; it’s what carries us forward, one step, one breath at a time. That’s what I would carry on with me, with my grandfather’s love stitched into the essence of me- quiet, steady, real. 

The wind brushed past my face again, carrying that same faint scent- tea leaves and ginger, sunlight and time. The scent wasn’t just his anymore- I accepted it as mine too, a part of him that stayed with me. I closed my eyes, breathing it in, letting it fill every crevice of me. 

When I opened them, the sky was vast and azure and endless. The crow from before was long gone. The harsh stage lights, the clattering noise, the crowd- all of it felt far away now. 

For the first time since he died, I felt him everywhere. In the warmth of the day, in the applause that still rang in my ears, in the steady rhythm of my heartbeat that matched his once quickened one. 

And for the first time in a long time, I smiled- not the practiced, polished smile I’d worn for years but something quieter. Truer. 

I think that’s what he wanted for me all along.