Fingertips brush the brass gears of an old clock, rust dissolving into the rain of 1943.
Pushing open the creaking wooden door, osmanthus fragrance drifts through brick alleys, while a radio opera trills "Su San leaves Hongtong County". Turning, I spot an electronic screen in a glass window—blue light crumples a century into the folds of my palm lines.
Clock ticks suddenly overlap, revealing all reunions were always written in time's wrinkles.