"Angel."

"Yeah?"

"May I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"That night, on your parents' death anniversary, who were they gonna meet?"

"My brother."

"Brother?"

"He visits them on that day every year, bringing flowers and telling stories."

"How many brothers do you have?"

"One."

"Why didn't you go with them? Didn't you want to see him?"

"Well, they didn't get to meet him, anyway."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

I opened my mouth to say something but stopped myself midway. "I see," I forced a smile and pretended I didn't notice her hair turning white.

"Yeah."

I cleared my throat before drawing a few letters on the ground with a stick, "So can you read my name now?"

"No."

And the curls of her hair glowed into a silvery white.