He Missed Me When I Was Gone

It's comforting. At least my childhood friend Kim doesn’t dislike me the way Hector does.

The year I woke up, Kim had left for the United States to pursue graduate school. We hadn’t seen each other since, and we only exchanged occasional messages on Instagram.

I missed her terribly.

The truth is, I’m afraid of loneliness. I crave love and connection, but it feels as though I was born unlovable. My parents always favored my lively sister, while my friends would quickly grow tired of my reserved nature and move on to more exciting companions.

The fake Edna, on the other hand, was the opposite. She was magnetic, effortlessly charming everyone around her. In just two years, she built a large circle of friends.

When I first returned, people reached out, eager to meet. I accepted every invitation, brimming with hope. But I soon realized I couldn’t keep up with their enthusiasm. I didn’t share their passion for classical music history, idols, or celebrities. And unlike the fake Edna, I couldn’t command attention in a crowd or charm them with ease.

Once, her friends even pushed me onto a stage during a gathering. “Eds, sing us a song!” they cheered.

I froze under the spotlight, my face burning red like a steamed crab. “I can’t,” I stammered. “I sing out of tune.”

Their playful jeering only grew louder. I had no choice but to stumble through a rendition of “July,” forgetting half the lyrics and singing off-key.

After that, no one invited me out again. Their parting comment lingered in my mind: “Eds, you’re a little different from before.”

Hurt but resigned, I returned to my solitary routine: shuttling between home, the lab, and the piano room. It didn’t matter. I was used to it. Or so I told myself.

On my birthday, I took the day off, applied light makeup, and went to the airport to pick up Kim.

She spotted me immediately, running over with excitement—but the shock in her eyes was impossible to miss.

“Why are you dressed so plainly?” she blurted. “Where’s your sexy, hot camisole? And your big waves? You’ve straightened your hair?” Her voice softened as she added, “Eds, why do I feel like you’re... a little different from before?”

That word again. Different. It pierced me like a needle, sharp and unrelenting.

Forcing a smile, I straightened up and replied, “You’re different too. Prettier.”

Kim, with her cascading waves, fitted camisole dress, and edgy motorcycle jacket, radiated confidence and allure—completely transformed from the sweet girl-next-door she’d been two years ago.

“You forgot? We got our hair permed together!” she teased, tossing her curls dramatically before slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, I’m treating you to dinner! Oh, and I brought you a gift!”

Yes, we had gotten our hair permed together once.

Back then, if Edna had dragged Kim to the salon, she would’ve emerged smiling, praising “me” for my impeccable taste.

During dinner, Kim did most of the talking while I listened. She noticed something was off and asked a few probing questions, but when I avoided answering, she eventually let it go.

Before we parted, she handed me an out-of-print piano CD.

The fake Edna had mentioned it to Kim just once, and yet Kim remembered.

I couldn’t help but recall a similar moment from years ago when I told Kim I wanted the limited edition Lego “Snow Mountain Cabin” set for my birthday. She’d simply laughed and said, “What’s fun about Lego?” before gifting me an expensive set of cosmetics instead.

Her smug expression as she handed over the gift left me feeling hollow.

But I had learned to let it go.

Don’t fight it anymore, Edna, I told myself. Accept your fate.

No one’s happy to have you back—not Kim, not my mom, and certainly not Hector. They all prefer the lively, charismatic Edna.

No, in their minds, I’m the fake Edna.

It was past ten when I returned home. The house was dark, save for the faint glow of a single candle on a cake resting on the coffee table.

Hector was there, sitting in the shadows. The flickering light danced across his face, softening his features in a way that made him look almost tender.

“Eds, is that you?”

He must’ve heard me approaching. Slowly, he opened his eyes, squinting through the dim light. When he realized it was me, his expression shifted. He stood abruptly, crossing the room in a few quick strides before pulling me into a tight embrace.