In My Years of Depression, the Queen Came Running to Me

I’m an ordinary office worker at an advertising agency. Lately, two things have happened in my life: the CP I ship has fallen apart, and my depression has returned. The day I packed up to quit, the female CEO rumored to be acquiring our company suddenly showed up. In front of the entire office, she held my sweat-damp hand and stared at it for a long time. After that, my resignation was never approved, my salary inexplicably increased fivefold, and a gift with no name attached appeared on my desk every day. She even drove me home herself. She said she was looking for someone, had been looking for fifteen years, and that I reminded her of that person. I asked who I reminded her of. She didn’t answer, only said she was waiting for the right moment. Then I finally worked up the courage to barge into her office. Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, she turned around and told me a story about a five-year-old girl who saved a desperate teenager on the rooftop of a department store. The little girl shared half of her melted lollipop, danced a crooked little dance, then vanished into the crowd. “You’re that girl.” But I don’t remember a thing. How is an ordinary person revered as someone’s moonlight supposed to bear the weight of fifteen years of longing? How can I prove I deserve the five-year-old I once was? And how can I tell her: the moon shattered long ago. All you’ve picked up is a floor covered in glass shards.