The first chapter tells the story from a perspective of a girl not quite twelve.  What happens to her years later?  Read on!

Chapter 2 Thirty Something I gaze at the two pots of fiery-red poinsettia for the umpteenth time.  Clad in an orange turtle neck, carmine peacoat, black pencil skirt whose hem stops right above my bare knees, and stylish, deep lavender leather boots – a nightmare getup by some fashionistas' standards –  the thirty something me still can't decide.  C'mon, hurry up, I berate myself, this is not even an executive decision!  I don't celebrate Christmas.  Yet I want to make sure it'll be perfect as a gift.  It's for Olivia, who picked up my outfit earlier and who won't take no for an answer.  Thoroughly headstrong, she won't settle for anything pale, or uninspiring.  I smile to myself.  I believe Olivia would more than like the plant in the terracotta pot.  I'm certain she'll love it.
'Amelia?'
I stop concentrating on the Christmassy plants.  From the opposite side of the table thronged with pots after pots of festive poinsettias, a tall, Asian man somberly looks at me.  I reckon he's probably not much older than I am.  Definitely thirty something, I guess.  He studies me while I maintain an impassive watch on him.  Suddenly he seems to be recognizing something; a smile surprisingly and lazily breaks on his lips.
'Amelia, right?  You're Amelia?' 
I note his voice is very soothing, one I'd love to hear over the phone.  My instinct tells me he's persistent underneath his suave exterior.  There's something regarding him which strikes me as familiar.  Yet I can't put a finger to it. I certainly can't forget a face I've seen, even from many years ago.   It's a capability I've honed on the job and one I always rely on.  This stranger however is a challenge.  I deliberate fast and hard.  Despite the effort, I'm still stumped seconds later.  His identity eludes me and I'm dead certain I have no recollection of ever meeting him.   And how in the world does he know my name?  Unsure on how to react, I maintain my placid stare at him. 
To my wonderment, he commences to make hand signs and simultaneously mouth the message – You're Amelia, right?  I'm very sure you are.  Don't frown or you'll look like –  
I only read his signs.  Somehow, I inexplicably grow irritated before his last silent message is fully formed.  His persistence triggers a memory some nine years ago when I responded to an attractive stranger who asked me out of the blue whether I was Amelia.  The stranger, similar to the Asian guy, was persistent.  The stranger, who eventually became my friend, went out with me for a number of years.  We were young, we were carefree, we had a good time.  I was unluckily the party who got hurt in the end.  They say there's this thing called time which heals.  Yet, on remembering the pain, fresh despite the years, I resolve not to repeat a past mistake and end up with a heartache.  Before the guy completes his latest sentence, I brusquely state, 'I'm not deaf, mister.'
He halts midway through his unspoken words.  He lets his hands drop to his sides.  He remains unaffected by my stare, cold and aloof now, and it peeves me.  His smile intact, he exclaims in a very relieved fashion, 'You are Amelia!'
I throw him a hostile glare.  'What makes you very sure, mister?'
'You're definitely Amelia. No one but Amelia talks to me like so.'
'Hey mister,' I say as I quickly grab the pot of poinsettia closest to me and hurry toward the cashier.   Not looking at him, I remark matter-of-factly, 'Read my lips. You got the wrong person.'
'I can't see your lips!'  he complains.  'I'm not blind, you know!  But you are Amelia!  I'm definitely certain.'  He keeps close to my heels.  A hint of satisfaction and confidence in his voice makes me bitter.
'I'm not Amelia,' I deny again.  I hasten my steps.  The cashier is now within sight.  Yet I begin to worry; Chad, the shop owner, is nowhere to be seen.  Isn't he supposed to man the cashier now, especially this pest of a guy with a mouth running loose, trying to convince me I am Amelia, isn't bucking down one bit?  The stranger's way too near me.  The trespassing of my space makes my heart beat faster.  For all I know, the Asian guy, who's not bad looking after all, might be a stalker.  A cute stalker!  Hmm, that's worth a nice cup of coffee and idle chat with Diana at work tomorrow!
He meanwhile keeps on telling me he has found me.  Finally, unable to suppress my mounting annoyance, I abruptly spin around and almost bump into the lean guy.  Caught off guard by my sudden move, he flinches back a step.  To my dismay, he does it suavely.
Exasperated, I cry, 'Hey mister!  For the umpteenth time, I'm not Amelia.  Don't you ever give up, mister?'
'Never!  Not in your wildest dreams and wackiest fairy tales, Amelia Abas!'
His latest opinion silences me for moments.  I spot a twinkle in his eyes, a muttering of 'Bull's-eye!'   They incense me.  Keeping cool, I grapple for some just ripostes.  Yet before I get to say anything, a perky, familiar voice calls out from behind me. 'Hi Amelia!'  I try to remain stoic.  One bad move, and my pretense will all be in jeopardy.  I'm fully aware if I swing around now, I'll find, much to my dismay, beefy Chad.  I hear the clop-clop-clop of the black, ex-marine's boots heading toward me. I jog my mind for a swift way out.
Unfortunately, Chad's strides are long and fast.  He's by my side within seconds.  'Ya've settled for that, huh?' Chad points to the pot I'm carrying. 'That's a nice pick!  I told ya could find a good one on them table there, Amelia!' 
I pretend not to hear Chad.  He's as good as invisible to me.  Briskly leaving the Asian guy and Chad behind, I survey around the store to catch anything which can be a diversion.  Chad fortunately wends his way to a nearby group of women.  I'm slightly relieved to recognize a few faces among them.  They're the hard core begonia lovers who'll keep Chad occupied on providing plant care tips.  I promptly pray there's another Amelia among the women.  Not much later, to my dismay I hear Chad repeatedly calling me.  Damn!  I internally scream.  I'm getting a bit panicky because I still can't shake the bean pole off by wandering aimlessly from aisle to aisle as fast as I can.  He follows me, telling me how confident he is of my identity.  He claims I look the same as before except for my height and my hair, now shoulder length.  He excitedly states it used to be long, all the way to the middle of my back.  I hear him mentioning my lustrous tresses reminded him of Rapunzel's hair.  He adds my hair is black, like Snow White's, not Rapunzel's blond.  I grimace and ponder what kind of a regressive schmuck I'm dealing with now. He should get a kick for such a remark.
'Hey, what's up, Amelia?' Chad queries me as he nears me seconds later.  He gets into my direct line of vision.  I can't escape him this time and I start to really sweat it.  'Amelia,' Chad frowns at me, 'you seem to be slightly deaf today.  I was calling out your name a few times just now, and I swear you didn't seem to be hearing me.'
'Damn!' I mutter under her breath.
'I'm right!  I'm right!  You are Amelia!' the young man chants from behind me, 'and you cussed!'
Chad leans sideways.  Much to my surprise, he widely grins to the stranger.  'I told ya could find her by the poinsettias!'  Chad remarks to the bean pole and gives the tall guy a happy wink.*