“Thank you,” I say. Somehow, it doesn’t seem enough.

“Do you have any siblings?”

Caught off guard by the question, I stutter, “One.”

“Brother or sister?”

“Brother. He’s older.”

“That must be fun. I’m an only child. but my parents and I are super close, so it makes up for it.” She leans her chin into the curve of her palm. “Are you close to your parents?”

I think of their smiling faces, and then the accident that wiped them away permanently. “Not quite.”

Dohee senses my hesitation and swiftly changes the topic. She muses at the flavor of the meat, taking a tentative bite of a perfectly cut square piece. I’ve already lost focus.

“ … to come here. Jongin?”  

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

She observes me over the thick frames of her glasses. It ages her in a way I find endearing. “Never mind.”

I want to apologize for acting uninterested, but my tongue has gone numb. I reach for the meat, hoping it will dispel whatever awkwardness has constricted our throats. We finish the meal in silence, disturbed only by the occasional remark.

The sun is setting by the time we leave the restaurant. It shouts in a vivid glare of orange, draping an almost heavenly sheen over the buildings and the people. With the horizon stretched out behind her like a lantern, Dohee is glowing, and a pale yellow halo outlines her silhouette. For a moment, I think that I might believe in greater deities.

“I’ll take you home,” I say.

“Are you sure? It’s just a few bus rides away.”

I drink in her appearance, and I feel like I’m sixteen years old again, sneaking a taste of my dad’s favorite bottle of wine. I am folded into a dizzying warmth, rapidly becoming undone.  

“I’m sure.”

There are plenty of seats in the bus this time. Dohee takes the window seat, then I take the aisle seat. We start out a comfortable distance apart, so I notice when Dohee stretches her legs and shifts closer to me.

“What you said earlier,” she begins, her head toward the window. I notice her ears are pierced, but no adornment hangs from them. “About the world being a ty place. I see that, too.” I wait for her to elaborate. “I used to think the world hated me.” She rubs a thumb over her wrist, which is decorated by a faded hemp bracelet. “I was so stupid. I’d convinced myself the lie was the truth, and I couldn’t get enough. Eventually, it was all I saw.

“So I did everything just to try to feel something. I wrote for a time, too, although I wasn’t very good at it,” she laughs. “I tried other things. Worse things. And then I started drawing. I wasn’t very good; or at least, that’s what people told me. But then I won the art contest at my high school. And I figured, if I wanted to do this for real, I needed to take this seriously.

“Then I started seeing the good things. Like how the only reason I was able to start drawing was because I had found a sketchbook underneath my bed. At the time, I thought it was something I’d bought a long time ago and forgotten about. I didn’t realize that my parents had bought it just days before, when they saw me doodling on my homework.

“ happens. But good things happen, too. You just need someone to show you how to see it. You know?” She looks at me now, her smile soft and gentle, her eyes bright and intelligent. She smells like lavender, and something else pleasant.

“You’re really impressive, Dohee.”

“What?” She asks, a twinge of amusement in her voice.

“I could never say something like that.”

She looks away. “I didn’t mean to -”

“I meant, you’re amazing for being able to share something like that.” I stare at my folded fingers. I glance at hers. “I could never do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid,” I say, realizing the truth only when the words have left my mouth. “Are people really that interested in my life? Do they re