December 15, 1952. 6:31PM  

 

From behind the counter, Chaeyoung stares at the vague sea of people rushing in and out the tall doors of the department store. She's surrounded by walls of walls of miscellaneous objects - from dolls, to train sets, and to children's shoes. She hasn't been working here for long, really, so her fascination with the urgency that comes during Christmas time should be understandable.

 

Nevertheless, Chaeyoung daydreams. She thinks about the grandeur of New York, and thinks that the sight unfolding in front of her right now is a perfect example that conveys just how busy they said Manhattan is. (Not like she'd ever been out of New York to be able to properly compare.) She wonders what it's like to reside in a city without the anxiety and urgency surrounding her everyday.

 

"Ms. Son!"

 

It's her manager, Mr. Park.

 

Suddenly (solemnly), Chaeyoung remembers that she's partially responsible in the whole hustle-bustle of the store; meaning: she has to stop daydreaming, and get back to work - lest she gets fired. Again. (But the last time she got fired from a printing office - she supposes it was because they didn’t need her anymore. She could barely hold her tears as she abruptly left and ran from He Who Shall Not Be Named’s office.)  

 

"Mrs. Myoui would like to inquire about the dolls and train-sets in your counter. You're the only register not busy-as-hell today. I'm surprised."  

 

"I-I'm sorry, sir," Chaeyoung mumbles to him. She's not quite sure if he hears her. She tucks her hair behind her ears, then turns her head to said customer, "Good evening, ma'am, what would you like?"  

 

And the first thing that enters Chaeyoung’s mind is astonishment, because, wow, this woman is beautiful. It’s not everyday you see a woman like this as a sales clerk in a department store. And a weird part inside of Chaeyoung believes that this - her tending to this woman - isn’t an accident.

 

Chaeyoung scrutinizes her. She's wearing a buttoned, fur coat on top of the matching, red velvet long-sleeved sweater and a red skirt that Chaeyoung can barely make out from beneath. Her eyes are the shape of almonds, and her teeth are a straight array of perfect white squares. She has the prettiest, tiny beauty spot lying on the bridge of her nose, with a few more ‘round her lips, and her hair is the nicest, most calming shade of a brown, with a hint of orange.

 

December is to end in a few weeks, but Chaeyoung can't help but be reminded of a beautiful Autumn day.  

 

"I think... I think I want a doll. It's for my daughter." Her eyebrows are furrowed as she fishes for something in her beige handbag that she settles atop the counter. "What could you recommend?"

 

 

And speaking of the urgency that Manhattan held, it was as if everything had just stopped; the children running around, mostly little girls, had simply faded in the background. Wealthy couples who had inquired in every counter for the most expensive dolls had simply turned into specks, even if they were Bloomingdale's most needed customers. No noises entered Chaeyoung's ears, and although she could hear this woman speak, Chaeyoung had felt . . . like her soul was all over the place. She was not disconnected, but rather she felt airy in the head.

 

Chaeyoung coughs, "You can get her a train set if you'd like. They're really popular these days. But you can also get her one of our — Oh. Uhm, you're not allowed to smoke here, ma'am. I'm sorry."   

 

 

Chaeyoung notices the woman's hands, each of her nails neatly painted in red. They look like they would be soft, albeit slightly wrinkled. Still, a poor contrast to Chaeyoung's own bony hands.

 

"Oh! oh, no, I’m sorry," The woman lightly laughs. She drops her cigarettes, puts them back inside her bag, and returns to her default face a few seconds after - a neutral face that Chaeyoung can't seem to read. "It’s just that... shopping makes me nervous."   

 

"It's okay." Chaeyoung lightly smiles at her. "Working here makes me nervous."   

 

She laughs - hearty, and freely. "Okay. I think I'm getting the train set. Thank you, Miss... " She squints at Chaeyoung's name-tag, and smiles at her, "Miss Son."   

 

Despite the tiny, but ever-growing grin on her face, Chaeyoung lightly nods. She pulls out a form from behind the counter, "Simply fill this up this form, write your address, and leave your check. The train set should arrive before Christmas - most likely on Monday. At latest, on Wednesday."  

 

"Mhmm. That sounds alright." She hums in agreement, taking off her gloves in order to fill out the form. "Thank you. I'll get going now."  

 

And with that, she turns her back, and leaves.  

 

Suddenly, the noises of the department store had come rushing into Chaeyoung's ears, as if she had previously paused her surroundings but the world was stubborn enough to continue again. The department store is filled with the white noise of boisterous chatter, laughter, and the miscellaneous sounds of ripping gift-wrapper, but Chaeyoung can still hear, perfectly, the click-clacking sounds her red stilettos make on the ground.   

 

The woman turns around momentarily, and Chaeyoung is still looking at her, when she mouths to Chaeyoung before exiting, "I like the hat."  

 

Oh, yes - the obnoxious Santa hat that Mr. Park insisted all the employees wear, so the customers would be able to easily identify them at such a busy time. Looking down, Chaeyoung shyly smiles. She sees the piece of paper on her counter.   

 

Mrs. M. Myoui.  

 

Chaeyoung looks up again, and suddenly, the woman is gone.

 

She had left her gloves on the countertop.

 

*

 

11:32PM  

 

Under the (inadequate) warmth of her covers, where she sleeps alone, Chaeyoung wonders just how fazed she might have looked earlier. She shuts her eyes tight, regretting how she had lost to a (temporary?) wave of awe and thus had ended up looking like a fool.  

 

She reminds herself not to expose so much of herself next time.

 

She closes her eyes, and ultimately falls asleep after a few moments.  

 

*

 

December 16, 1952. 11:23PM

 

Work has been unusually hectic ever since Christmas time has started, and Chaeyoung has already changed to her pajamas, about to retreat to slumber when she sees the pair of gloves on her nightstand. Oh, right. She was supposed to mail them to Mrs. Myoui this morning.

 

Since it’s still here, Chaeyoung decides to write her a Christmas card as well - because why not, right? Chaeyoung contemplates on what she’s supposed to write. Happy Holidays, Mrs. Myoui! You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and, - no, no. She didn’t want to scare Mrs. Myoui off. Chaeyoung laughs. Happy Holidays, Mrs Myoui. It was a pleasure to serve you the other day; I feel that I am in love with you. You left your gloves on the countertop, by the wa - no, no - nevermind.

 

Chaeyoung sighs. She thinks of the woman's face the other day, but she finds that she is unable to. Mrs. Myoui's face merely seems like a blur now, because Chaeyoung could not find herself to look straight at her directly that day. She feels like she’s going crazy. She settles with a mundane Christmas greeting.

 

Merry Christmas, Mrs Myoui!

 

May your holidays be filled with glee and zest. I hope your daughter enjoys the train set.

 

Sincerely, Ms. Son.

 

*

 

December 17, 1952. 5:30PM

 

“Chaeyoung”, Mr. Park calls her to the telephone. “It’s for you.”

 

She gives him a light smile before putting the speaker up to her ear.

 

It’s a woman’s voice.

 

“Hello? Is this Ms. Son?”

 

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

 

“Oh, thank you, Ms. Son, you’re an angel. This is Mrs. Myoui, by the way.”

 

“O-oh! Mrs. Myoui! S-so the gloves came back alright?”

 

“Yes, yes they did. I just wanted to thank you, really . . . so I was thinking, perhaps, we could meet up for dinner tomorrow? What time do you get off of work?”

 

“I get off work at six, ma’am.”

 

“Great. So we’ll have dinner tomorrow, okay. I’ll say 6:30. Does that sound fine?”

 

“Y-yes, ma’am. Absolutely.”

 

“Thank you. I’ll see you around, Ms. Son.”

 

Suddenly, the line is dead. Chaeyoung puts down the telephone, and she brings her hand up to her chest; her heart is beating fast, and it's something she doesn’t understand.

 

*

 

December 18, 1952. 6:23AM

 

It’s another day of the same, mundane, cycle. Chaeyoung wouldn’t say she hates this life, but she’s tired of it. Or just tired in general, actually. (Well, but there is that dinner she has with Mrs. Myoui tonight.)

 

Chaeyoung feels that she is too small, too insignificant for this world; while all the girls her age are getting ready for other grandeurs in life, such as getting married, or travelling the whole world, namely Europe, Chaeyoung is here: stuck in a concrete cave of doubt and helplessness, where she is buried with terrible feelings of not being able to do anything for the people around her. Although there is Dahyun, and Nayeon, and Jihyo, whom she knows has always a special space in her heart for her, but, well - she guesses the circumstances just don’t allow it. Chaeyoung doesn’t really want to dive into that.

 

She brushes her teeth first thing in the morning whilst simultaneously looking out the window. She feels that New York is only beautiful through pictures, and not when you’re here, standing here, living here. New York is too boisterous, too loud, too overwhelming. But this is where she is - and no amount of ponder and contemplation will ever be able to change that.

 

But finally, she gets herself dressed. She wears her olive green sweater along with a high-waisted long-skirt, makes sure she wears her thickest pair of stockings, puts on her heels, and leaves. She’s got a long day ahead of her today.

 

*

 

6:45PM

 

Billie Holiday plays faintly in the background. Chaeyoung has been in this restaurant numerous of times, whether it was to meet up for coffee with her coworkers, or to simply listen to Nayeon, who gossiped about who did what and who wore what at whichever dinner/party/gala. But today is different, for some reason not exactly unknown to Chaeyoung.

 

“So what is your first name, Ms. Son?"  

 

"Chaeyoung. Son Chaeyoung,", she answers almost robotically. Should she say that her name connotes color and glory in her own language, and that it came from her great grandmother, a last wish she had before death? Should she tell her of the dreams her late mother had experienced before she had given birth to her, and the Korean tradition that gives the utmost significance to these kinds of things?   

 

Suddenly, Chaeyoung had an urge to tell this woman everything about herself; she wanted to tell her about how she had grown up in a convent in a nearby suburb, namely Rochester, after the passing of her late mother, and her adulterous father that she had never gotten to know properly. She wanted to tell her of all the nuns she had as friends, and how everybody she knew from St. John's, the boarding school in which she grew up in, was either a maid or a teacher now. But then again, what would this woman, whom Chaeyoung is a mere stranger to, care about that?   

 

 

"Fascinating. I'm Mina. Myoui Mina."   

 

 

"Myoui Mina . . ." she repeats. And Chaeyoung cannot convey, even to herself, the way the syllables roll off her tongue. Mi-na. Myoui, Mi-na. (Chaeyoung doesn't notice that she says that out loud.)  

 

A wide smile of amusement spreads across Mina's lips.

 

*

 

"You ordered drinks!” Chaeyoung looks seriously troubled when their food arrives, “I'm not good with alcohol, Mina."

 

"Oh, don't be silly. They're just dry martinis." Mina waves her off with a flip of a hand, taking big gulps of her drink.  

 

Chaeyoung watches her the entire time. She hesitates, but she finally reaches her hand out to grab her glass.   

 

Mina smiles. “A strange girl you are.”

 

“Why?”

 

But Mina doesn’t reply, and she just lightly laughs instead.

 

 

*

 

Chaeyoung is really enjoying tonight. But the wind is blowing mercilessly hard and Chaeyoung's legs are freezing as she walks through Fourth Avenue - even with her thickest pair of stockings on. She digs her fists even deeper into the pockets of her coat, shuddering again when a zephyr of wind blows. She wonders just how Mina is able to endure walking through the cold effortlessly. Maybe it came with age, Chaeyoung thought.  

 

"How old are you again, Chaeyoung, dear?" Mina had suddenly said. They did not bother to talk earlier while they were walking side by side. 

 

"Nineteen."   

 

Mina lets out a little laugh, "You've yet to learn about the filth of this world."   

 

I already have, Chaeyoung wants to say, but she guesses that might come off a bit disrespectful. She simply smiles.   

 

*

 

10:40PM

 

“Thank you so much, Mina,” Chaeyoung says as she steps out of the Volkswagen. “I had fun.”

 

“It’s no problem, sweetheart.” Mina smiles from inside her car. Chaeyoung can barely make out her silhouette in the dark, but she still thinks she’s beautiful. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

And with that, she closes the car door and speeds off. Chaeyoung can just watch the car speed into the distance, shrinking smaller and smaller, until it is a speck and finally gone from her eyesight.

 

I’ll see you soon, Mina’s voice rings in her head.

 

Chaeyoung goes to sleep with a smile that night.

 

*

 

December 20, 1952. 11:01PM  

 

"I feel that I am in love with you," Chaeyoung has written on her journal, violently trembling at the thought of being engulfed in Mina. Her handwriting was nearly unreadable. "And I want to discover every every part of you, and every inch of you, because I am convinced that I may be very much in love with every fibre of your being."   

 

*

 

December 22, 1952.

 

Mina had sent Chaeyoung a telegram first thing this morning, in which she apologized for not being able to show up for their supposed dinner date tonight. She says there had been "emergency meetings" about her divorce proceedings.  

 

Chaeyoung sighs. She supposes she understands. But today, she's just not having it. Work was being unusually slow as well, even on a December day, but she guesses she'd just have to wait until nighttime.

 

Chaeyoung felt empty without Mina, as if there was a missing piece within her that she cannot identify, or complete by herself. She goes through the day on autopilot, mindlessly wrapping giftwrappers and answering phone calls monotonously. Forget about salesmanship, it was December, anyways.

 

Chaeyoung hadn't felt like this since two years ago, when she was seventeen years old in St. John's Catholic school. She had just heard the news of Sister Lena passing away then.  

 

Suddenly, Sister Lena's voice rings in her ear. "You be a good girl, darling, okay? You should know that you are my favorite student out of all of these girls." And then Sister Lena's face appears in her head. Moderately wrinkled, typical of a woman in her late 30's, but in a distinctly beautiful and comforting way, as if she had simply opened her arms wide for age to pass by her and come down upon her, and she had embraced it with no apprehensions or shame at all.  

 

Chaeyoung tiredly closes her eyes and sighs. Again. She wishes she was as sweet as Sister Lena had thought her to be.

 

*

 

December 27, 1952. 10:02PM   

 

Tonight, Mina and Chaeyoung are on the top floor of Chaeyoung's apartment. Mina thought this would be a good idea, to have a light chat and smoke to "their lungs' content together", she said. (She had laughed at her own joke, but Chaeyoung couldn't understand it. Although Chaeyoung didn't mind dying with Mina from the filth in the both of their lungs, or anything near the like. Her chest had swelled with pride at the shock she imagined everybody would have, for a thiry-something year old die with herself, a mere orphan.)

 

"I'm planning to go on a trip for weeks long, soon." Mina says, staring through the silhouette of the night sky and the outline of a few buildings. She pauses to take a huff of her cigarette stick and breathes out.   

 

"Where?" Chaeyoung asks immediately. She can only see Mina's silhouette from all the cigaratte smoke dispersing into the air between them.

 

"Anywhere my car can take me." She takes a puff of her cigarette, "I was thinking if you would like to come with me... would you?"  

 

"Yes." Not even a heartbeat had passed, but it's a yes. "Yes, I would."  

 

Of course Chaeyoung would say yes, had said yes - Mina could ask her to follow her to the end of the world, or through the face of a million unfamiliar cities and lands, and Chaeyoung would still say yes.  

 

Seemingly contented with Chaeyoung's answer, Mina smiles from ear to ear. "We leave on the 30th."  

 

*

 

December 29, 1952. 11:23PM

 

Since they would be leaving early morning tomorrow, Mina had invited her to spend the night in order to save time. (And of course, Chaeyoung had said yes. Again.)

 

Beside her bed, there is a nightstand, and on top of that lies a glass of steamed milk, which Mina had prepared for her, and a novel by Hemingway. (Chaeyoung had mentioned during their dinner date that she had enjoyed read his books as a child.) Her thin wristwatch lies on top of it.

 

 

 

That night, Chaeyoung immediately falls asleep. She dreams of the color brown, of walking through a beautiful Autumn day, and the serene sounds of the dry Autumn leaves crushing underneath her boots.

 

*

 

December 30, 1952. 8:02AM

 

“Are you excited?” Mina doesn’t take her eyes off of the road when she asks. She’s driving fast past through the Lincoln tunnel.

 

“Yeah,” Chaeyoung replies. “As long as I’m with you, really,”

 

Mina doesn’t reply, and silence starts to permeate the air. Chaeyoung supposes that it wasn't heavy, but of course she herself had found it awkward, since those words came out of her own lips. But in the same time, she wonders, and also kind of regrets if ever she had been too straightforward with such an answer.

 

And she’s about to slump further into her seat, in an attempt to disconnect herself from her surroundings and stare out the window instead, until she catches Mina smile from the corner of her eye. Chaeyoung smiles as well.

 

Perhaps being straightforward couldn’t have been so bad, after all.

 

*

 

“.” Mina suddenly hisses through gritted teeth. Her hands are tight on the steering wheel.

 

“What’s wrong, Mina?”

 

“I ran out of cigarettes,” Mina clucks her tongue. “Can you hand me a bottle of coffee, please? You can get one from the icebox, behind your seat.”

 

“Okay.” Chaeyoung stretches to behind her seat, body angled in an awkward position when she finally is able to get a cold bottle of coffee for Mina. She had been momentarily worried as to what could have happened for Mina to react like that.

 

“I run out of cigarettes in the worst ing times. Always.”

 

And Chaeyoung laughs - she had always found it so endearing whenever Mina cursed, for some strange reason. She liked to think that only she could see Mina like this.

 

And the both of them just laughed, without caring for anything, or anyone else. Free, and happy.

 

*

 

Chaeyoung had felt the car stop abruptly. She would open her eyes, really, but she still felt like her lids were glued together.

 

“We’re here.”

 

Chaeyoung quietly groans. “Where are we?”

 

“Rochester.” Mina fondly smiles at Chaeyoung, rubbing at her shoulder. “Now wake up, sleepyhead.”

 

“Rochester?” Chaeyoung asks with a smile; this is where she grew up, but she also couldn’t help feeling giddy from the touch of Mina rubbing her shoulder, her nimble fingers slightly digging into the wool of Chaeyoung's cardigan, “I’ve been here before, Mina!”

 

Mina lightly laughs at Chaeyoung’s excitement, her hair out of her face, as if she were a doll, or a little child, Chaeyoung supposes. “Oh really? Maybe you’d have to tell me more about that in our room.”

 

Our room. But Chaeyoung ignores it. Not now. “Well, if you want me to, I will...”

 

Mina retracts her hand and steps outside her car, still laughing. “God, just get outside the damn car so we can head to the room. I’m dead tired.”

 

*

 

January 1st, 1953.

 

 

Outside, a number of fireworks were going off, along with the blurred noise of the shouts of a hundred numerous people - the universal trademark of the start of a new year. But here Chaeyoung and Mina were, inside their hotel room, clad in their night robes and drinking wine, both sitting on the carpeted floor of the hostel's living room, in front of the television they aren’t even paying attention to.

 

Mina had been applying a variety of makeup on Chaeyoung, and they would be bursting into laughter from time to time.

 

“You have such pretty lips.”

 

“Your lips aren’t bad as well, Mina.”

 

Mina freezes for a second, and the thumb on Chaeyoung’s cheek retracts; her eyes scan down the whole entirety of Chaeyoung’s face, but they linger on her lips.

 

And Chaeyoung is frozen as well, eyes scrutinizing Mina’s lips just as Mina had done to hers. She grabs at both of Mina’s wrists. “Mina, I think you’re beautiful.”

 

Mina can feel herself blushing, which Chaeyoung doesn't understand, because she was pretty sure that she had probably known that by now. Chaeyoung has not been exactly subtle with her fascination towards Mina as of late, but still, Mina shies away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

 

 

“You’re not bad as well, you know. Chaeyoung.”

 

And Chaeyoung’s hands start to move, absentmindedly at Mina’s palms with both her thumbs. “I’m really glad to have spent New Years with you.”

 

 

*

 

4:35AM

 

There is a kind of unexplainable, unsaid beauty that gleams upon everything during the wee hours of the morning, when dawn is barely starting. They say it’s a paradox, only existing and beautiful at first light then false by noon.

 

But right now, as Chaeyoung stares at the sleeping figure of Mina, who is comfortably dozing in the depths of slumber, she starts to think that this isn’t a paradox whatsoever, and that the beauty that the moonlight gleam creates isn’t temporary after all.

 

To Chaeyoung, this has been one of the most beautiful sights she’s set her eyes on in a very long time; in her eyes, Mina was everything that was great - even incomparable to the overwhelming Statue of Liberty on Ellis Island that she’s visited when she was seven, or to the beautiful, but fickle Spring Snow that graces New York every April.

 

And in the morning later on, when Chaeyoung wakes up with the sun beaming down at her and her legs, which would still be tangled in the white covers with Mina’s, neither will she think of the things she felt in those moments as false - nor will she forget.

 

*

 

January 3rd, 1953.

 

Chaeyoung has learned a lot about Mina so far.

 

She learns how exactly Mina likes her milk steamed, how Mina only prefers only to have a single sugarcube in her coffee. How Mina was not how the world perceived her, because all they thought was that she was a cold, calculated woman who was tired, and who had the world on her shoulders, simply waiting for death to cut through her through the throat. Everyone thought that about her, just because she was going through a divorce. But they were all wrong, Chaeyoung thought.

 

“You don’t deserve that,” Chaeyoung had once whispered in the dark, before going to sleep. “They don’t understand you. It’s not fair.”

 

“What do you mean.” Mina tries to deadpan, but Chaeyoung can still hear the waver in her voice. Chaeyoung knows she’s afraid, afraid of being so , and raw, that she’s been so used to functioning under her own, personal and well-known mechanism that she think it would be so agonizing to expose herself.

 

“You would tell me... if you felt unsafe with me, right, Mina?” Chaeyoung asks. “I’m sorry if you wanted to be alone, because here I am, tailing alo-”

 

“Don’t say that.”

 

“Min-”

 

“No. Don’t apologize. I asked you to come with me. I want you to be here with me. You didn’t force, or coerce me into - into this.” She says, with much emphasis on this. Chaeyoung wonders what she's talking about, she's not exactly sure, but Mina pauses. Chaeyoung thinks she’s hesitating. “Don’t beat yourself up, darling, you know I lo-”

 

Mina abruptly stops herself midway.

 

“You were saying something, M-mina?”

 

“N-no. Of course not. Close your eyes and go to sleep, child.”

 

And Chaeyoung obeys. She closes her eyes; she shuts them as tight as they can go, but she still doesn’t know what to do with the ever-growing beats of her heart. The only sounds that occupy her ears are the steady breathing of Mina, and the pounds of her chest.

 

Chaeyoung barely sleeps that night.

 

*

 

 

January 7th, 1953. 12:21AM

 

"Cat got your tongue? Go to sleep, sleepyhead."   

 

Mina smirks at Chaeyoung, but Chaeyoung's face remains blank as she stares at the sight of Mina right now; her hair is wet, and she is clad in her nightclothes. Chaeyoung never would have thought that she would be able to see Mina so . . . vulnerable, and so exposed, with no means of armor to adhere to the facade she has been forced to put on to the whole world, the world that had been so, so cruel to her.

 

 

And Chaeyoung could not help it any longer, when she muttered under her breath, or at least that’s what she felt like, because she’s sure she hadn’t heard herself speak, when she had said these words:

 

"Mina, I’m in love with you."    

 

Chaeyoung just had to say it - inside, she felt as if a dam has been broken, and that she was now a dove, the embodiment of freedom, flying and gliding through the air. She needed to say it.

 

 

Meanwhile, Mina remains frozen. Mina slowly turns her head to Chaeyoung, which feels like a whole eternity, and walks to her in small strides, before ultimately securing her palms on both of Chaeyoung's shoulders. She then squeezes them. Tight. Chaeyoung has not blinked since.  

 

"Chaeyoung," Mina leans in Chaeyoung's ear, before whispering, "I am in love with you. You may not know this - but you, you are my angel," She pauses, and exhales, "Flung out of space."  

 

Mina moves her hands to both of Chaeyoung's cheeks. She closes her own eyes, maneuvering Chaeyoung's head before ultimately leaning in for a sweet kiss.     

 

Chaeyoung was not sure how long the duration of the kiss was, precisely, but in those moments, Chaeyoung felt happiness seep within her chest like the speeding Volkswagen her and Mina would ride - fast and carefree - through wide and open roads, and in solitude. It would be just the two if them, and the only thing in Chaeyoung's head would be Mina, and the only thing in Mina's head would be Chaeyoung.   

 

They break the kiss, breathing on each other’s lips, staring at each other’s wide eyes. Mina’s hands are clutched onto Chaeyoung’s back, and both of Chaeyoung’s arms are thrown over Mina’s heaving shoulders. Both their eyes were filled with disbelief - or bewilderment, more so. Is this really, real?  

 

Mina needn't to think of her divorce proceedings back home, and Chaeyoung didn't have to be alone, lost, and lonely anymore, like a wallflower so insignificant that she could rot in her own apartment and no one would give her a ring or notice. She absolutely used to feel like that, but not anymore; Mina, as well, who had the world on her shoulders, attempting to cement her identity as Myoui Mina, and not just ‘Mr. Myoui’s wife’, had felt as if she had been reborn again.

 

And Chaeyoung smiles; they had said that genuine happiness made you feel like nothing else mattered anymore, and Chaeyoung had to agree with them. She kisses Mina again, no longer with the fear of having to hide what she was feeling.

 

Hence, the both of them could not think of a greater love than this - a love that has given each other the rarest, most precious gift of all - the will to live.

 

 

Such was the December of 1952.

 

 

 

 

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a/n: don't forget to comment and tell me what you guys think !!! thank you for reading !!