Willow tree
Love AgainThat night, I sit under the willow tree waiting for Namjoon. Our willow tree.
I subconsciously drift back to that day we first found this tree.
We were on an adventure, as Jjun had put it. It was after school and we were wandering aimlessly around the neighbourhood. I didn’t want to go home and understanding my plight, he brought me on an excursion instead. We hadn’t expected much since we’ve been around the neighbourhood for so long but that day, we spotted an off-road path that we’d never noticed before. Following the dirt path, we came to an abandoned park where an old willow tree stood in the middle. Not before long, we claimed this place as our own, and it became our secret hideout.
“You still remember this tree,” Namjoon’s voice breaks my reverie.
“This is one habit I never got out of.” I squint in the darkness at his approaching figure. He stops to look around.
“The swing’s gone.”
Ah, yes, the swing. There used to be a swing on this tree too. Whenever I sat on it, Jjun would push me so high I always felt like I was flying. Those were such good times…
But now, the swing is no longer there. “I took it down.”
“What? Why?” Namjoon comes to sit beside me, an undecipherable look on his face. With dim lighting from the moon, I can still make out most of his facial features. His jaw has sharpened and his dimples are now so much more obvious, I can’t help but notice. Have I changed this much, too? Ten years is really a long time.
I don’t answer Namjoon’s question. What was I to say? The truth is I hacked the thing down because it pained me to look at it. Jjun wasn’t there to push me on the swing anymore. I couldn’t come without thinking of Jjun’s betrayal, but I also couldn’t not come. So I got rid of it. Childish, I now realise, but I was indeed still a child then.
An awkward silence threatens to deafen me, weird, because silence with Jjun was never awkward. In fact, I loved the times when we would just sit beside each other and not say anything. It was as though our mere side-by-side presence was communication enough.
“What did you want to talk about?” Namjoon ends the silence – thankfully.
What did I call him out for again? “Why are you doing this?”
“What did I do?” He turns to face me, his expression that of sincere curiosity.
“Act like we’re close in school.” I think about how he’s being borderline obsessive with me. Ever since we first met in the library, it’s as if he’s stepping too much into my life now.
Namjoon’s face darkens deeper than the night. “I didn’t realise ten years changed the fact that we were once the best of friends.”
“Namjoon…” Was I too harsh on him?
“I admit that I was quite excited when I found out we’d be schooling together again. But if me wanting to go back to what we were before was over the line, I apologise.”
Crap, this is going way too wrong. “That’s not what I meant, Namjoon.”
“’Namjoon’? Ha…”
“It took me years to get over your absence,” I say, an unfathomable anger rising up within me. “It took me years to get used to not having you around. I can’t help but blame myself for being too dependent on you. When you left, I couldn’t do anything. I got lost on my way home, almost got kidnapped, and reached home late only to get scolded because I crawled in with soiled clothes.”
It’s an explosion of emotions in both my heart and mind. “From then on, I told myself I had to grow up, learn to do things on my own. I distanced myself from people because I didn’t want to have to go through another farewell. I’ve just gotten used to being alone – I like being alone now. But then you came back and looking at past memories, I feel some kind of hatred for myself.”
I pause for breath.
“Sera… why?” Namjoon had slid closer to me and through this proximity I can feel his breath on my face.
I force myself to look up at him. “The things you used to do for me, I can do well by myself.”
“But that’s a good thing, Ser. You did what you had to do.” Namjoon lifts a hand up towards my face but I turn away. There is a jerk in his movement as he drops his hand.
“Despite our past,” I choke out, my voice a whisper, “I hate that I think perhaps now, I don’t really need you anymore.”
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