It felt almost as if she was watching it through a sheet of frosted glass.

They had plans, plans they had made together. They were supposed to move in together, build a life together, get a dog together, drive across the country together.

Byul felt robbed. Perhaps, this was because she stole that packet of sweets when she a child. Perhaps, this happened because she lied to her boss that one time. Perhaps, this was just fate in its raw form. Cruel and unforgiving, an unchangeable force of nature that everyone was subjected to.

Even so, what had she done to deserve this? Death at the hands of a reckless drunk driver at the tender age of 26.

It had been a day just like this. A day with rain that seemed to pour down incessantly. Chaotic droplets of rain that speckled across the windscreen of cars and crackled like dried leaves in a bonfire. Yongsun had been working overtime at her new job. It was late and although Byul had offered to give her a ride home, she had insisted that she could walk home on her own.

Byul doesn't remember what was said over the phone when the emergency operator called her. Byul doesn't remember the exact details of the driver or how the accident happened. Byul doesn’t want to remember how she barely had her quilted coat on as she burst out of her apartment, not even remembering to lock the door. She doesn’t want to remember how she had ran into the hospital, tears threatening to stream down her cheeks, smearing her makeup.

But she does remember. She remembers Yongsun’s pleading eyes in her last moments. Fleeting, pleading, painful, teary eyes. She had clasped Byul’s hand weakly, her eyes conveying some sort of unspoken message. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t deserve to die. Between the string of unintelligible words she was muttering and the way her breathing was coarse and uneven, Byul did not know how to feel. She was watching the love of her life slip away but there was not a single thing she could do to alleviate the pain.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.” It was almost as if Byul was comforting herself with a sense of false hope and mock reassurance.

The long, smooth whine of the heartbeat monitor sounded out. A single flatline flowed across the screen as Byul let out a strangled sob and allowed all her tears to flow freely.

She had lost her everything.

The funeral was barely a funeral. People that Byul had never met before patted her shoulder in sympathy, threw her a pitiful glance, offered their sincere condolences. Yongsun’s second cousin, Yongsun’s best friend from elementary school, Yongsun’s ex-boss. It almost made Byul laugh bitterly. All these people that wouldn’t have spared Yongsun a second glance if they passed by her on the street, treating her like a complete stranger. Yet, here they were, putting on these masks of sadness and saying all sorts of kind things.

The eulogies were all bland and boring. Aunts and uncles that droned on about how they had known Yongsun since she was in diapers. Friends that reminisced on how Yongsun was such a caring person, how she was so bright all the time. Byul had zoned out long ago, a single ball of lint that she had plucked out from her sweater was now being rolled around between her fingertips. She had written a eulogy too, of course. But what justice would she do to Yongsun?

When Byul had finally reached the wooden podium, she set out the sheets of paper neatly on the stand, arranging the pages over and over again in a bid to delay her speech. Guests cleared their throats, checked their watches, whispered to each other.

Byul cleared . She would deliver this speech. She would be just another person who played some part in the life of Kim Yongsun.

“Dear God, please give me the strength to hold back my tears as I deliver this eulogy. I know you are there, not because I believe in you but because I know Yongsun believed in you. As you all would know, I write for a livi