Murky waters, clouded thoughts and vexed moments of rationale consume the usual sweet temperament of mother Dahyun. She can’t shake the haunting echo of last week’s note from her mind. The paper still remains scrunched in the compartment of her car, tossed aside from the reaches of her daughter. Days had gone by, but things had yet to change, she was still deliberating on to what to do next. To distract herself from the very real possibility of communicating with Sana, she occupies herself with cleaning. Not the usual rushed vacuuming, or the hurried dash to wash clothes. She’s set herself the enormous task of cleaning out her wardrobe. Clothes of all sorts either flew in to boxes, or straight into one of the dozen of trash bags that were fast filling.

Amongst the sprawled articles, there was pink top peeking from the stack. Dahyun doesn’t recognise the foreign article as her own, and so she brings it to her nose and takes a whiff. The scent had grown subtle with age, but still clear. Sana had become a figment of her imagination, just a topic to soothe her daughter’s ache. An old lover, a dull existence miles away. Dahyun had forgotten that she loved her still. Hands clench tight, tears running down her face as her voice shakily breathes “Sana.” She collapses into the shag rug, coiling herself in the fabric spiralling with the years of memories. It’s all too much, their repressed moments surface dragging Dahyun violently back to their old days. Her voice, Dahyun can hear it singing in her ears, mumblings songs and sweet nothings. She feels the touch of her soft hands, gently perfumed lifting her cheeks. It had been three years since she’d last seen Sana. Not delusional silhouettes, not in tapered photographs but in the flesh. Sana was real. Sana is real.

Stumbling down stairs blotched face and hazed eyes Dahyun scrambles for the car. She swings the door open, jerking the compartment in one swift move. It’s still there, where she had last abandoned it. Still scrunched, still heavy on her heart. Fingers carefully unravelled the cryptic message, flattening corners and smoothing edges, scattered words slowly coming to form.

I may have the answers to many of the questions you have involving Sana. If you wish to talk, I’ve included my number.

0423 677 172

Shaking fingers, reach for the phone tucked away in her back pocket. Thumb presses to unlock, it clicks open flooding with screen light. Dialling the number is simple, pressing call not so much but Dahyun forces herself to commit. “Hello, I found your note…” her strangled voice echoes, talking to the unknown darkness. There’s rustling on the other side of the line, followed by the sound of muted chattering. “Hey Dahyun, I’m Jeongyeon. I’m surprised it took you so long to call.” The voice finally supplies, revealing very little. Dahyun’s taken back, by the mention of her name but manages to muster, “How do you know me?” There’s a chuckle, a dark chuckle ridiculing her choice of question. “I don’t. I know Sana, the main protagonist of this call,” Jeongyeon answers.

The