It’s been 122 days.

122 days without hearing her laugh.

122 days without feeling her warmth, her touch.

122 days without seeing her wiggling eyebrows.

122 days without smelling the fragrance of her long black hair.

.

.

.

122 days without making her favorite coffee, as the coffee addict that she is, is no longer here. 

I was never a date-conscious person, but after seeing her drive away in her luggage-loaded truck while I was camouflaged by friends in a group goodbye, I started counting.

Day 1

I acted normally. Woke up at 9. Grabbed a bagel on my way to my part-time barista job in a local coffee shop. It’s funny because I don’t even drink coffee. Not when I’m not with her anyway. Everything was fine. I could feel the concerned gazes of my colleagues whom now I consider as my close friends. I shrugged them off and continued doing my job­­­– brewing coffee, frothing milk, adding artificial sweeteners and disgustingly sweet syrups, then faking smiles to customers and wishing them a good day. Everything was fine. Or at least I thought so. Until my friend, Umji, pointed out that I had been making the same exact order for the whole morning, which is her favourite– flat white with almond milk.

“Hi, how may I help you?”

“A cup of flat white with almond milk to go please.”

“Here you are.” I smiled, hoping that it didn’t appear as creepy, as I handed the drink with “Good day :)” written on the cup sleeve to her.

“Thank you.” She smiled in return. It’s just a smile out of courtesy. It didn’t even reach her eyes. I find it beautiful nonetheless.

“You’re welcome! You’re the first customer in ages who orders a flat white with almond milk. I can finally take a break from making caramel macchiatos.” I added while resisting the urge to roll my eyes, afraid of upsetting the girl in front of me, even though it makes no sense for her to be upset over this.

I got most of the orders wrong because flat white isn’t that much of a popular choice in this small town. People here love basic stuff like caramel macchiato and chocolate frappuccinos.

“Caramel macchiato is just too sweet for me.” She grimaced, squinting her eyes, more on the left than the right. Her eyebrows were also knitted together. So cute. I thought.

Umji ended up redo-ing the orders herself without informing me that I had been screwing up. I owe her a lot. I should really treat her dinner someday.

Day 39

I was doing fine. I continued messing up the orders after the first day. But it just lasted a week. No more messed-up orders. No more concerned gazes and pity pats. Umji no longer had to bear twice the workload that I brought upon her.

Everything was normal. Everything was ordinary. Everything was dull.

Day 76

Umji introduced me to someone. She thought that meeting someone new would help. I didn’t even know I needed help. I agreed anyway.

We met in the coffee shop where I work. My friend SinB took over my shift so I got the day off. I could tell that Umji, who was on her shift also, had been watching us discreetly (or not -so-discreetly). I like no busybodies. But it’s Umji. She’s my friend. So I really appreciate her for looking after me. I pretended to be unaware of her observation and focused on the girl sitting across me.

She’s a lot shorter than her. Her hair also appeared to be much shorter, with the left strands tucked behind her ear. Her eyebrows were hidden behind her black curtain of fringe, hiding from my eyes which are desperately looking for something. She was wearing a polka dot dress just above her knees which suits her well. Her voice was quite high-pitched, but not unpleasant to listen to. I just prefer deeper, huskier voices in general. Like her voice.

The date, or whatever it is, went well. By well, I meant that she didn’t call me out for spacing out several times when she was sharing whatever she was sharing. By well, I meant she didn’t freak out when I unknowingly had salty drops rolling down my cheeks as the conversation, or her monologue to be more accurate, progressed to her favourite coffee drink. She lent me her handkerchief and later asked Umji to accompany me. I appreciated that she didn’t press on the matter further and just let Umji take over. Then with a smile, a rueful one that is, she left a sobbing mess behind.

After Umji brought me home, I went straight to my room. As I changed into my pajamas, the handkerchief fell from my coat. Only then did I notice the numbers scribbled down on it. It must be written before my sob fest. No way would she still want to do anything with me after that.

Without a blink, I threw it into the rubbish bin. I didn’t bother to return the courtesy and give it back to its owner. Heck, I didn’t even bother remembering her name.

Day 99

“Hi, how may I help you?”

“A cup of flat white to go please.”

Same place. Same exchange of words. Same barista. Different customer. Different feelings.

It’s interesting how a change of a single factor could result in drastically different circumstances. This time, my heart sank.

Day 122 (Present)

She once told me that her parents were usually out until late night. No one would be at home for basically the whole day. We made use of the chance to be with each other. Binge-watching TV shows and having movie marathons while snuggling at the coach, cramming for finals together but always ended up cuddling on her bed, and I having to sneak out of their house when her parents arrived home, etc. FYI, we’re not girlfriends. We didn’t know what we are. We never had the conversation. But we were happy. And that’s what mattered. At that time, we didn’t know the culprit for breaking us was lurking behind. Graduation. That dreadful term. That dreadful event. I always expected us to last longer. Maybe not forever. But definitely longer than 10 months. We didn’t even had an anniversary.

Anyway, after 4 months of trying to act normal, I finally give in.  So here I am standing in front of her 2-storey house. I use the spare key that she has given to me to enter her empty house. Then, I go straight to her room. I don’t know what I was expecting to see. Sojung herself, standing in front of the closet, deciding what to wear? Or a room deprived of her presence just like how I am deprived of her? I hop on her bed and hug her blanket, expecting to smell of her echo. Laundry smell is what I got instead. I lie down flat on my back, eyes roaming around the room. Nothing changed much. Most of her things are still here. It’s as if she never left. Her books. Her plushies. Her jacket. Her jacket which I gave her on her birthday. So much for “I’ll always wear it” huh.

We’ve talked about this. We’ve talked about who among the two of us gets it easier from the whole thing. I said it was her, as she’s given the opportunity to start anew in a different city and meet new people. She said it was me, as I’d still be surrounded by familiar people, going to familiar places, not having to fear the uncertainties in life. I swallowed my urge to say that nothing would be the same without her by my side and simply nodded. The jiggling keys indicating the arrival of her parents broke the moment of silence that came after our conversation. The next thing I knew, I was on my way out the window.

 “Yuna?”

I crack my eyes open, but immediately bringing my hands to shield them due to the invasion of bright light in the room. I didn’t even know that I fell asleep. Once I get used to the brightness, I open my eyes and see Mrs. Kim standing by the door, squinting her eyes, knitting her brows, looking confused. I sit up immediately, not sure how to react but eventually manage to crack up a greeting.

“H-hi Mrs. Kim.”

When I have to courage to look at her fully, I let out a sigh of relief when I don’t see a trace of anger. It’s as if she knows the reason as of why I’m here. Maybe she does. Maybe everyone does. I don’t really care anymore. But I didn’t expect Mrs. Kim to know my name since we never formally met. I guess the picture of us with “Yuna <3 Sojung” scribbled on the left corner on her study table tipped it off.

“How did you get in?” She asks calmly. Kindly even, which makes zero sense.

“Sojung gave me a spare key and I didn’t get to return it to her.”

She walks over to the bed and sits beside me. I can’t sense her eyes on me so I guess she is looking ahead like me.

“Do you still keep in touch?”

“Yes. If liking each other’s Instagram photos counts.”

We decided to end us, whatever it means, on a nice note when she left. Long distance relationships don’t normally work out. It takes a lot of effort to keep a normal relationship afloat, much less a long distance one. And we were not even official.

Another long silence. The room is so quiet that I can hear the ticking sound of the clock.

Tick tock tick tock. I start counting. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5... 57.58- She breaks the silence at 59.

“You can’t do this. Not anymore. You know that right?”

“I know.”

Of course I do. But I can’t help it. I can’t help that the thoughts of her keep on haunting me. I see her even in my dreams. Pathetic. She moved on with her life. I should too. Judging from her social media updates, she’s living the life that she has been longing for in her big city, leaving this small old town behind.

I also didn’t miss the fact that there’s always a blonde girl beside her in her pictures. She looks pretty. She has a doll-like physique. Her smile along with her also-smiling eyes (how is that even possible?) seem like they could heal anything in the world. Sadly, it doesn’t apply to me. I have to admit that they look good together though. Too good even.

Seeing how I’m not planing on saying anything more, Mrs. Kim sighs. She stands up and walks towards the door.

“You can stay till whenever you want today. But this is the last time. I hope you understand.” With that being said, she closes the door after giving me a faint smile.

“I know.”

I didn’t come here to say goodbye. But it sure as hell felt like it. I take the chance to look around her room once again, hoping to take everything in, her faded scent, her faded presence. I can almost smell a hint of coconut fragrance. Somehow feeling lighter, I then walk over to the master’s bedroom and bid farewell to Mrs. Kim.

One last glance of the house where I spent most of my days with her, I turn the door knob of the front door and walk out of the house. No turning back. Just like what she did.

122 days of counting… and it’s enough.

 Fin.

A/N: This is inspired by Breaking and Entering by David Levithan so people who've read that may find this story familiar. Excuse the crappy writing... I just wrote this to get the idea out of my head. Comments are very much appreciated and thank you for taking the time to read this piece.