It’s over a decade later when Minjeong returns home.

Her father is ill and no one told her until he was in the hospital. She’s in a constant state of tears when she’s on the trip back to a town she hadn’t ever stepped foot in for years.

She gets picked up by Taeyeon, who looks stoic and kind like she always has.

“He’ll be okay. Don’t worry too much.”

Minjeong cries again, like a child. She hadn’t cried in years.

They stop at the hospital first and her father is all smiles when Minjeong enters his room.

“You grew up well, Minjeong-ah.”

Minjeong cries again.

Her mother tells her to settle back into her childhood room with her stuff and she reluctantly leaves with Taeyeon. 

The house is exactly how she left it all those years ago, if she can even remember. Her room feels the same—nothing out of place. She throws her bags down and sits at her desk. The chair creaks under her weight and she pulls out a book from her shelf.

It’s dusty and it smells like teenage spirit.

“Minjeong, come down! Let’s swing by the church!”

Her faith. Something Minjeong had left behind as well after no longer needing to attend masses with her family; she found no use of going again, especially if her beliefs and their beliefs didn’t align.

She had a voice and she has been using it ever since.

She sits in the passenger seat as Taeyeon drives.

“You know little Yu took over the church after Pastor Yu passed away.”
“Father Yu passed away?”
“Couple years back.”

Minjeong had failed to register who little Yu was because, when she walks through the doors of the church, she sees the figment of her dreams and nightmares greeting children inside the church; her heart stutters and she freezes in her steps.

Yu Jimin.

“She’s been doing super well. She never left.”

She never left.

Minjeong left first.

Jimin’s there, attending to the churchgoers, her smile dimmer and her hair pinned straight, unlike the unruly mess she had back then due to playing sports and painting all the time. She wears a long dress, a small wristwatch on her left arm, and simple, thin jewellery.

She looks different.

She had grown up.

Minjeong had, too.

She had dyed her hair a bright ginger colour a few years ago and kept it. It grew long and curled down her back. She outgrew her bangs; she wore bold makeup, dressed in slacks, cropped shirts and leather jackets.

It’s as if they swapped characters.

Minjeong pays no mind to the looks and whispers directed at her, not when Jimin stands there looking so beautiful like she always had.

Minjeong finds Jimin later at their spot. She’s sitting on the playground’s swings, gently moving back and forth. Minjeong approaches her and stands beside her, her hand on the chain above Jimin’s.

“You never wrote to me.”

It’s quiet—the silence that settles between them. It’s awkward and no longer comfortable.

“I never left.”

Jimin stops swinging and her shoes scrape against the gravel.

Minjeong looks at her with a sad expression written in her doe eyes.

“I said I’d write to you when I’d see beautiful sights, but I never left. What was there to write?”
“Everything.”

“You could’ve written to me as well.”

“I should’ve.”

Minjeong hadn’t thought about Jimin for a while during the years she left. She was busy learning new languages, studying, perfecting her artwork, and sleeping at ungodly hours—and through all of that, she hadn’t thought of Jimin. But when it was quiet and she was alone, Jimin would haunt her thoughts and her soul.

“I should’ve come back.”

“No…I’m glad you left. You had bigger things to do than to stay here.”
“But you did too.”

“I know.”

Jimin looks away. She stares at the trees.

“Have you…have you been well, Minjeong?” 

“I have…I make art like you said I should.”
“You should show me one day.”

“I have pictures. I can show you.”

“I’d like to see them.”
“Will you have a meal with me first? I’m starving.”

Minjeong asks without thinking and it’s nearing dinner time, and it’s been over a decade—she can’t help but think about whether, if Jimin’s fallen in love, met a good man, maybe she’s married, maybe she has a child, maybe—

“I would love to.”

They head to that same restaurant Jimin had taken her to all those years ago and a flood of memories rushes to Minjeong. She wonders if Jimin’s stayed here and thought about her at all.

Minjeong shows her art to Jimin and the woman gasps in surprise.

“These are beautiful, Minjeong.”
“Thank you.” She blushes like she did all those years ago.

Jimin points at a particular painting of a city landscape.

“Name a price. Would you sell this one to me?”
 

Minjeong doesn’t hesitate, “You don’t have to. It’s yours.”

“Mine?” 

“You asked me to paint something for you one day. This painting has always been yours.”

Jimin blinks, disbelieving.

“I’m not making this up,” Minjeong chuckles. “I wrote an inscription behind the painting for you when I finished it.”
“What does it say?” 

“I’ll tell you when the painting arrives here. I’ll ask for it to be delivered.”

“Okay. You really didn’t have to.”
“You asked.”

Minjeong thinks: Whatever you ask, I will do. 

—

Minjeong wakes up earlier than she has in years. She puts on a nice dress, tames her hair into a neat and loose bun, puts on light makeup and stares at herself in the mirror.

It’s almost as if she looks like her teenage self again.

She heads downstairs and takes the keys to Taeyeon’s car, leaving a note.

She heads to church.

The first sight of church isn’t Jimin, but of a man—who she vaguely recognises as one of the jocks back then in high school. Obviously, he never grew out of his high school jock personality. He talks to Jimin for an uncomfortably long time and Minjeong pretends to walk around. She ends up greeting people, including her mother, who has come to pray.

“Minjeong.” It’s Jimin who approaches her first and Minjeong can tell it's to escape the man.

“Hey.” Minjeong sides up against Jimin.

“This is Jeno; you r