The blue hybrid travels down the bustling streets of Seoul at a steady pace, its wheels crunching over the hard granite. Amber Liu stares out the window, drinking in the new sights and sounds of the city. Signboards which will light when dusk falls, skyscrapers extending toward the sky and beyond, dresses and skirts in shop displays, an ice cream shop with a tacky, life-sized cone tacked onto the roof. She sinks back in her seat, a tiny sigh escaping her lips, barely audible.

“Isn’t this all exciting?” Amber’s mother asks, craning her neck to look at her daughter in the rearview mirror.

Amber grunts, not wanting to hurt her mother’s feelings, for all she wants is to fly back to America and go skateboarding with her friends.

“It’s going to be marvelous, Am. A new house, a new start, everything!” her mother continues.

This time, Amber doesn’t even bother to grunt. She doesn’t want a new start; she is fine with her life back in America, and besides, she has never been one for change.

The hybrid finally comes to a winding stop outside a fair-sized terrace, white flakes already peeling off the gates. Amber hops out of the car, stretches, and surveys her new abode. Apart from the peeling paint, the house has an overgrown lawn, dirty windows, and red-bricked tiles for roofs. Amber pushes open the unlocked gate tentatively, and it creaks, but not enough to make her wince. Fallen leaves cover the driveway, and Amber bends down, blowing them about just for fun.

“What are you doing bent over like that, Am? Let’s go in and take a look, you’ll have to tell the movers where you want your boxes put,” Amber’s mother says, coming up behind her and unlocking the front door. The enthusiastic lady sweeps into the house, exclaiming in loud tones as she travels from room to room. Amber stands, staring at the open door, apprehensive.

She takes her first step in cautiously, eyes roaming about her new surroundings. The house is quite pleasant, really, a contrast to the depressing exterior. The living room is huge and has sloping ceilings, along with some built-in shelves which are coated with a layer of dust. A short flight of steps lead Amber to the dining room, which is completely emptied out. The kitchen is separated by a vintage-looking door, and as Amber pushes it open, she smiles. Cupboards line the walls, different colours of brown, and on some of them there are teddy bear stickers attached to it, probably works of the children who lived in this house previously. Amber exits the kitchen, and then goes up the long flight of stairs to the second floor.

“Am, isn’t this house magnificent?” Amber’s mother gushes, coming into view. “Your room is that one there, second from the left.”

Following her mother’s instructions, Amber pushes open the door second from the left. Her room has been painted a warm yellow, and a light in the shape of a flower hangs from the ceiling. Amber, however, moves towards the window seat, trailing her fingers over it. She’s never had a window seat, and already she can imagine adding cushions and curling up on it with a hot cup of cocoa and a book. She glances out the window, and with a start realize that directly facing her window is another window from the neighbouring house.

And there is someone at the window.

Curious, Amber plasters herself to the window, squinting out to see the figure. The windows are dusty, and she wipes it with her palm, forming a clear circle. The figure is a boy, and he too is looking out his window to identify her. To her surprise, he raises his hand and waves, a light smile coating his lips. He is about Amber’s age, but looks increasingly pale, and his jet black hair does nothing whatsoever to tone down his complexion. Tentatively, Amber waves back, feeling rather foolish, but what she didn’t know then was that this was the start of a strong friendship to come.

. . .

That night, Amber sits down with her parents for dinner. Half her boxes have been un-packed and already the house is taking shape. The lawn has been trimmed and the windows cleaned, but the gate still has to be re-painted and the loose tiles on the roof fixed. The family sits, munching on pizza, while both Amber and her father listen to the lady of the house gush about the events of the day. Amber’s father raises one amused eyebrow at Amber, and she has to hide her smile.

“Mum, have you met any of the neighbours yet?” Amber asks, as her mother takes a sip of water and she can finally get a word in.

“Oh my, not yet. I’ll go over to say hello soon enough, though,” Amber’s mother says. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” Amber says, pushing the image of the dark-haired, pale-skinned boy out of her mind.

The next few days go by eventfully; Amber unpacks the rest of her belongings and helps to re-paint the gate. Her neighbor, she notes, has painted her gate stripes of blue and orange. She wonders how she can have missed it on the first day she arrived, but her neighbor does certainly like colours; the whole house is a splash of the rainbow. She hasn’t seen the boy at the window for awhile now, but she does wish he would come back to the window.

A week later, however, her wish is granted.

. . .

It is especially hot today.

Amber plods to her room after her third bath of the day. She has since started school, and has found her new schoolmates all increasingly nice; quite a change from the high school she attended back in America. She flops down on her bed, mumbling silently about how the sun should disappear. Out of habit, she goes to look out the window, wondering if the boy has come back, and to her surprise, he has, and is looking out of his window, too.

He smiles as he sees her, waving furiously, and despite herself, Amber finds herself waving back. She opens her window, wanting to talk to him, but he shakes his head. He bents his head for a moment, and Amber waits, curious. He presses a piece of paper to the window, with the words ‘sore throat’ printed on the paper. Amber’s eyes widen, and she hurriedly scrambles to get paper and markers too.

Oh, I see. Drink more water!, she writes, before pressing her own piece of paper to the glass.

Yes, I will, thank you!,and then, as he uses a second piece of paper, How do you like your new house?

It’s pretty nice, Amber writes, and then on the other side of the paper, But it’s not as colourful as yours!

Well, you can paint it! I like colours.

I like colours too. What’s your favourite?

I don’t know, actually.

There has to be one.

I like them all.

Really?

Yes. What’s yours?

Blue and orange.

Seen my gate, haven’t you?

Yes (:

(: It took my dad three hours to do it.

Wow! I took an hour painting mine white.

Paint it differently!

Maybe I will.

You should. A little bit of colour is what this world needs.

“Amber!”

Amber turns, registering her mother’s voice.

“I’m going to do some grocery shopping, want to come along?”

“Not really!”

“That was a demand, actually. See you down in five minutes!”

Groaning, Amber scribbles something furiously on paper and presses it to the window once more.

Gotta go, see you!

The boy nods and waves, and it is only when Amber changes and patters down the stairs does she realize she doesn’t even know his name.

. . .

“Hi Amber, want to sit with us for lunch?” Victoria, a bubbly girl who has a knack for ribbons, asks.

Amber lifts up her head from her book, not registering what she is saying. A look of realization crosses Victoria’s face and she imitates someone eating to show Amber what she means. Amber has to try hard to stop herself from laughing, but shakes her head and declines Victoria’s invitation politely. Victoria gives her a sheepish smile, shrugs, and then runs off to join her other friends. Amber thinks it’s nice that Victoria has asked her, but knows that if she is to join them, she will be sitting through an endless babble of conversation in gibberish. At least, that is what the Korean language is like to her.

She understands her lessons because she goes to the international class, but in homeroom she cannot get along with her other schoolmates, something which she finds regrettable. Sighing, Amber takes out her book, a new paperback she had bought from the local bookshop. Someone enters the class just then, and as Amber looks up, she recognizes Jessica, a girl from her international class.

“Hi, Amber!” Jessica greets cheerfully in fluent English.

“Hi,” Amber says, smiling as Jessica comes to sit beside her. “What’s that?”

Jessica glances at the basket in her hands, which are filled with paper flowers.

“Oh, it’s from my Art class, we’re making paper flowers to sell for charity, you want to buy one? It’s just a dollar each,” Jessica says eagerly, obviously her real motive for coming to sit with Amber.

Amber laughs. “Okay then, if it’s for charity.”

“Great!” Jessica beams. “What colour do you want?”

Amber surveys the basket. There are pinks and purples and all other sorts of colours, but Amber reaches out to take a blue flower, and then an orange one.

“I’ll take these,” she says.

. . .

Back at home, Amber rushes eagerly to her window, and is glad to find that the boy is still there. He breaks into a smile as he sees Amber, and both of them take out their paper and markers.

Still having a sore throat?

Yes, it’s pretty serious, says the doctor. Also the reason why I disappeared for a week, I had a fever before that and my mum moved me to another room.

Now that was four whole pages.

Oh, I see. Get better soon!

Thank you. How was your day at school?

Fine. Look what I got!

Amber holds up the two flowers, waving them about. She can see him laughing, and grins, feeling a little like a child.

Blue and orange, huh.

Blue and orange indeed.

When are you going to paint your gate?

Soon enough.

How soon is soon?

Like, tomorrow?

It’s a promise!

Okay, I promise.

He holds out his pinkie finger, and Amber holds hers out too. Even though separated by the distance, the both of them curl their pinkie finger, sealing their promise.

Amber has a job to do.

. . .

Amber’s father comes home from work, and stares in astonishment at his daughter surrounded by paint cans, furiously applying colour after colour to their gate.

“Amber? What is this?”

“Oh, hi daddy! I’m painting our front gate, to be like colourful like theirs!” Amber says, pointing to their neighbour’s house.

Amber’s father shakes his head in amusement. “Okay, suit yourself then.”

Amber nods, barely registering her father’s words as the paintbrush flies over the gate, up and down and up and down. She intends to make the gate a majestic rainbow, and is enjoying herself. She works for four whole hours, and as she steps back to admire her masterpiece, she feels her heart soar.

She has kept her promise.

. . .

Did you see my gate yet?

I did; nice work!

Thank you! Guess how long I spent on it?

Five?

Close. Four.

You’re a fast worker!

It’s tiring work, phew!

Did you back hurt after that?

You bet! It still hurts.

You’re exaggerating!

I’m not!

You are!

Am not!

Sure are.

It hurts!

I totally believe you!

You’re mean!

Am not!

Sure are!

I’m nice!

I totally believe you.

Copy-cat.

You do know that we’re contributing to global warming?

Good point.

“Amber! Can you please take your bath now? We’re going out for dinner!”

Mum’s calling, got to go.

He nods as usual, and they wave before Amber scrambles down her window seat and rummages through her closet for fresh clothes to wear. As she enters the bathroom, she realizes that through all their paper conversations, it has been her who has always needed to go away, and not the other way round. In fact, whenever she is at the window, he will be, too. Amber is starting to wonder if he ever leaves the window.

. . .

“Mum, have you been over to the neighbours?” Amber asks again, after close to three weeks of their being re-locating to Seoul.

“Oh goodness, with everything going on, I haven’t!” Amber’s mother says, putting a hand to .

“They came by though, did you know?” Amber’s father says, swallowing a spoonful of mashed potato.

Both Amber and her mother swivel to face him.

“They did?” Amber’s mother asks.

 “Yeah, one Saturday, when Amber had extra classes at school and you went grocery shopping,” he says to his wife. “Came over to give us some snacks and say hello. The lady with the blue and orange gate, she speaks English. But the neighbor on the other side with the poppies doesn’t, so it was pretty hard to communicate.”

“Oh no. We should visit them, too. Give them something,” Amber’s mother says.

“We should,” her husband agrees, nodding. “Those snacks were pretty good.”

“You ate all of them?!”

“Yep.”

“Daddy!”

. . .

What are you doing over the weekend?

Nothing much. You?

Nothing much either. I heard your mum came over!

She did?

Yeah, and gave us some snacks which my dad finished.

Amber can see him laughing, and she grins too as she waits for him to finish writing.

You have a funny daddy!

He is, I guess. You’d like him.

Mmmmm.

Maybe we’ll be going over sometime, soon! We can meet!

Amber expects him to smile and says something along the line of that’s nice, but she watches in alarm as his face changes, becoming somber and serious. The light in his eyes seem to have extinguish, and his face seems even paler than before.

What’s wrong?

Nothing.

Sure?

Yeah. Hey, I got to go, talk to you sometime soon.

Amber nods slowly, but instead of disappearing from the window, he only pulls down the blinds. Amber wants to call out to him then, but with alarm realize that, even after so many conversations, she still does not know his name. And he has never asked for hers, either.

. . .

Amber’s mother has declared that they will visit their neighbors today, and Amber feels jumpy, jumpy that she will finally meet the boy at the window. She has been contemplating all the while about his weird behavior, how he seemed to close up like a clam when she had said she might be coming over. She wonders if she is making the right decision by going over, but she can’t give up this chance to meet her friend. She can only hope he will be receptive towards her.

Amber’s mother rings the bell, and the door opens shortly to reveal a pleasant-faced, petite lady. Her face brightens upon seeing us, and soon she has us all in her living room with platters of traditional Korean snacks and cups of tea. Amber keeps glancing up at the stairs, wondering if the boy at the window is in one of the upper rooms. But the adults keep on talking and talking, with no sign of wanting to stop. Amber fidgets, restless, wanting to ask about the boy at the window but not knowing how.

“Amber? Amber!”

Amber is untangled from her thoughts by her mother’s voice, and her eyes re-focuses on the three adults staring expectantly at her.

“Sorry, what?”

“Mrs Liu was just asking how you liked Seoul,” Amber’s mother says, giving Amber a look of disapproval.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I like Seoul very much, it’s … interesting,” Amber replies sheepishly.

Mrs Liu gives Amber a warm smile, which she returns. “I’m glad you like it. But the language is a problem, no?”

“Well, yes, it is. But I’m picking it up slowly,” Amber says, shrugging.

“Good, good, when my family and I first came here, we found it hard too.”

“You are not from Seoul?” Amber’s mother asks, surprised.

“Oh no, I’m from Taiwan, but Henry was born in Canada.”

“Henry?”

“Oh, he’s my son. But he’s … sleeping, right now, I think.”

Amber can see it then, the same clamming up happening. She has to find out why.

“I know Henry.”

All eyes in the room are suddenly trained on her, and she feels uncomfortable.

“You know my Henry?” Mrs Liu asks, astonished.

Amber nods slowly. “I think so. I mean, his room is opposite mine, and we kind of communicated using paper and markers.”

Mrs Liu is apparently struck by this.

“You wait here, dear,” she says, and then goes quickly up the stairs.

Amber waits, nervous now, and when Mrs Liu re-appears she signals Amber to follow her. Amber quickly runs up the stairs, two at a time.

“Now, I don’t know what Henry has told you, and I must tell you that Henry isn’t at all a confident child. He, well, he isn’t at all healthy physically, and when you go in I must ask you not to be shocked. I don’t feel it my place to tell you what my boy has gone through, so it is up to him whether he wants to tell you or not. But please don’t be alarmed,” Mrs Liu says, her eyes boring deeply into Amber’s, though not unkindly.

Amber can only nod.

Mrs Liu opens the door, and Amber goes in.

On the bed lies the boy at the window, supposedly Henry. He turns as she enters, and their eyes meet. For a long while, no one says anything. Henry is dressed in a baseball tee and trousers, but one opening of his trousers lay limp on the bed. His left leg foot sticks out quite plainly, but Amber fails to see his right foot, or his right leg, for that matter.

And suddenly it all makes sense. How he is so pale, because he doesn’t go out often, whether he doesn’t want to be stared at or whether a wheelchair is inconvenient she does not know, but the lack of sunlight would definitely make him pale. And he never gave his name, because perhaps she would know then from the other neighbours that he was an invalid. And how he clammed up when she said she might be coming over, because he didn’t want her to see him like that.

Yet he has the same eyes, the same facial features, the same shock of black hair, and as she stands in front of him Amber feels like she has known him all her life. He is not unfamiliar to her; he has been her friend through paper and markers, her friend in a strange country, someone she can actually talk to.

She reaches out her hand to him. “Hi, I’m Amber.”

He gazes at her, a look of shock and surprise crossing his face. And when she continues holding out her hand, he finally softens.

“I’m Henry,” he says, smiling as he shakes her hand.

Amber smiles back, feeling a warm sensation sneaking into her heart and filling her with joy.

He might have lost a limb, but he is still, to her, the boy at the window.