About a week after the momentous accident, I had given up on seeing Woohyun again. Seven days might not seem that long on paper, but waiting for someone can make even a second feel tedious. Kairi was leaving two days later, so asking for her help was inconsequential. I spent those 48 hours with her at a noraebang (even though she was hardly looking at the screen), at pop star Se7en’s ‘Yeolbong Chicken Restaurant’ (we bumped into 2NE1’s Bom) and at a few tourist destinations. On our last night, even though I had convinced Kairi that we were doing it for fun, I only entered and exited Everest café with the hope that I might meet him again. He had been walking back from wherever, so his house couldn’t have been that far.

On the sixth day, realization dawned on me. Woohyun might have saved my life, but anyone would have. It’s a human reflex, something I studied about in Psychology in high school. In one French movie, when a guy prevents a depressed man from committing suicide, the saviour reasoned his action saying it was a ‘survival instinct’. And as for the coat-sleeves incident, as shamelessly as I was still preserving those ‘custom-made’ boots, Woohyun must have been an extremely chivalrous fellow. I was probably not the first recipient of his unbelievable kindness.

The last straw had hit the hammer on my head and pulled me out of my daydreams. The bouquet and the basket. All it took was those two items for me to remember, “Ah, Saya. He’s probably married and you don’t even know. Maybe his wife fell even more in love with him after he explained her why he was late. Maybe the celebration was to welcome a new member of the family. Maybe it was their first anniversary. Maybe it was just his live-in girlfriend.” So it was on the seventh day that I decided to continue my life without any more Woohyun intervention.

It’s amazing how one never gets what they want. Irony happens.

One of my student’s father had passed away. The poor man had been victim to an accident and been in comatose for four years. So obviously when I heard the news, I could not help but think that it could have been me.

Shaken by the unwanted thought, I reassured the middle-aged SeokHyun that I would attend the funeral. On July 1, I stepped down at the clean cut graveyard and clutching my black coat tightly, walked towards my grief-stricken student.

“Again, I’m sorry,” I murmured and after the courteous bow, stole a hug. SeokHyun gave a small nod and introduced me to his wife. The woman looked very young and even though she was saddened by the tragedy, her face still contained a healthy glow. It was only when I looked down at her stomach did I realize why.

During the eulogy, SeokHyun spoke in a calm and clear tone and I was touched when he thanked me for helping me fulfill his dad’s last wish (the old man had lived in the States all his life but returned to his ancestors for marriage; all he wanted was to speak to SeokHyun in his ‘native’ language and for a change, be understood). I felt someone’s stare on me, but ignored it and continued listening to all the father-son stories he had to share.

“To all those who have faced similar loss, I feel empathy. But to all those who haven’t, I hope you can understand  that our parents love us very much. Believe it or not, everything they do is for our good. So please, never take them for granted.” At that moment, the sunlight cast a glow on the coffin and when I looked up to blink back some tears, a pair of eyes met with mine.

Woohyun.