“Didn’t you say before that the stones in here don’t shine?” Woohyun began.

   “I did,” I replied.

   “I thought about it. You may be wrong.”

   “How so?”

   “Diamonds are considered stones,” he pointed out. “And they shine.”

   “But you can’t have them for free,” I reasoned out.

   “So are the ones in space,” he replied.

   I scoffed. I imagined ourselves sitting on a wooden bench, situated beneath a cherry blossom tree. We were just there, in a generic setting, while a pink storm engulfed us.

   “At least the ones in space don’t cause thievery and murder,” I said. “You can love stars, but that won’t push you into robbing someone else’s house and killing the people in it.”

   “How brutal,” he remarked.

   “And yet it happens.”

   “Together with suicide and other depressing things like that, I suppose.”

   I had to pause on that one. It felt like there was an underlying meaning behind his words.

   “Woohyun, what do you mean?”

   “I mean just that,” he answered.

   “Woohyun?”

   “Hm?”

   “Ever experienced being sad?”

   “Who didn’t?” he returned.

   “Are you sad?”

  Last message received at 03:16 2012/04/04

   I was back to my swivel chair, with the droning frequency resounding in my ears. I sighed, and scratched my head out of frustration.

   “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

<:>

   My mother was standing in front of the kitchen sink, cutting the rice cakes into smaller strips while I sliced the vegetables on the table. The boiling water was burbling happily on the electric stove, causing the transparent lid to tremble.

   “Mom?” I began.

   “What is it, Sunggyu-yah?”

   “Why do some people not answer certain questions?”

   She looked at me, an amused smile gracing her lips. “Where did that thought of yours come from?”

   “Curiosity,” I pointed out.

   “Hm,” she said, before snipping the rice cakes once again. “There are many possibilities, but based from my experience, people do that because they either don’t want to lie or they still deny the truth.”

   “I see,” I replied. “Then, Mom, have you experienced being sad?”

   “Of course,” she answered.

   “How did you recover?”

   “With the help of time.”

   “Were you sad when you and Dad separated?”

   “Both of us were, Sunggyu.”

   I glanced at her. “But I think you still care for each other.”

   “We do,” she admitted.

   “Have you ever considered getting back together?”

   The response I heard was nothing but the continuous snipping sound of the scissors, its blades sinking against the doughy rice cakes.

   “I’m sorry for asking,” I murmured, after a while.

   “I expected these from you,” she said. “I’m really sorry you had to grow up in this kind of family.”

   “There’s no such thing as a perfect family, Mom,” I pointed out.

   And that was that.

<:>

   The spring flowers were already withered when I received a confession coming from the opposite . It happened in a public park, just across our university. The chirps of the cicadas were shrill against my ears, and the scorching heat of the sun made my head throb with pain. The back of my white shirt was drenched with sweat, and the smell of dried grass was overpowering.

   “I…like you,” she stuttered, her face burning up. “I like you, Sunggyu, for a long time now.”

   She was a classmate of mine, and her fingertips were severely callused, considering she focused on the bass guitar. Her brownish hair was long and straight, and it sparkled like amber beneath the shifting lights. She had a small face, paired with huge, round eyes. She reminded me of a pixie.

   It was my first time hearing something like that, so I didn’t know how to respond. I wanted to ask her, ‘Why would you even like me?’ but I held myself back, because I wasn’t that interested in the first place. The rustling of the leaves woke me up from my stupor. The balmy wind caressed my face, and that was what pushed me to give her a response.

   “I know you mean well, but at the moment, I am not interested. I apologize.”

   Her eyes started to get moist. Before I knew it, I turned my back on her, and walked away. I hated seeing women cry. I watched my mother do it countless of times already. I despised myself even more, though, because I couldn’t do anything for them. Not a single one.

<:>

    I was on top of a low hill near our house one clear evening, gazing at the stars while sipping a carton of apple juice. The grass tickled my back, but it was a sensation all too familiar to me now. It was a habit of mine, seeking refuge in that place whenever I needed somewhere to think. Ever since the divorce happened, I would stay there to organize my thoughts.

   Back in elementary, I was actually surprised to know that stars were, in all actuality, just burning rocks floating around in space. It sort of crashed my expectation, because I thought they were glittering crystals the size of the grains of sand. But then again, that was how I realized that I shouldn’t judge people by their appearance. That thinking of mine helped, in one way or another. I gained both friends and enemies, but I suppose that was how it should go.

   Soon, my thoughts started to drift away from me. I started to recall the things that have happened for the past few weeks: my casual conversations with Woohyun, my classmate’s confession, the pieces of advice my father gave me. I closed my eyes, and let those scenarios linger in my head for a bit longer. That was when I remembered something Woohyun and I used to talk about.

   I asked him, “Do you have any favorite scents?”

   “Rather than a favorite, I’ve something I can’t forget,” he answered.

   “What would that be?”

   “Watermelons.”

   “How so?” I pushed, genuinely interested.

   “That was what my classmate smelled like when she confessed to me during our high school graduation. It happened behind the school building, and we were beside the trash bins.”

   I chuckled at the incongruity of it all. A love confession. Beside the trash bins. Hilarious.

   “Ever been confessed to?” he asked.

   “No,” I answered.

   “Fortunate,” he remarked. “Any unforgettable scents?”

   I paused, and answered, “My father’s aftershave in the bathroom every morning.”

   “Now mine just seemed shallow,” he said.

   “Did you accept her confession?”

   “I didn’t.”

   “Why?”

   “I had no reason to.”

   The rock song coming from a distance dragged me back to reality. I focused on the trembling stars above me. My classmate smelled like water lily and pear. I had no idea how I came up with that, but she simply did.

<:>

   I decided to go to a bookstore in the heart of the city to kill some time one weekend morning. Somehow, I was trying to search for an author which was suitable for my taste. I couldn’t really describe what I wanted specifically, but I wanted a book which was honest; I wanted a book which would make me say, ‘Ah, I know what this author is trying to say. I’ve felt that emotion before.’

   Going through the aisles, I saw a translated novel entitled ‘Wallflower’. The title struck me, because I suddenly thought of Woohyun. I took it, and scanned the back cover to see what the story was all about. I was halfway through the description when I felt someone stand up beside me, only to take the same copy. I glanced to my side, and the first thing I noticed was the burning horizontal lines on his wrist, peeping out of his long-sleeved shirt. I didn’t even have to ask how he got them; I knew people who did it to themselves, as well.

   “Excuse me,” I began. “But did you hurt yourself?”

   He paused, before turning his head to look at me. He had short, black hair and a pair of crescent eyes. His lower lip was slightly thicker than the upper one, and his nose, I noticed, had a unique shape.

   “Did you hurt yourself?” I repeated.

   The both of us knew what I meant, but he disregarded the question by shoving his injured hand in his pocket. He flashed me a quiet smile, and while still holding the paperback, he approached the counter and purchased the book. I looked up at the store’s ceiling, and noticed that the wallpaper’s design showed the constellations. I sighed, and proceeded to buy the same item.

   It was either the stranger didn’t want to lie, or he was denying the truth.

"For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil. And some people, craving money, have wandered from the true faith and pierced themselves with many sorrows."
- 1 Timothy 6:10