Making Introductions

Seeing the father you spent your childhood away from is like smelling the perfume you wore every day of your favourite holiday.

When you catch a whiff of that perfume, everything you did on that holiday suddenly comes flooding back in one giant, compressed wave. When you see the father you grew up without, all the distant memories of the time you did spend together resurface. You remember what it felt like to be in his arms; how he would laugh and lift you into his arms when he got home from work each day; the way he would your hair as you fell asleep. Yet at the same time, you feel so far removed.

I had sat in my room all afternoon while my father moved boxes into the house one by one, back hunched over and groaning. Mum had made gestures that, you know, if she were not the dainty woman she is, she would have, you know, helped. But since she was not a man but in fact a precious lady, the best she could have done was bring in a couple of the lighter, smaller boxes.

My mother and I are polar opposites, but it does not appear so on the outside. On the outside, we are both milky-skinned, doe-eyed, dark-haired ladies. We are both slim and I've been told we walk in the same way, though I am taller than Mum now. However, on the inside, Mum loves having people fawn over her and do her work, whereas I am much more sensible than her and I prefer to be independent.

I had not hugged my father when he had walked in, nor had he moved to hug me. He did not look the same as the vague image in my head, formed largely from looking at pictures years ago. He had frown lines which had not been there in my memories, and his hair was no longer stark black but slightly lacking in colour.

My father was a tall man, and it had shocked me that we were not so different in terms of height now. I had been polite but very distant when he had arrived - I could barely bring myself to crack a smile in his presence. I did not suppose many fathers felt like intruders in their own home, like mine.

Then again, I did not suppose many fathers packed up and jumped ship to another country for ten years, leaving their daughter behind - like mine.

For a long, long time, this man had been all but dead to me. The day Mum had called me from Japan, after having left me at home in Korea for two weeks with my granddad, to announce that she was giving her relationship with my father another chance and bringing him back to Korea had been one of the most confusing days of my life. Her sudden plans to travel had been a little suspect, but this I had never expected. My biggest question had been, Why now? Why would she try again after so many years? Why hadn't my father moved on by now? I had spent the rest of that day contemplating what this meant for my life, and the conclusions had been, well, inconclusive.

And then there was the matter of Minho. He had moved with my father to Japan after the divorce and I honestly could not remember him well. I had been just five years old at the time, and we had never been close; the half-decade had not helped our relationship. Since my father was Japanese and had only moved to Korea when he had married Mum, I had not thought about whether he would be okay or not in Japan. Once or twice, though, I had wondered how Minho had coped, learning an entirely new language and culture.

Minho was twenty now, and a university student. It had taken me over five minutes to even think about Minho after Mum's phone call. It sounds strange to me now, but you would be surprised to discover how finding out your life is going to change beyond recognition soon really wipes your mind of everything else in the world. Later that day, I had rung Mum back to ask about Minho. Would he stay in Tokyo? Part of me had sort of assumed yes, because he was an adult and probably even living on his own.

This was not the answer I had received, though: Minho would indeed be coming back to Korea. He had started university in Japan but things were not going so well, Mum said, so he would be taking a break when he moved back to Seoul.

Minho had apparently turned up with my father in the taxi from the airport, though I had not caught a glimpse of him. According to Mum, who had considerately popped her head into my door for about two seconds to see how I was coping with this major life change, Minho had taken off in a friend's car within minutes of arriving at his new house.

Which made me think that, if a car had turned up here so soon, Minho must have pre-arranged it. Which meant that he had never planned on sticking around here to say a quick 'Hi' to his estranged sister or chat with his mother.

I was starting to dislike this guy already.

~~~

Reuniting with a sibling you have not seen for ten years is exactly as awkward as you might imagine it to be.

As if I was not apprehensive enough about the whole thing anyway, Minho had to go and turn up at exactly the wrong time. I had wanted to make an impression on the brother I had not seen in so long; I was a pretty girl and I was going to use it to my advantage. But as I was walking from my bedroom the bathroom to get my hair dryer after my shower that evening, I heard someone banging ferociously on the front door.

I began to walk faster, certain it was Minho and eager to steal away into the bathroom before I was caught out looking like I was. But before I could, Mum answered the door and called out to me loudly.

'Krystal! Come and meet Minho.' You know your life is messed up when your mother is making introductions between yourself and your brother.

My hands flew up to my damp hair, clutching at the twisted strands in surprise. Desperately, I looked down at my less-than-impressive sleeping ensemble of jogging shorts and a black t-shirt. So much for making a good impression.

'Coming,' I called back to Mum, padding reluctantly towards the front door.

I had no idea what to expect of the brother I barely knew. I could remember that he had had almost-black hair, like me, and deep brown eyes. Other than that, my mind came up blank, and my vague memories would not have been much use anyway because ten years had passed since our last meeting, and, well, ten years is a long time.

Walking into the front room, I realised that my heart was beating fast. Well it would be - this was a life-defining moment, after all.

I took in the man before me, whom I had last seen as a ten-year-old boy. He had certainly changed since then. A second later I realised I was doing elevator eyes again, an unshakable, awkward habit of mine. I mentally slapped myself for embarrassing myself so quickly.

I raised my eyes and looked into my brother's. For a moment, they sparkled in amusement the way someone you've been checking out's eyes sparkle when you make eye contact and you both silently acknowledge that you have been checking them out.

Blinking, I shook off the thought. As I did, Minho looked away, his expression shifting from neutral but friendly to uninterested.

Minho was tall now. He towered over short-ish Mum and even over me. He still had dark hair, and his skin was not quite as pale as mine. What was more, my brother was now devastatingly handsome. His eyes were big and brown and his face seemed to have been crafted by strategically placing the ideal of every facial feature.

'Hi, Krystal. It's been a while,' Minho said softly, making eye contact again, but without expression.

'Hi,' I replied nervously. I twisted my lips into a tiny smile cautiously, hyperaware of the tension in the air. Minho did not return the smile but nodded in my direction. Why was he being so cold? It was true we were as good as strangers despite being brother and sister, and that was awkward, but why was Minho not even making an effort? I wanted to call him oppa, but I figured that would just make him even more uncomfortable.

'Okay then, I'm going to my room,' Minho stated bluntly. He walked past Mum and I, heading in the direction of the now-guest room which had been his so long ago.

Mum smiled at me and walked off the busy herself with something else. I was left standing alone in the front room, stunned, wondering what direction my life could possibly be taking.

A/N First chapter up, hooray! For those who don't know, 'oppa' is a casual term used by females to address an older brother or an older male (but not too much older) they are familiar with.