« day five, continued »

Once he arrived at home and sat down at his desk, Myungsoo realized that it would be harder to return the drawing pad to its owner than he had previously thought. There was no name or address on the cover or the back, as was required of art students.

Then curiosity bit at him until he cracked it open. The first drawing he saw was a sketch from the view of a café window. The second was a smiling portrait of a teenage boy. His hair was windblown and, though it was a piece done only in graphite, his eyes seemed to swirl with a thousand colors. Something about him seemed familiar, but Myungsoo couldn’t fully place his finger on how or why. The sketches were both well-drawn, but the portrait of the boy was so extraordinarily lifelike that Myungsoo found himself suddenly feeling like a trespasser.

He closed it then and placed it on the corner of his desk so that he could work on other homework. Halfway through his calculus assignment, a thought occurred to him – he hadn’t checked the first page. Myungsoo reached for the drawing pad again and quickly flipped it open.

A number was written there in small, neat handwriting.

Myungsoo smiled at this small victory and dialed the number into his phone. As the line rang and rang, he realized he was curious to find out whom the drawing pad belonged to. The sketches were good enough to be framed and put on display in a museum and, moreover, Myungsoo couldn’t imagine the painstaking hours it must’ve taken to draw such detail.

“Hello?” a girl’s voice asked.

Myungsoo fumbled for words. “Hello,” he said. Then, in a rush, he added, “I found a drawing pad in the library earlier today and this number was written on the inside.”

At first, there was only silence from the other end. Then he heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you. For finding it. And for calling me.”

“It’s no problem.”

“When did you find it?”

“At the end of my independent study third period.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I have a free hour that period. I must’ve left it in the library by accident.”

“That’s perfect then,” said Myungsoo. “If you go to the library tomorrow during your free period, I can return it to you. I usually sit in the back.”

“Okay. Thank you, again.”

He smiled. “It’s no problem, again.”

“Could you do me a favor?” she asked tentatively.

Myungsoo nodded. Then, realizing that she couldn’t possibly see him nod, he said, “Sure.”

“Please don’t look inside it. Some of my drawings…some of them are really private.”

Myungsoo bit his lip and immediately felt ashamed. He had no doubt that she meant the drawing of the boy. “I won’t,” he promised, telling himself that he wouldn’t open the drawing pad another time.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” she asked, sounding reassured.

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed.

Beep.

-----

It wasn’t until later that night, when he had washed up and was lying in bed, that Myungsoo realized he hadn’t thought to ask for her name. He hadn’t thought to ask for any identifying characteristics, either.

He checked the alarm clock on his bedside table. 1:30 am. Too late – or rather, too early – for him to call her to ask. Myungsoo sighed and pulled the covers up to his chin again.

Just before he drifted off to sleep, he suddenly thought of something else. The boy in the drawing had stayed in his mind all evening, annoyingly persistent. Now Myungsoo realized why it was that he seemed so familiar. He was, without a doubt, a boy in his chemistry class named Kim Jongin.

« day six »

Myungsoo arrived at the library at the beginning of his independent study hour to see a girl sitting at a table in the back. Her long hair tumbled down her back and around her shoulders like a dark waterfall, hiding most of her face from view. She held a paperback in her hands and was clearly absorbed in her reading.

It had to be her.

He pulled out the chair across the table from her and sat down. She glanced up from her novel and stared at him, looking perplexed.

Without a word, Myungsoo reached into his bag and pulled out the black drawing pad.

Her eyes immediately lit up as he passed it over to her. “Thank you,” she said, her face transforming into a big smile. Then she looked at him again and raised an eyebrow. “How did you know it was me?”

Myungsoo looked back at her, at her porcelain skin and innocent gaze. How had he known it was her?

“I don’t know,” he finally answered. “You just seem like the type of person who would own a black drawing pad.” And the type of person who draws beautiful pictures, he added silently. Beautiful pictures of boys with windblown hair and colorful eyes.

She accepted this explanation. “I see.” She smiled. “You seem like the type of person who would find a black drawing pad.”

Silence fell between them and, after a few seconds, Myungsoo’s conscience began to poke at him. He squirmed a little in his seat and finally spoke.

“I have a confession to make.”

She nodded and waited patiently for him to continue.

“I saw your drawing of Jongin,” he admitted.

Her eyes widened. Myungsoo hastened to add, “Before you told me not to look inside it. I’m sorry – I was looking for a name or number to reach you by – “

She shot him a sideways glance. “Then you know, I guess.”

The words came tumbling out before his brain could stop them. “That you’re in love with him?”

She frowned. “I’m that transparent, huh?”

“Not transparent,” Myungsoo disagreed. He thought for a moment. “Your drawing is expressive. Besides, I drew my conclusion from inside information.”

She looked intrigued. “Oh, really? And what would that be?”

“I have a friend who’s pretty into drawing himself. He told me once that people only ever draw pictures of people they care for. Or people they want to care for. His name is Sungjong.”

“It’s a small world,” she muttered. “Sungjong’s in my oil painting class.”

“It is a small world,” mused Myungsoo. “Jongin’s in my chemistry class. I didn’t even recognize him in your drawing at first, to be honest. I’m not close with him.”

She tucked her long, dark locks behind her ear and blushed prettily. “Can we please not talk about him?”

Myungsoo nodded. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

“Well, if you know something that personal about me, I think I should at least know your name.”  

“I’m Kim Myungsoo,” he told her.

She smiled big, as big as when he’d first returned her drawing pad to her. “I’m Son Naeun.”