It hung from the rim, threatening to fall at any moment. 

The clear liquid shaped itself at the edge of the faucet, gravity straining to pull a few more droplets down to the basin below. The setting evening sun that sprayed through the window glinted off the arched surface of silver chrome, light bouncing off and reflecting stars all around the small, dated kitchen. They waltzed across the cool ceramic tile of the floor; the last vestiges of the day waved a final goodbye. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

Pellets of water sped through the air, shooting down from their suspended height before slamming onto the gray surface - the sounds of impact echoed a hollow and light pop. Each slap against the metal rang out for attention; every drop called out to announce its presence. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

The pangs on the stainless steel rang through the air and leaked into the ear of the woman - in her mid-twenties or so - sitting at the small square table. It tickled at her focus and fastened a hold on her attention, disrupting thoughts of all matters more pressing and important than an old faucet. 

A slew of packets and lists lay on the wood expanse in front of her, and she helplessly buried her hands in the paper piles, attempting to focus on taxes rather than the loud, vibrant, crystal-clear noise coming from the sink. The reports had to be sent in by Sunday, but, unfortunately, the leaky tube seemed not to know the woman's urgency, blissfully continuing its own parade - the mildew-laced water drops cheered and shouted as they bashed and crashed like cymbals. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

It was really annoying. Jiyoon (the woman) chided herself for not handling the pesky situation earlier. Her mind wandering to places other than taxes, she wondered if she had called the plumber yet; she had always meant to but in the end always forgot. The next morning, she vowed, if not that night. 

She sifted through the carbon copy mess; her mind continued traveling tangents - one thought leading to the next. She vaguely recalled how, a week ago, she had promised herself to call for the faucet repair, in exactly the same fashion as she did just moments ago. She had promised the week before then, too. She had even written notes. Every week - every day, actually - ever since the leak had sprung, she realized. The faucet had always dripped ever since he had dropped a heavy ceramic mug on it, the klutz. 

They had washed the dishes together on that night, instead of splitting the chores up like they used to do. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

She had for being so clumsy, though his expression upon realizing that the cup slipped from his soapy fingers made her laugh wildly, tittering without restraint. The incident had left a hairline fracture on the mug - which he from then on dubbed his "clumsy mug" - and a damaged faucet - which they had never bothered to fix. From then on the drips filled the house with their presence, mingling in with the once-present sounds of the couple's impromptu giggles and babbling banter. 

It was sort of soothing, he had reasoned, the constant unchanging rhythm of the water. Back then, Jiyoon herself hadn't minded it all that much; the sounds had reminded her of that silly moment they had shared. 

Now she stared with glazed eyes at the falling drops, wondering how she used to be able to tolerate the blasted sounds. They rolled and splattered like waves in her ears, a constant reminder of an unfastened bolt, of a broken junction, of a failing connection. 

She hated the noise. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

It rained incessantly upon her ears - unceasing chattering and pattering that drove her mad. Its babble did nothing but hinder her process - disturbed by the pestering beats, the numbers that had been stacking up in her mind tumbled and toppled over, escaping the mental columns and almost-sums that she had been building. She couldn't concentrate; she couldn't focus at all. 

Frustrated, she crumpled the paper in her hands - an old convenience store receipt - and tossed it away, not caring where the insignificant ball landed. The sun had fallen and it was time to retire, she decided, pushing the uncomfortable wooden chair away from the table and getting up to leave. There was no way she'd be able to finish now; she felt too bothered, too restless. She put it off for the next day, when the busy sounds of the afternoon would hopefully drown out those that came from the sink. 

As she headed to bed, she made a last reminder to call the plumber tomorrow morning. Do it, do it, do it, she told herself. The weight of her command was expressed with staccato reminiscent of the very sound that she was trying to escape.  

Drip, drip, drip. 

It bothered her at night, continuing its endless downpour. Even in the dark she heard it, though the covers were pulled all the way over her head. The drips surrounded her, encased her, engulfed her, wetting everything from her innermost thoughts to the sheets tangled around her limbs. It was as if the faucet was right there in the empty spot beside her, resting at the head of the bed and flooding the whole left half of the mattress. Jiyoon squirmed and shifted on her side; she perched her body as far from the invisible pond as possible. Her back was to it; temerity prevented her from turning to see the water inching closer. She didn't feel the need to check; she could hear the splashing and sloshing of the dreaded leak. It breathed and moved behind her, tossing and turning and hogging the blanket. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

The moisture tingled upon her skin, and her muscles stiffened after staying stationary for so long. Eventually, sleep pebbled upon her like droplets of sweat - a cool rest after a red-hot exhaustion. It trickled from the top of her forehead down all the contours of her physique, culminating in a trench at her toes. The faint smell of salt trailed around, 

The water was still barely audible, and in her tired, dreaming state it soon melted away, getting lost in the static of her sleep. 

- drip. 

The plumber came not too long after she had made the call. In the morning the leak irritated her more than ever, but she wiped it from her mind and painted on a smile, trying her best to act pleasant and cordial. "Thanks for coming."

"Yeah, sure." He was standing by the sink, running a hand along the curve of the chrome head, rubbing a finger across the slick edge. Something about the large and bulky toolbox he carried unnerved her. "So what did you need? You said over the phone that something needed fixing?" 

"I think you should check out the shower head," she directed him into the hall, towards the bathroom, away from the kitchen. He brought the toolbox with him, and she felt the relief wash over her being. She waited before following him, allowing herself a few seconds of self-composure - a private moment accompanied only by the subtle hum of the refrigerator and the faint pings coming from that metal fixture by the window. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

The plumber didn't see any problem with the shower, except for that fact that it could use some cleaning. He didn't notice anything wrong with the toilet either, and the bathroom sink was in perfect condition as well. 

Jiyoon feigned ignorance, insisting that there must have been something wrong with one of those appliances. There was no other reason she could have called, she said. 

He looked at her and gave a small smile, one that spilled over his lips slowly and knowingly. He tilted his head as he left the bathroom, gesturing his client to follow him into the kitchen. Jiyoon wasn't sure she liked the direction in which he was going - although he didn't say anything, the sink built into the counter spoke enough. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

She stood right behind him as he stopped in front of the leaking fixture; her shoulders tensed when he placed his toolbox on the ground in front of it. As soon as she saw him take out a wrench, the stillness she had been feeling dissipated and was replaced by a fire of chaos. Her veins screamed, clogged. Her heartbeat sped up and ran; the blood rushed through her body, pulsating underneath her skin. 

"What are you doing?" she sharply asked, feeling the need to screech but barely being able to whisper. Her eyes were large dark circles; her lips hung open in a similar shape. 

"I'm gonna fix this leaky hose here for you. It seems like it would drive you crazy, not to mention the extra cost on the water bill." He grunted as he crouched down and opened the cabinet under the sink, exposing the weathered, scratched pipes underneath. The vice wrench in his hand s below, lightly tapping and clanging against the metal. To Jiyoon, that sound was much worse than the drips - much, much worse. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

She heard the plops, loud and clear - urgent cries for help, desperate cries for rescue. She felt waterworks pounding behind her own face, pushing against the backs of her eyes, her nose, her lips in an attempt to come out. She held them back, choosing to try to calm her breathing and think clearly, rationally. 

She couldn't imagine a silent kitchen, with a smoothly-running sink that didn't leak every thirty seconds. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

"No," she stepped forward. "Stop!" Her voice cracked; she put a hand on the plumber's shoulder and rather forcefully pulled him away from the sink. So great was her strength that he would have toppled over onto his back had he not caught a hand on the nearby dining chair, steadying himself.

Still crouched low on the ground, but now resting against the wooden seat, the outsider looked up at the client with disbelieving eyes and waited for an explanation. 

"I," she spoke, her tone suddenly shy and quiet in contrast to the ferocity of her shout before. "I.. like the sound." 

Drip, drip, drip. 

The faucet dripped on, continuing to remind those in its presence of its existence. The plops seemed so out of place - frivolous and carefree in that moment of tension, confusion, and worry. 

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes peering at hers like those of an explorer in a mysterious, forsaken jungle - unsure of what troubles lay behind those outwardly glossy pupils. 

Jiyoon soon turned her face away, reaching for her pocketbook. "Thank you for your time," she scribbled on a check, tearing the paper out from a booklet and holding it out for the serviceman. Her hand trembled, waiting for him to take it and just leave, leave her alone in the company of her home, in the company of her sink. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

He did, after what seemed like a million drops. He simply put the wrench away, took the slip from her fingers, and nodded a goodbye before exiting. She watched him leave, his back and his broad shoulders bringing to mind the image of someone else, of another man - one who let ceramic mugs get chipped, one who left just like the plumber did. 

She slunk into the single wooden chair at the dining table, her muscles aching as they pressed against the rigidly molded details. Her eyes shifted from the doorway over to the shining fixture by the window - the light it reflected shone a little too brightly, a little too radiant. It illuminated the room in an eerie haze, a disorienting glow. 

Her elbow rested atop the tabletop, her fingers drummed hesitant cascades of rhythm. Without realizing, Jiyoon matched the beat of her fingertips to the timing of the sink. The sounds of the water wound its way in and out of her mind, going through one ear, wrapping around her brain, and leaving through the other. She couldn't not get it out of her head. 

It was annoying. She really should have gotten the faucet fixed, she thought. It reminded her too much of the time he dropped a mug on it. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

The water fell periodically and confidently - never-ending - counting the seconds, weeks, years.