The thing about Jung Jihyuk was that she always had something to say. But when she stopped – probably because 1. She was eating and she had to swallow, or 2. Something more interesting caught her eye, or 3. She asked me a question and I didn't respond – it was somehow my responsibility to make obligatory remarks that would urge her to go on.

It was almost ten in the evening when we had finally stopped after walking a bee line around the district. It was also almost ten in the evening when I had realized that she had led me to the park. And I was spent, both mentally and physically, the exhaustion pushing me down on the first bench I saw.

In the few hours that I had been with Jihyuk and while she had done all the talking, she had told me a lot. 1. She was born in the year 1990, and while my mind kicked in to do the math, she already beat me to it by saying that 2. She was twenty-three years old, and as I was about to tell her that I was older than her, she stated that 3. She didn't like using honorifics. And perhaps a good, reasonable addition to that list was 4. She was a mind reader.

After a few blocks or so, she would hold my hand and lift it above her head before twirling around, telling me that 5. She liked being spun. Once in a while, she would ask about me, giving me the rare chance to speak. And then it was back to her again. As she talked, I held my book close to me, feeling the thrill of not knowing what was going to happen next.

I followed her. She led and I followed, dazed and mesmerized and almost drunk at the sight of her. We walked and walked until people began to thin out along the streets and the night grew darker and darker.

"So what do you like to do?" Jihyuk asked out of nowhere.

"I'm actually in, uh, med school and I'm about to take the, um, board exams," I said.

She took my hand in hers and spun around. "You're smart, then," she commented. "Not everyone goes to uh med school and take the um board exams." And she grinned.

I scratched my head awkwardly. "What about you?"

"Nothing," she answered with a shrug.

"Come on. There must be something," I pressed.

She took a deep breath. "My parents wanted me to manage the family business of doing whatever. I told them no. So they presented me with a deal – either I take over the business or nothing. I chose Nothing."

My eyes widened. "Family business?"

"It's not really a business," Jihyuk explained. "More like a restaurant handed over from one generation to another. Nothing big. And it probably was my fault why it didn't get any bigger. I ate there almost every day nonstop." And perhaps it was either her train of thought was disorganized or her appetite was really something, which leads me to think that 6. She loves eating.

As we happened to pass by a street food vendor, I realized that 7. She could stuff with three orders of odeng*, and that 8. Her appetite was insatiable. Watching her eat was almost as bad as being Jihyuk's stomach. More than once, she had tried offering some food, but I politely declined, although it was getting pretty clearer to me that I was about to pull an all-nighter with a girl I had just met.

But the long and short of the list was this: Jung Jihyuk, exhausted from a day of roaming around the city with me following closely behind her, was just another girl. Except she wasn't. And as I sat on the bench, she sat down next to me before resting her head on my lap. The next was her limbs sprawling out across the rest of the bench – the five-person-capacity seat occupied by only two.

"Where do you live? Do you want me to bring you home, or call your friend Sunji, or...?" I asked, ironically terrified at the peaceful look on her face with her eyes closed.

Jihyuk laughed slightly. "It's Sunmi," she informed. And when I was convinced that there was nothing wrong with her, I let her be. She seemed comfortable being the way she was using my lap as her pillow. "Bastard," she exclaimed, hitting me lightly on the arm. I thought maybe she was dreaming, what with her eyes shut. But she spoke again. "Talk more," she ordered and, softly she added, "I like the sound of your voice."

It was a compliment, but I felt rather embarrassed. I cleared my throat and spoke, reciting the lines from the textbook I was holding. "From the gigantic skyscrapers of Seoul to the peaceful insam fields of Punggi, traditional medicine is a full part of Koreans' lifestyle. To guarantee a good balance between–"

"Robotic bastard," Jihyuk said.

I looked down at her. "Am I now?" I blurted out before thinking.

But she smiled anyway. "If you read it like you're forced to do it, it sounds robotic and monotonous and bad. But if you read it with as much enthusiasm as being a doctor is to you, then I would not only like your voice, but love it."

Sighing, I decided to give it one more try. "To guarantee a good balance between mind and body, between man and his environment, many practices can be used such as acupuncture, pharmacopoeia, moxibustion or sunmudo*. In 1596, King Seonjo, the fourteenth king of the Joseon Dynasty, gave an order to his physician named Heojun to collect and compile all medical books. Three duties were attached to the royal order: first, most diseases come from inadequate eating and bad habits. Take preventive measures first and then use medication. Second, prescriptions tend to be unnecessarily complicated. Summarize only the main points. Third, use plain names for medicine to make sure that anyone can understand them*..." I trailed off. "Aish. Asking me to talk and then not listening."

Then I looked down, only to realize I had been explaining Donguibogam to a sleeping Jihyuk. Ever so slightly, I lifted her head as I removed my lap from under her. She stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering and threatening to open. Once I had successfully laid her head down, I settled in beside her – our feet up the armrest and our heads adjacent.

I kept pushing myself against her just until my head had ended up on her shoulder and her head on mine. And the late night sky didn't make it any easier to see. Turning to my left, my nose brushed against her cheek. And this, I thought, was a pretty good time to say that she is beautiful. She eats a lot and talks a lot and walks a lot and she's beautiful.

The park felt deserted and crowded at the same time. And I sat up and looked around every five minutes to see if someone was looking, but then it was just my own paranoia creeping in. And we both lay there like it was the most normal thing in the world to be sleeping on a bench in a park, but we did. I watched her sleep, and wondered where all the food she had eaten went.

I wanted to kiss her, but realized I would gain nothing from it – except maybe a slap and an arrest warrant. At the last minute, I decided not to. If there was one thing she should know about me, it would be that I was a deeply unhappy person. But I turned to her, anyway, my lips hovering just near her cheek.

"Will I see you again?" I asked, my breath warming her skin. She didn't respond, of course.

I didn't remember falling asleep. But I had, practically, with the sunlight burning my eyelids. I sat up, taking my book with me, and went home. Hyukjae was still sleeping, catching up on some rest before another week of school arrives. I went to my own room, locked the door, and collapsed on the bed. Putting my arms behind my head, I wondered where I was supposed to find a girl like her again.

***

*odeng = fish cake

*from DongUiBoGam and Health trough Harmony trailer

*from Tripitaka Koreana and Donguibogam