Love at first sight never seemed to work for Jongin.

When he was hardly seven years old, Jongin had moved into a new neighbourhood with his family. The doorbell had rung in the kind family-next-door’s mother and young daughter but Jongin had also heard bells of a different kind ringing in his head. The girl was grinning at him, tugging him by the arm towards the backyard and chatting nonstop about her name, her age, her school, her friends. Jongin didn’t want to talk much so he was happy listening to her. It was a pleasant first February and exactly two weeks later, he had jumped over the fence with pancakes (his mother had cheered him on for his confession) and a rose that had been horribly stapled at its broken end (he had snatched it out of the vase too fast). He entered Minah’s garden with a beaming smile, expecting a reflection of the same. Instead he saw his friend playing tag with another boy. He was prettier than him, taller than him and the way he had playfully tackled her down, he was definitely stronger than him. That morning, Minah’s father found something else besides the daily newspaper on the doorstep --- a bunch of battered pancakes and a rose torn into two.

Four years later, Jongin met his mother’s best friend’s daughter. She was Krystal, she was witty, she was bold, she was perfect. Playdates evolved into ‘accidental’ falls, a push down the slide, a push into the flowerbed, any act that could catch her attention and give him a reason to be close to her. Krystal misunderstood him, of course and vowed to never see his face again. Years later he saw her snogging off an androgynous fashioned girl named Amber and suddenly he remembered her words, as clear as that morning day :

“I hate boys!”

No matter how young they had been, she had probably meant it.

At the volatile age of fifteen, Jongin lost his dull green umbrella on a rainy day. He had shrugged off the burden of guilt, reassuring himself that it had already been hopeless with holes and a broken handle. It was during this effective moment of brainwashing himself that he had noticed a change and looked up to find a bright red cover hovering above his head. He looked down to his left and his heart skipped a beat. It was his best friend Moonkyu’s younger sister. Shorter than him, smarter than him, he hadn’t seen her in the five years since she had been sent off to boarding school kicking and screaming while her parents drove out of the train station in two separate cars. Moonkyu was all she had but when Jongin saw her smiling up at him, shouting above the din of the heavy shower, “Long time no see oppa!”, he wanted to embrace her and tell her she could have him as well. He wanted to pull her in front of him, wrap his flimsy raincoat around her and grab the umbrella, shelter her as much as he could. The sudden wave of emotions took him by surprise and he swooped down to give her a kiss on the forehead. Ten seconds later, after realizing what he had done, a punch flew down on his right jaw.

“She’s my girlfriend,” a stranger’s voice had sneered and that was the last he saw of her and his best friend.

SM Entertainment changed him. He knew he danced better than he could love and so he decided to accompany himself with none other than his friend in the mirror. Taemin and Yixing gave him company, but from time to time he wondered what kind of relationships would finally take them away from him as well. Love was always in the air and Jongin was suffocating. Instead of taking hold of his love life’s steering wheel, he accepted his fate and reduced himself to sitting at the back of alchohol stenched karaoke rooms, staying guard while his fellow trainees stole quick makeout sessions in their cars, taking responsibility for throwing away the half-eaten anniversary cakes, pushing in his earphones until they hurt to drown out whispered confessions with hip-hop gibberish he knew he couldn’t understand. 

Jongin had told himself that after he became an idol, things would start looking up. The constant flow of ‘I love you oppa!’’s would fill his heart, the tear-stained letters would become an oasis in his mirage of a love life, the smiling faces he encountered during fansigns would remind him of all that he was capable of and perhaps, he might even find someone pretty enough to keep him company. No girl would say no to him, he told himself. All he would have to do was walk out of the fansign, take note of the fan he had chanced upon and bring her out to talk to him. Tables would turn, Jongin would finally find a love who loves him back. Unfortunately an idol’s life had been specially designed to do nothing but sleep and eat during free time. Dance practices got hectic, variety show recordings increased, the smile on his face was stretched out beyond the force of his own will, his stomach told him to ignore his friend’s missed call and head to KFC for the last chance of a snack before the next broadcast. As the cheers of the audience grew louder, Jongin saw his last chance of having a requited love grow further and further away from him.

The neon light of these reminders blurred in his head as his eyes rested on a particular girl in the audience. He had seen her before and among all the others, she had stood out the most to him. There was nothing special about her looks, Jongin honestly told himself. She had straight black hair, inquisitive eyes with a dull glow somewhere, a regular wheatish complexion and a pudgy nose whose oddness was compensated by a light dimple on her left cheek. The average looking Korean girl, Jongin knew that despite all of this he had chosen to remember her more effectively than the rest. He had noticed how her friends would push her to the front of the line while she pulled up her muffler to the lower half of her face. He also noticed the way she would constantly take notes on her iPhone, a strange sight in the midst of all the DSLRs and fan-made banners. Her clothes were always a black and grey with a dash of red somewhere and before Jongin knew it, he would wait for his eyes to catch hold of that red at every fansign. The girl’s presence was as religiously regular as his anticipation but he never saw her step up to the line of girls waiting to shake hands with their oppas and seeing their names signed by them. Her friends would push her to the front, she would take notes and then quietly, at the end of the meeting, she would walk away with them.

Today she wore glasses. He saw the absence of that dull glow, her eyes slowly drooping off while that one friend of hers (Hye Jin? Hye Joo? He had seen her quite often and Chanyeol seemed to have scolded her once for wearing too short a skirt) kept tugging on her arm to keep her awake. Today he had to meet her. Today he had to know what her notes were about. Today he had to find out if she had noticed him noticing her.

“Hyung,” he called out to his manager. His eyes flitted between the girl and the end of the table. Kyungsoo was the first person and he was the last. He had to try this at least once, take a chance.

“That girl in the black jeans and black hoodie, the red converse.”

The manager bent down to his level and narrowed his eyes out to the audience. “What about her?” He seemed to have found her.

Jongin took a deep breath. “Could you please…” What would pass off as an excuse? That he was interested her? Manager hyung would refuse to order chicken for him for a month. That he knew her? But what if hyung asked for her name?

“I had promised to sign her a special poster,” he heard himself. You’re caught, a voice in his head whispered.

To his surprise the man straightened up and headed straight towards the audience. Jongin’s eyes went back to the girl, only to to see her looking back at him. His heart skipped a beat, just like it always did and he gave a soft smile, trying to comprehend her expression. Her fingers had gone limp against her phone screen and she was ignoring her friend’s questions. Her eyes were wide open, as if in shock. Jongin furrowed his eyebrows. She couldn’t have heard him. Despite the distance of ten feet and fangirls’ screams echoing everywhere, the girl seemed to have somehow understood that Jongin wanted to see her. He saw his manager approach her, closing the distance with his long legs but as soon as he was arms away from her she turned around and ran. She was wearing a varsity jacket, the name ‘Haesal’ imprinted in bold at the back. Jongin watched as the friend ran behind her and caught her by her hoodie. What he saw next made a shiver ran down his spine.

The friend was using her fingers to communicate, her lips moving up and down with her hands.

“What’s wrong Kai? Drank too much coffee again?” Luhan grinned at him and went back to the elementary school kid who had approached him with a single stemmed sunflower.

Jongin watched the friend. ‘Luhan’ she had said, pointing at him and his fellow member with a sense of urgency and curiosity. Haesal, who had been staring at Jongin all along, looked back at her friend and typed something on her phone. She seemed to be begging to leave, a request that was allowed once the friend had read the contents of the text. Jongin watched Haesal give him one last look and run out of the hall.

“Oppa!”

Jongin looked down and saw the elementary kid holding out a sunflower for him. He pasted a smile on his face and took it.

“Thank you,” he said, “Do you want me to sign your album?”

Jongin didn’t bother listening any further. He didn’t even know what the little girl’s name was and simply signed his own name with a heart. Satisfied with that the kid skipped down from the stage. He gave her a wave when she stopped to turn around and thank him. He didn’t need to hear her voice, he had read what she had mouthed and thanked her back.

Love at first sight never seemed to work for Jongin. But this time he wasn’t going to leave it alone.

“Haesal,” he murmured to himself. He looked up and found her standing by the window, watching him warily. He straightened up on his chair with a start but this time she didn’t even wait for his smile. He saw her hair bouncing on her jacket as she crossed the road and ran around the corner of the stationary store, leaving him confused and curious.

“Haesal,” he murmured again, this time in a low whisper.