Jiyong

That day, when I saw him folding his legs in front of himself all whilst hiding his face from the rest of the world scared, over that broken park bench, was the last time I saw his face. Even though I came back every single day, at the same hour, just minutes before sunset, exactly at the same place: right under the broken tree house; he never came back. And with his absence, my guitar slowly was left abandoned, dusty and unrecognized and my hands got dry, uninspired and not one more melody could flow from them. Since that day I last saw him.

Where did he go? Where were those brown sparkly eyes that used to stare at me with such innocence, every single afternoon? The intimacy of his gaze made me feel as though my melodies were secrets only shared between us both; a pair of eyes that were engraved deep inside my memory, with obstinacy. After two years, I stopped searching for him, and decided to stop going to the park with those futile hopes of maybe seeing him again, sat over the bench, smiling at me in the distance.

My father discovered one day those melodies written inside my personal notebook, and with the belief I was talented for it; he forced me to go to Japan to study musical composition. The pain of leaving behind my home, my city and the last opportunity to maybe find him again still ached inside my heart, every single day, even after all those years.

I’ll never see him again, was the particular thought that turned me into a melancholic person; and tainted my compositions with sadness, discouragement and tears. Never again.

“Tomorrow start your composition classes with the new piano students, right?” Daesung asked me, who was lying comfortably over his bed, eyes focused on the ceiling. His gold hair covered one of his thin eyes. “It’s your first time as a teacher, how does it feel?”

I turned my eyes to where he was, exchanging glances with his questioning eyes. We knew each other since we started college together, four years ago. While I studied musical composition, he studied performing arts.

“I don’t know, I don’t feel as I am prepared enough for it,” I answered honestly. For me, even when I was considered an impressive student by the rest of my teachers, I always felt as if something was still missing inside me, something that made me not good enough. Maybe, just maybe, it was that pair of inspiring brown eyes looking at me what I was missing. I sighed, heartbroken.

“I can’t convince you, right?” he simply asked, already defeated. “How longer do you plan to be like this? He will never come back…” he tried to make me understand. I shifted my eyes to the grayish painting on the ceiling above us, and closed my eyes. As if I wasn’t enough conscious of it… that was what hurt the most.

“Youngbae told me you finished that song you were working on last week,” Daesung suddenly hinted, trying to change the subject of my thoughts. But everything in me, everything I did, everything I expected, was always related to that familiar stranger.

“Yes… kind of. I’m still unsure about it,” I gave as my only answer. I surely was different from the one who used to play over that green grass, four years ago. I was thinner, I was less joyful, my hair was now dyed dark black. I didn’t feel the same, as everyone else, time and experience had changed my way, my thoughts, my features and even my movements. And maybe, if we found each other again at one unknown street, it was possible we would not recognize each other. I would not recognize him. And the thought of his memory fading away from my mind scared me.

“I will go for a walk,” I said, standing up from by bed, putting on one black coat over my shoulders and wrapping a red scarf around my neck. Daesung’s eyes were fixed on me, but he didn’t say anything. He never said anything.

The gardens of The Tokyo Fine Arts School reminded me of that unforgettable park. They were silent, magical, with an aura of nostalgia coming from the green of the tree leaves contrasted by the red, dry liter over the grass. With every step I made, the crushing sound of those fallen leaves accompanied my thoughts and memories. I sat myself at one forgotten swing that was left between all those trees and buildings. One of my favorite places, where I always found peace, where I could detach myself from everything around me. 

While I carelessly swung myself, inside my mind lots of magical notes started to flow free, overwhelming my rotten senses, and I almost could swear, far in the distance I could hear the notes been masterfully played. That song… that song I always played for him, that song I composed for him, with him and of him. That song…

Suddenly I stopped my movements, upon realizing that echo of musical notes was actually real, and that someone hidden by the night was actually playing my song. I gazed around deeply confused and excited, trying to locate the place were the melody came from, and my eyes focused on the auditorium building, where a weak light could be seen from one of the windows.

I rushed my steps towards that place, almost tripping on the floor, stumbled and unsettled because of the rush of emotions and expectations that were growing inside my soul. My eyes trembled, begging for my desires to be turned into the truth, begging for my praying to be heard.

The melody kept flowing, undisturbed. With the exact same notes I had written in my favorite notebook four years ago, with the exact same intonations and emotions I always wanted it to be played. The beating of my heart grew stronger and faster, when I placed my hand over the doorknob and pushed it open, entering to that room, submerged in music and light.

Right there in front of me, was a dark haired boy, a pair of watery eyes focused on the piano keyboards, unaware of everything around him. His head moving at the rhythm of the music, tears rolling over his cheeks. Magical. I couldn’t find another way to describe what was in front of my eyes, but magical. It was purity, it was innocence, and it was all those things I had been missing in my life for all those years, right in front of me.

I fall over my knees, crying. Listening at him, playing that song, we once shared only between us two. I saw him, my familiar stranger, and he was real and beautiful, and he was there again.