Im Yoona was winning. She was winning a game called life. Indeed, she had never been a loser. When as a baby the snow had fallen four feet high, she never fell ill. When she was bullied as a young girl, the strongest boy in class had fallen in love with her and chased the bullies away. When she broke her fingers aged eleven, her talent on the piano only improved. When in ninth grade her hair had become orange after an unfortunate accident involving hair dye, Elle magazine declared it the newest trend.

Yes, it seemed as if whatever step she would take, fate would be one step ahead, always there to give her a helping hand. But Yoona did not feel as though she was winning. She didn’t feel much these days. Most days went by unnoticed. Then days slipped into weeks, then months, then years. Right now, at eighteen years old, Yoona was the picture of what girls her age Ought To Be. Blessed with a beautiful face, a tall and slender body, great brains and a talent for sport and music (oh, one had not lived! unless they’d heard her take on Chopin’s prelude, no 20) she was perfect. Right now, at eighteen years old, Yoona was graduating from high school and she felt as if she had not lived a day.

She longed for a greater passion, for something to come along and change her life completely, to pull her away from the path she was currently walking. But today, as the other 6570 she had passed, was not that day.

And that is why Yoona is giving a speech at her high school graduation party, charming and witty, beautiful and bright, and there is a dull ache where her heart ought to be pounding with vigorous excitement. That is why she will go to bed that night and have neither dreams nor nightmares. That is why she gets up the next day and goes through it all again. That is why she stays. Because one day, it will come.