Sometimes, the simplest questions are the difficult ones to answer.

How have you been?

Do you like that person?

What do you want to be in the future?

Are you happy?

And…

Sunye turned her head to look at me, and repeated, “When was the last time you cried?”

The wind blew, sending off the scents of spring into a playful spiral, reminding me I was alive. Very much so. And the young lady beside me was dying. We both were, actually, but hers was different. Because she knew. She had her hair tied into a loose bun; several wisps of her hair began to sway with the wind’s rhythm. She patiently waited, but all I could do was stare back at her as I racked my brain. I didn’t cry when Wooyoung died. I didn’t cry when Mrs. Kim followed afterwards.

“I don’t remember,” I admitted.

Sunye smiled, and slowly put her hand down. “A strong heart, or a hardened heart—which do you have?”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. Not because I had no idea how to respond. I perfectly knew the answer, and Sunye was aware of it, too. My calm façade was not because my heart was strong. It had always been the other way around. Feeling pain and enduring it, is different from not feeling anything at all. Sunye, despite her weakening body, still carried her sharp wit.

“I’m hungry, Sunggyu. Why don’t we eat?”

I fished my car key out of my pocket, and unlocked the trunk. The both of us approached it. Sunye prepared the picnic mat, while I carried the bag she had with her.

“Put it here,” she patted the spot right smack in the middle of the mat. Sitting across each other, Sunye ped the bag, and took out the foods she personally packed.

“You need not to go this far,” I said.

She merely smirked. “I enjoy doing this, so you need not to tell me off.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“You only noticed it now?”

I scoffed, and remarked, “Clever girl.”

She flashed me a triumphant grin, before twisting the thermos’s cap open. She poured its contents. I expected tea, but noticed it was seaweed soup, instead. She carefully lifted it, and gave it to me with both of her hands. “Happy birthday, Kim Sunggyu. Congratulations on reaching the age of twenty. Congratulations on being able to drive.”

“How did you know?” I blurted out. “That it was my birthday?”

“We were classmates in middle school, remember?”

“You didn’t forget?”

“I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.”

I stared at the warm soup, with steam rising from it. The broth was thick, and the rich aroma made my mouth water. With care, I took the cap from her. “Thank you.”

“For the seaweed soup, or for liking you?”

“Both.”

She smiled. “I figured as much.”

<:>

I returned home, only to be greeted by Suzy, who swiftly dragged me outside. She was wearing the gray hoodie she borrowed from me, but never returned. Her green shorts had a stain on it. Flour, most probably.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Grinning she tiptoed, and cupped my cheeks with her hands. “Let’s take a walk.”

“At this time of the night?”

“Just cooperate!”

I sniffed, and cocked my head. “Is that cake I smell?”

“Let’s take a walk!” she pushed, causing me to chuckle and follow after her lead. She looked back at me, before proceeding to stretch her hand out. “Hold.”

“Speak in complete sentences, Bae Suzy.”

“Hold my hand. Please.”

Smiling, I took her waiting hand, and held it tightly. She looked at it, before shifting her gaze towards me. She then remarked, “You have pretty hands.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah. It looks really graceful, but once you hold it, you can feel the calluses.”

“As for you,” I began. “I’m not sure about your hands, but certainly, you have father’s feet.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“It’s really big.”

“Hey!”

Suzy attempted to punch me on the side with her free hand, but I managed to block it, anyway. “I was just joking.”

“But you think my feet are big and ugly, right?” she pouted.

“Hey, I never said ugly.”

“Then big. Just big. Humongous. Massive. Colossal. Gigantic.”

“I would say…like a troll’s?”

She began to fight back again, and in between chortles, I yielded. The neighborhood’s lampposts were bright, that particular night, but the streets were empty—aside from the occasional people who walked in their respective uniforms. I glanced at Suzy, and commented on how long her hair had gotten.

“I’m thinking of donating some this year,” she said. “So you better not complain if we run out of conditioner, got it?”

“We use different brands, though,” I replied. “You buy strawberry-scented ones nowadays, right?”

The flicker in her eyes were obvious. With a forced smile, she nodded, and looked at the ground. Even her grip on my hand loosened. Suzy, I realized, felt bad about it. Reading through my notebook, I mean.

“Well, yeah,” she murmured. “So don’t use it. You’ll smell like a girl.”

“I like that scent, though.”

“But you better not use it!”

I smirked. “I’ll think about it.”

Suzy sighed in defeat, and asked, “Where did you go with your new Picanto?”

“I drove around,” I answered. “With a friend.”

She looked at me. “A girl?”

I nodded.

“Where’d you take her?”

“A place full of cherry blossoms.”

“Your special place?”

I nodded again.

Suzy bit her lower lip, and asked, “Do you like her?”

Indeed. Sometimes, the simplest questions, can be the most difficult to answer.

“Do you?” she pestered.

I briefly scratched the back of my neck, and said, “I think so.”

Suzy let go of my hand, then, and we walked in silence. In a way, when I told her that, I felt like I just confessed to my girlfriend that I was cheating on her. It felt disgusting, having to look at it that way, but that was how it honestly was.

“By the way,” she finally said. “When you weren’t at home earlier, the publishing house called.”

“Which one?”

“Onyx,” she answered. “They were inquiring for you, and said something about an interview or something. Mom talked with them, and she left the information on your study table. You can contact them tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

Eyes wide, she stared at me. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s Onyx—your dream company!”

“I know,” I said. “I’m really grateful.”

“You look pretty unsurprised to me.”

“But I am surprised,” I defied. It was true. I was shocked to hear such good news. I simply didn’t know how to express it. Unlike Suzy, I couldn’t squeal and jump around the room. I couldn’t shed quiet tears like Sang Moon.

“Are you really?” Suzy inquired.

“To the point of tears,” I said.

She began to laugh, which took me aback. “When was the last time you cried, though?”

I raked my hand through my hair, and asked (myself), “Is it that bad?”

Suzy merely shrugged in response. The silence was once again filled with her stories and laughter—in a matter of a few minutes, she was back to the bubbly Suzy I knew. Somehow, she was the type who couldn’t get mad for long. We walked on, and as she talked, I listened. I gave my comments on some, and debated with her on others. Before heading back, she asked if we could buy ice cream.

“Your treat?” I asked.

“I didn’t bring any money.”

“All right, then,” I replied. “It’s on me.”

On our way home, as she ate her strawberry ice cream with gusto, tears began to emerge from her eyes. She sobbed quietly, and tried to stop the waterworks by eating more ice cream. It did the opposite effect, though.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She shook her head no.

“Wanna stop by the park for a bit?”

She nodded, and that was what we did. We sat on the swings, and I simply watched, as Suzy ate her treat, despite the waterworks making her face sticky. Whenever I see her like that, I get reminded. Even if she saw things through a different lens compared to kids her age, it does not make her any older. I was ahead of her for five years, and I kept on thinking she had to cover half a decade in order to catch up with my pace. But of course, that may have been my egoistical side talking. People, regardless of their age, go through things another person may find too difficult to handle. That is one intricacy I find awfully fascinating in life: the story hidden within one’s scars.

I didn’t ask why she cried out of the blue. I got the gist of it. I suppose, as much as I wanted her to not have a boyfriend yet, the thought of me having a relationship with someone else shook her to the core. At times, I wish I could undo my understanding of Suzy’s emotions. I knew her too much.

<:>

The first thing I did the very next day was call Onyx. The man I spoke to requested if I could make it for an interview at three in the afternoon. I was off school, and I had no plans. With a smile in my voice, I agreed and told them I was willing to go.

I left the house by noon, and ate lunch in a restaurant near the company. I settled for a chicken sandwich, and downed it with a glass of lemonade which was too sweet for my liking. I read the notebook Suzy gave me as a birthday present. It was the first novelette she wrote, and the title was Fire and Ice. There were several typographical errors here and there, along with misplaced words. Nevertheless, the sincerity in her story was strong, and that was what gripped me. I was on the tenth page when I closed the book, and ambled towards the building, wondering if they would even bother giving the part-time job to an undergraduate student, with a stone-cold heart.

The process was fairly quick. At three o’clock sharp, I was called into the office where the interviews were being held. I stepped into the room, bowed politely and said my greetings. When I was asked to take a seat, I did it with a clean edge. I kept my back straight, my handshake firm, and my smile confident. It was a piece of cake for me, to act capable in front of adults. It was easy for me to pretend. The mask I kept on carrying in public was so light, I found it convenient to wear at all times. And in that process, I suppose I began to forget how I really looked like.

The interviewer asked the basic things about me, which led to some amicable small talk, despite the obvious formality. The man in front of me was of a higher rank. I must show absolute respect. At least, that was how things went in our culture, in terms of courteousness. Soon, it led to why I wanted the job, and why I chose their company. I told them the truth, that it was all or nothing for me. I was inevitably attracted to the way they ran things. I chose my words carefully, and after another firm handshake, I saw the twinkle in his eyes, and I knew the job was mine.

One week later, I was called in to report on my first day.

“The heart is hopelessly dark and deceitful,
    a puzzle that no one can figure out.
But I, God, search the heart
    and examine the mind.
I get to the heart of the human.
    I get to the root of things.
I treat them as they really are,
    not as they pretend to be.”

- Jeremiah 17:9-10