…

…

Ji-hoo quickly strode across the camp and ducked into his tent, oblivious to Min-ah following him wistfully with her eyes. He let the flap fall closed behind him and set the box down on his bunk. Kneeling down, he dug through his duffel bag until he found a cardboard box of matches. He lit the kerosene lamp, which was sitting on the low crate next to his cot that served as a bedside table. It flared into life, illuminating the space and casting shadows on the canvas walls.

Picking up the package, Ji-hoo examined the outside of it more closely. He had instantly recognized Jan-di's neat, blocky writing, even before he read her name. He could picture her bent over the address label, carefully copying out the address in Spanish, double checking to make sure it was correct. He rubbed his thumb over the Pororo sticker pressed into one corner and smiled to himself. Definitely an addition made by little Hee-jin, whose love of the cartoon penguin knew no bounds. Eagerly, he used his pocketknife to slit the tape and then opened the cardboard flaps. A white envelope labeled simply "sunbae" lay on the top; he set it aside for the moment, wanting to savor the anticipation of reading Jan-di's latest news. Underneath it, the box was packed tightly with several wrapped parcels.

Opening one, he found a drawstring bag filled with hard candies, stickers, and pens. A card tied to the string said "—For Your Patients". He smiled widely. It was so like Jan-di to remember the offhand comment he'd made on his last visit home about the children liking the small tokens he had brought over from Korea. He kept in touch with everyone, of course, but she was his only friend who seemed genuinely interested in what he was doing over here, half a world away. When he had visited at Christmas, she and Jun-pyo had invited him over for dinner and drinks one night. Jun-pyo had fallen asleep on the couch, but Jan-di had kept Ji-hoo up late asking questions about Colombia. What were the people like? Which health needs were the most pressing? What did he do during a typical day? Had he made friends with the other staff members? Uncharacteristically, he had talked for hours, painting a detailed and colorful picture of life in South America—the gregarious people, the heartbreaking poverty, the sense of purpose he felt every day. Jan-di had listened with a rapt expression on her face, as if she could see it all in her imagination. The interest in her voice and in her eyes was real. In that moment, he had allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to be seeing and doing all of these things with Jan-di at his side. He usually didn't indulge in "what if" thinking, but for just a few seconds, he had immersed himself in the dream of it, of nights and days in the field, working and playing together. Then Hee-jin had toddled out from her bedroom, breaking the spell. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and charmingly demanding an extra hug from "sunbae". He found it amusing that the three year-old had adopted her mother's name for him. No one bothered to correct her, least of all him. He had hugged Hee-jin, said goodnight, and flown out two days later.

Reaching into the box, Ji-hoo drew out a blocky, rectangular parcel that he could tell contained books. Ripping off the paper, he examined the two titles. One was a novel by Lee Woo-hyuk entitled The Soul Guardians. It appeared to be a fantasy. He would read it and then pass it along to Min-ah; she loved adventure and fantasy books. Reading material was scarce here, so most books were passed around among the staff to be enjoyed by all. The second book was a small volume of poetry by Park Dong-jin, his favorite poet. He flipped through the pages and opened it at random.

when the clock of my days runs down

last minutes ticking slowly past

on their way to

wherever time goes when it's used up

I'll lie down happily

my face to the warm earth

and let it drink my memories of you

down to the last drop

all our moments

all our meanings

down into the dry cracks of the earth to

nourish the next generation

emptied, I will be arid and light

and float into the sky

I will join you in the stars

to share their silent, satisfied sleep

Ji-hoo closed the book softly and set it on his table. Jan-di probably didn't remember, but it was the same poet whose work he'd read aloud to her that day after she had taken refuge in his home, seeking protection from the schemes of Jun-pyo's mother. He had confessed to her that day, or at least he'd tried to. Thinking to let the words of others speak for him, he'd read to her of love, only to find that she had fallen asleep. How he'd kicked himself afterwards. What kind of confession was that? If he'd had half of her courage, he would have woken her. He would have taken her in his arms and told her all that was in his heart. He would have kissed the lips he'd been staring at all day—not the chaste kiss he'd given her in New Caledonia, but a kiss that seared and ignited, branding her with all the pent up want in his soul, all the words he'd held back for fear of being too greedy.

With an effort, he turned his thoughts to Min-ah. Sweet, pretty, friendly Min-ah. He had a chance to start over again, he knew. He was the one holding back, the one who couldn't quite bring himself to jump with both feet. When he imagined the future, stretching out into years before him, the thought of spending that time alone, increasingly consumed by his work, was frightening. He could have all the things he'd dreamed of—a wife, children, a house filled with noise and life—if only he asked for it. It could be pleasant; Min-ah would not be hard to live with. Maybe, he reasoned with himself, I could even fall in love with her, given time. Many people carved out lives married to someone they weren't particularly passionate about, especially among those of his class, whose marriages were often dictated by their parents. Sometimes love came later, or at least a deep friendship. A marriage could be built on worse foundations; he'd seen it. And yet… he couldn't bring himself to do it. He could see that Min-ah had developed a deep attachment to him, but something inside him balked at the idea of letting her tie herself to him when he couldn't offer her his whole heart. It would be one of the most selfish things he could do.

What is wrong with me? he wondered. Why can't I move on? Yoon Ji-hoo, you are the worst kind of fool! Though no one was pressuring him, he knew he couldn't let Min-ah wait much longer without being cruel. He would have to make a decision soon.

He turned his attention back to the box. The next parcel had a note scribbled on the brown paper wrapping. It said, "Come back soon and I'll give you the rest of it, jerk! –Jun-pyo". Ji-hoo chuckled and tore into the paper; he found that whatever it was had been rolled in several feet of bubble wrap. He pulled it away to reveal a small brown bottle of Glenlivet scotch. It was what the F4 had drunk together the night that Jun-pyo revealed that he was going to be a father.

They had taken the cable car to the top of Namsan mountain and Jun-pyo had shouted his news over the rooftops of Seoul. Many drinks and hours later, he had dissolved into tears. Only Ji-hoo's arm around his shoulders held him upright as he sobbed out his fears that he wouldn't have what it took, that he didn't know how to be a father. What if he passed on his own father's legacy of broken promises and neglect? Ji-hoo had let him cry, recognizing all the bitterness pouring out of him as the healthy draining of an abscess that had been festering inside Jun-pyo all his life. When, in the early hours of the morning, Ji-hoo had left him standing at the front doors of his and Jan-di's apartment building, Jun-pyo had been quiet and clear-eyed, a new resolve showing itself in the line of his mouth and in the firm squeeze he gave Ji-hoo's shoulder before turning to enter the building. His grateful parting look didn't need words. It had been one of the most powerful moments of their friendship.

There was one package left. It was small, about four inches across, and the brown paper it was wrapped in was tied with a narrow yellow ribbon. He untied it and slowly folded back the paper. Inside was a burnished bronze fireman's badge. It was engraved with the image of two crossed bugles over a ladder, and the letters "NYFD" were curved along the bottom edge. He grasped its significance at once. A soft smile curved his lips as he ran his finger across the grooves. Geum Jan-di's Firefighter. He wondered if he could still claim the title from nine thousand miles away.

Finally, tucking the badge away in the pocket of his duffel bag, he picked up Jan-di's letter and opened it.

...

Dear Sunbae,

I hope this is able to find you in your new location. How is the work going in Zapotal? I thought these trinkets might help you make a connection with the kids when they meet you for the first time. I'm still using hot cocoa and peppermint sticks to draw out the shy kids at the clinic. Isn't it funny how children are the same everywhere you go? Speaking of children, Hee-jin-a helped me pick out the candy, so it's been approved by an expert.

She loves the toy medical kit you gave her at Christmas, and frequently leaves the house wearing the white coat with the stethoscope around her neck. I caught her holding down our cat, G-Dragon, the other day and trying to stick the thermometer in his mouth. I tried to explain that G-Dragon didn't like it, but she was determined. It's hard to believe she's only three; I've never seen someone so stubborn! Of course, Jun-pyo is her father…

And you're her mother, Ji-hoo thought, laughing to himself. Between the two of them, poor Hee-jin had never stood a chance of becoming a shrinking violet.

She keeps asking about you, Sunbae. I think you made quite an impression on your last visit. Or maybe it was the candy you keep in your pocket. When she heard I was writing you a letter, she insisted that she would color a picture for you; she's sitting beside me and working on it right now. I'll be sure to include it when I mail this.

Ji-hoo flipped to back page of the letter and found Hee-jin's picture. It was a series of loopy purple and blue swirls surrounding a circle with a clumsily drawn face and two lines coming out of the bottom—a person, clearly. He admired it with affection, then smoothed it out and pinned it to his clipboard under his patient notes.

Things at the clinic are going well. I think Grandfather is a bit lonely. He drops by all the time to chat with the patients or to take me to lunch. Yesterday, he had about a dozen children gathered around him in the waiting room, listening to him read a book. You should have seen his eyes twinkling! I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that Hee-jin has him wrapped around her little finger. I narrowly stopped him from buying her a pony last week! A pony! Honestly!

Ji-hoo smiled wryly at this. Grandfather was not a man built for solitude. At this time in his life, he should have been surrounded by little ones, great granddaughters and great grandsons to bounce on his knee and spoil with presents. He never mentioned it, but Ji-hoo knew that he was hoping his grandson would make that dream a reality. The weight of guilt Ji-hoo felt grew as he pictured the old man alone in their big house in Seoul.

Well, I'd like to write more, but I'm taking Hee-jin to meet Jun-pyo for lunch. He's leaving for New York in a few days on a business trip. He'll be gone for three weeks, so we're trying to get in as much family time as possible before then. Thank goodness for video calling! Let me know when your jungle gets a wifi set up, will you? I really miss your face!

Love, Jan-di

p.s. I asked Jun-pyo to pick up the badge on his last trip to America. I hope you like it. I thought it was past time Geum Jan-di's firefighter was decorated for his valor!

…

Ji-hoo gently folded the paper up and slipped it into his pocket. Moving the box out of the way, he lay back on his cot and stared up at the roof of the tent. He missed her so much it was almost a physical ache. He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift to the future. He'd gotten a notice from headquarters a few days ago. His original commitment to Doctors Without Borders would be coming to an end in a couple of weeks. He could renew his contract and stay here if he wished, or he could choose another location and start all over again in a new country; some staff members really relished the opportunity to travel to different places and experience different cultures. Or he could return home. He was torn between his strong homesickness and a real belief in the importance of the work they were doing. Min-ah had been not-so-subtly hinting that the two of them should sign on together for one of the new field hospitals going up to serve refugees in South Sudan.

I could do that, he thought. I could follow her. But not like this. If we do move on together, I have to stop wavering, stop making her wait, and commit myself to her fully. He tried to picture life married to Min-ah—tried to call up the vision of waking up next to her, of being a father to her children—but all he could think about was Jan-di. The way her eyes crinkled up when she laughed. Her fierce anger at injustice. Her ability to smile through the tears no matter how bad things looked. How maddeningly stubborn she was when she thought she was protecting the ones she loved. And he knew, suddenly and irrevocably, that he couldn't be with Min-ah. He couldn't be with anyone. There would always and only be one woman in Ji-hoo's heart, and even if he couldn't stay by her side the way he once dreamed, he would spend the rest of his life happily caught in the periphery of her orbit. He would be content with her friendship if it meant that he could see her smile, hear her laugh, and be counted forever in the small group of people that Geum Jan-di truly loved.

He would return to Seoul.

Now that the decision was made, he felt curiously light. He didn't relish the meeting ahead of him, however. He hated the thought of hurting the sweet girl who had come to love him. But the guilt he had felt for months, the traitorous dividing of his heart whenever he was with her, was gone at last, and he knew he was doing the right thing. Tomorrow he would talk with her, would release her, and she could begin again. They both could.

His thoughts were interrupted when the girl herself burst into his tent unannounced. Min-ah's face was white, and she had a scrap of paper clutched in her hand. She held it out to him in a trembling hand. "Ji-hoo-ah," she said, her breath catching in her chest, "this just came for you. A runner from town delivered it." Her eyes were full of agony, but not for herself. Abruptly, terror gripped Ji-hoo; he didn't want to see what was written on that paper. As if in response to the fear, his head was suddenly filled with a terrible certainty. After years of silence, the fire alarm in Geum Jan-di's heart was going off.

Ji-hoo took the paper from Min-ah and looked down at it.

It was a telegram from So Yi-jung. Eleven words that tore the world apart:

Plane crashed. Jun-pyo is gone. Come home now. Jan-di is broken.

For the barest moment, time seemed to stop, hanging suspended and unchanging in the air between them, as if the world had stilled its spinning to drink in the moment of icy cold shock that had overtaken Ji-hoo. He couldn't make sense of the words. Jun-pyo? Gone? How could that be? He couldn't hear past the roar in his ears. He stood frozen, his mind in chaos, grasping wildly for meaning in the words staring out from the white paper. Paralysis gripped him with cold fingers. Then the last words jumped off the page at him. Jandi is broken.

The moment passed, sound returned, and everything swirled together in a whirling maelstrom of sudden action. He had to go home, now.

Ji-hoo had already started gathering his belongings from all over the tent, ing them haphazardly into his duffel bag, when he realized that Min-ah was still standing there, watching him in silence. He moved to her and wrapped his hands around her upper arms.

"Min-ah," he began, but before he could say anything more, she interrupted.

"I know," she said. "I've known for a while. I just… hoped I was wrong."

Ji-hoo pulled her into an embrace, holding her close in apology. He felt it when her warm tears soaked through his shirt, and tightened his arms around her.

"I am so thankful for the time I've spent with you," he said. "You deserve so much more than what I've given you. You deserve a better goodbye. But I…"

"You have to go to her," Min-ah finished for him. "It's...okay. She needs you now. Hurry! If you catch a ride with the delivery boy, you can probably still make the last mail flight to Cartagena tonight."

Ji-hoo's heart swelled with gratitude for the sweet spirit of the girl before him. He threw the last of his clothes into his bag and zipped it shut. Hoisting it over his shoulder, he turned to face her.

"You are something special, Kwon Min-ah," he said, and laid a hand on her head.

She took the hand and pressed a kiss into it, curling his fingers into a fist around it.

"I know. Now, run!"

...

She waited until the Jeep was out of sight before she let the tears come.

…

…