The fat drops of rain slapped against my skin, stinging my cheeks. But it wasn't like in the poems and songs, where the rain mixes with the tears, obscuring both. I could tell the difference. My tears seared down my face, scalding my flesh. They burned like white hot fire and I hated each and every one of them. I hated that I was crying, hated that I still knew how. I hated that I was standing here in the heavy rain like an idiot. I hated that I was too angry and too afraid to knock on your door.

It had taken me years to get over what had happened between us enough to even look you up, to figure out where you might be. All it took was a well-paid private investigator and I had an address; an address I didn't use for another two years. I couldn't find it in me to forgive you for abandoning me, abandoning us and all that we had together. I couldn't forgive you for choosing them over my love. I couldn't forgive myself for all the hurtful, hateful things I said before I finally walked away.

I tried to blame everything on you. All of the pain and anger and loneliness, it was your fault. That's what I told myself, over and over, until I almost believed it. But it was a lie; I knew it. I had always known that I was a total when my heart was hurting. I never really understood why you had put up with me for so long, why you claimed to love me.

I shivered with the cold, staring at the plain white door. It was a modest little house and I was almost impressed by the humility of it. Humble was something the both of us rarely ever were. Pride. That's what it was all about, including our fights. You said I was choosing my pride over our love. I told you that you'd chosen your career over me. Back and forth, back and forth, until both our hearts were ragged and bloody. What was I doing here, standing in the rain, trying to muscle up the courage to talk to you, to look at your face and know that you were looking back?

No, no this was stupid. I shouldn't be here. You'd probably moved on. I did. I moved on, slept with other men. I never kept a boyfriend for more than a couple of months, but what did that matter? What did it matter when there was this great empty space inside of me? No. I couldn't do this. Why do I insist on torturing myself? You don't want to see me. I shouldn't want to see you. I shouldn't dream about you, your smile, the way you used to hold me as we slept. I shouldn't want you back. I doubt you'd want me.

I shook my head and turned away, all signs of bravery fled. I was a fool. I've always been a fool. I will most likely die a fool, too. However, I didn't take three steps before I heard the door I'd been staring at squeak open. I turned slowly, breath caught in my throat, my heart barely beating. There you were, in all your glory. Your hair was stylishly tousled, your clothing loose and comfortable. I thought, for a moment, you would yell at this crazy, random person to get out of your yard. Then, the recognition in those beautiful, almond shaped eyes pierced my very soul.

“Jaejoong?”