Chapter 2

Tiffany – Age 14

• Langston Hughes

Taeyeon’s name gets called and she walks towards Ms. Yoon obediently. Her best friend’s eyes never leave the ground and Tiffany prays that her teacher finds kinder words for her favourite student on the day that she needs it most. The class is busy with their assignments but Tiffany’s eyes are glued on Taeyeon, her teeth biting into her pencil.

“You didn’t write this.” Ms. Yoon utters disappointingly and it catches the attention of the class.

Oh no.

Ms. Yoon momentarily locks eyes with Tiffany and she looks away immediately, confirming her guilt. Tiffany wanted to explain – she wanted to march forward, form a barrier between Taeyeon and Ms. Yoon and declare Taeyeon innocent.

But she doesn’t.

Because then she would have to tell her teacher that Taeyeon’s father had left, that her brother had chosen to follow, that Taeyeon had spent hours crying on Tiffany’s shoulder, and that Tiffany woke up at 3am to finish all of Taeyeon’s homework because it was the only thing she could do for her best friend.

“I’m sorry.” Taeyeon says, defeated. “I’m sorry, for everything. I really am.” She blurts out again, at the brink of tears.  Ms. Yoon once again glances at Tiffany for answers and Tiffany looks away, quicker this time, trying not to cry.

Their teacher lets it slide, sensing the odd tension in the air. She wants to say more to the other girl, but bites her lip, remembering that all eyes are on her and that she can’t show blatant favouritism. She later gives Taeyeon a “B” instead of an “F” and that made her Tiffany’s favourite teacher.

“How did you know?” Tiffany asks, days later. “Was it because my writing wasn’t as good as Taeyeon’s?”

Ms. Yoon stops at her tracks and smiles, patting Tiffany on the shoulder. “Don’t ever think that, my dear. You are both talented in your own way.”

“Still, she’s my best friend. I copied her style. I was so sure you wouldn’t be able to tell.” Tiffany presses for an answer. If it wasn’t because she was an inferior writer, could it be because she was an inadequate friend?

Her teacher sighs, scanning their surroundings, as if she was about to let Tiffany in on a secret. “You are both young hence your writings are very raw. Taeyeon has a distinct mix of innocence and pain that seeps into her words. At this age, it’s quite hard to imitate someone when you’ve not suffered the same way. Take care of each other, okay?” She sighs again, with kind and helpless eyes.

Tiffany nods, feeling the weight of a new responsibility upon her shoulders.

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 Tiffany – Age 23 (Present)

Oh, you're in my veins
And I cannot get you out
Oh, you're all I taste
At night inside of my mouth
Oh, you run away
'Cause I am not what you found
Oh, you're in my veins
And I cannot get you out

• Andrew Belle

“Put it out, will you? It doesn’t matter how old I am, my dad will yell at me if he smells the stench of cigarettes.” Tiffany slams the door shut and turns on the fan. It spread the foul odour around the room as Tiffany struggles to prop the windows open, leading her to curse under her breath. Another pair of hands join her in her crusade and the window finally budges. Sensing an opportunity, Tiffany grabs the cigarette away from Taeyeon’s lips and tosses it outside.

“Hey!” Taeyeon shrieks as she moves her head out of the window, watching the cigarette hit the ground.

“Did you pick up every single bad habit after I left?” Tiffany shoves her friend forcefully, and does it again and again to convey her frustration.

“You’re hurting me.” Taeyeon grumbles, but doesn’t do anything to protect herself or retaliate.

“You’re hurting me too.” Tiffany breathes and slumps onto her bed, exhausted from the emotional strain. “It hurts me to see you like this,” Tiffany adds.

“Because I’m not perfect?” Taeyeon asks, her voice even as she picks up the scraps of scribbled paper on Tiffany’s desk.

Tiffany shuts her eyes and focuses on her breathing. She really hated the smell of cigarettes. “You still are,” she says softly, slightly above a whisper.

“Your idea of perfection is seriously messed up.” Taeyeon scoffs, unfolding one of her drafts.

“You’re messing it up.” Tiffany retorts, fishing for an argument. She is absolutely furious at Taeyeon for allowing some girl to turn her into a shell of a person, but she fails at bringing this up because Taeyeon never wants to talk about her.

“I’m sorry.” Taeyeon apologizes and this pisses Tiffany off even more. “I truly am. I just can’t rid the feeling that I’m constantly disappointing you and it’s causing me to act out like a teenager.” She smiles, sadly.

Tiffany allows her apology to drift away unacknowledged. She clenches her fist, wanting to shake Taeyeon repeatedly until all her skewed misconceptions about herself disconnects - she wanted to scream that “nothing is ever your fault” until Taeyeon believes it.

But she doesn’t.

“I really like this one,” Taeyeon announces and joins Tiffany at the corner of the bed. She clears and Tiffany cringes, feeling self-conscious whenever Taeyeon read her works out loud. She would often identify her own mistakes that were otherwise hidden, as if Taeyeon’s voice somehow exposed her faults.

“Stop reading.”

 “Tiffany.” Taeyeon calls out pleadingly, dancing her fingers along Tiffany’s jeans. “This is really good.” Taeyeon smiles that reassuring smile, misinterpreting the situation.

“That’s not the song.” Tiffany sighs, thinking that it’s too late to take back what Taeyeon has read.

“I wrote it for you. To cheer you up.”

“Oh.” Taeyeon bites the insides of her cheeks and her brow furrows, her eyes darting between Tiffany and the sheet of paper, like she was constructing an imaginary bridge with her mind.

“This…is for me?” Taeyeon stares at the writing so intensely that Tiffany thinks it might combust.

“Your reaction is worrying me.” Tiffany states.

Taeyeon snaps out of her reverie, blinking rapidly and shaking her head. “I’m sorry.” She smiles, veiling her previous turmoil. “You don’t write about me for 16 years and when you finally do, it’s…” hang open, as if she were changing the words at the tip of her tongue.

“Pick an adjective. You’re good at those.” Tiffany jokes, attempting to diffuse the awkwardness. Watching Taeyeon at a loss for words was the strangest thing.

Taeyeon narrows her eyes, deep in thought.

“I can’t. I don’t understand.”

“Yet, you said it was good.” Tiffany knits her eyebrows, recalling all the times Taeyeon could have possibly lied.

“It is. I’m just probably in shock from finally reading something you wrote for me. My brain has fried from all the excitement.” She forces a smile.

“Do you want to know what’s ironic?” Tiffany playfully prods Taeyeon with her feet, changing the subject. She didn’t fully understand her own words as well - they just came pouring out of her when she sat herself down and thought about her best friend. Her unsaid words spilled over like an overturned cup full of unknown liquid, permeating the page, and she was still hanging them out to dry.

“You know I love irony.” Taeyeon winks, her mood shifting almost instantly.

“You would only ever fake a smile to me – the only person in the world who can tell when you don’t mean it.”

“That’s only half true. You need to update your encyclopaedia of Taeyeon.”

Tiffany heaves disappointedly at her failed effort. There were many things about Taeyeon that she no longer knew, yet it didn’t affect their dynamics. Tiffany often forgets that they have been in different cities for four years and separate continents for one. It was like reading the same book in another language –it might feel different, but there was no reason to think that the story has changed.

However, Taeyeon had fallen in love in that missing year and Tiffany had come home just in time to witness the aftermath.

And Tiffany doesn’t even know her name.

Taeyeon would occasionally let her in on bits and pieces, mostly trivial facts about her lost love –

She hates olives.

She has fiery red hair.

She often smelled like a mix of lilies and cigarettes.

She doesn’t like reading.

Her favourite phrase is “stand still, look pretty”.

She listens to music at an ear-piercing volume.

She thinks that the most attractive thing about Taeyeon are her “sad eyes”.

“Sad eyes, really?” Tiffany accidentally voices her thoughts out loud and it seems to bring Taeyeon out of hers. They would often zone out next to each other without realising, each getting carried away by their silent contemplations.

“What’s that about?” Taeyeon asks.

“What’s what about?”

“Sad eyes?”

“Inspiration for the song.” Tiffany lies, hating the fact that she now has to build something upon her best friend’s grief.

******

Tiffany learns her name later that night.

She buys Taeyeon dinner on the way, used to the fact that Taeyeon has the tendency of skipping meals whenever she’s upset. She lets herself into the apartment using the key that Taeyeon had given her and accidentally kicks a bottle in the dark, the sound of glass hitting floor resonating in the capacious apartment.

She wants to turn on the lights, but suspects that Taeyeon is fast asleep, having not responded to the ruckus. She decides to leave the food in the fridge and drop by the next morning instead.  

Unfortunately, Tiffany trips over her best friend on the way, ending up on all fours.

“What are you doing on the floor?” She whispers loudly as the other girl groans in discomfort. She untangles her legs from her best friend and knocks over a few more empty bottles in the process.

“I don’t understand.” Taeyeon drawls, slowly sitting up. She reeked of cigarettes and alcohol – a combination of the two scents Tiffany fervently despised.

“Let’s get you to bed. Your real bed. Not that pathetic air mattress in the living room.” Tiffany utters as she brings Taeyeon to her feet, supporting half her weight. They fumble towards Taeyeon’s room, using the light from Tiffany’s phone. The burden on her shoulders lessens and she realises that Taeyeon is mostly walking on her own, just slightly unsteadily.  

“I don’t understand,” she says, sounding more like herself. They sit at the foot of the queen-sized bed, arms linked, the pale moonlight seeping through the curtains.

Taeyeon remembers it word for word - the second stanza of the Tiffany’s poem. “I don’t understand,” she repeats like a broken record.

Tiffany didn’t understand either – couldn’t understand why Taeyeon wouldn’t just let her stupid words go.  

“You’re a part of who I am.” Tiffany tells her in the dark, hoping that Taeyeon will forget it in the morning. It was a truth that she never needed to admit, a fact that she wanted to escape.

Her confession is met with a sudden stillness, as if the whole room was holding its breath.

And then a kiss.

Taeyeon kisses like she’s breathing from Tiffany’s lungs, draining them of air. Taeyeon kisses Tiffany with so much longing that her lips surrenders before her mind realises what it’s done. She detests the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, but their second hand taste coating Taeyeon’s tongue is exhilarating. Taeyeon calls her name between kisses, muffled by the lack of space between their lips, but it still sounds lovely all the same.

It’s only when Taeyeon’s hand roams beneath Tiffany’s shirt that her mind jolts back into focus. Taeyeon has her lips pressed on Tiffany’s nape, burying kisses along her jaw. She whispers again and it is only then that Tiffany realises - Taeyeon had not been calling her name all along.

“Stephanie.”

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