LEENA’S POV

It doesn’t surprise me anymore, waking up without remembering how or when I’d closed my eyes. The white ceiling above looks familiar, the bed underneath feels familiar. I spot a couch pressed against the wall across the room. I remember that ugly couch. This is when I realise where I am. Hospital.

From the bright side, I’m in a better shape this time around, although the throbbing in my head forces me to shut my eyes and go back to sleep, at least the other parts of my body feel like mine, and they don’t hurt like last time I was here.

Another familiarity? The damn IV drips. I almost roll my eyes at the tubes attached to my arm. I don’t know there’s somebody in the room until then. From this angle, all I can see is the top of his head. Strange enough, I know who he is in an instant. He must be sleeping. That brings another question. How long I’ve been here?

With the hand attached with IV drips, I reach over to pat his hair and my lips curl upwards at the contact, his hair feels soft as it looks like. As if sensing the touch, he raises his head and our eyes meet. His eyes dart back and forth in his sockets, as if waiting for a clue so he knows what he should say or what his next step should be.

“Hey,” I greet him, my voice is weak, but it sounds better than I has imagined.

His sleepy eyes turn soft and he smiles. “Hey.”

He helps me up and pours me a glass of water to which I accept in silence. “Your mom is… organizing some stuffs at your house,” he offers when I scan the room over the rim of the glass. “The doc said you’re good to go once this last bag of IV drip is finished. She’ll come to get you by then.”

Stuffs? But I nod nevertheless, handing back the glass to him. I dart a look at the window, surprised that it’s already dark. “How long I’ve been out?”

“A couple hours,” he pauses and looks at me attentively. “You know what year it is, right?”

I huff out a weak laugh, looking down at my fingers in my lap. “It’s different from what I remember, but I know it’s 2016.”

“And you know who am I?”

Now I has figured out why he was waiting when I woke up. He wanted to know if I forgot him, again. Stop playing with my fingers, I lift my head and turn to him. “If you’re asking what I know they call you, you’re Seunghyun. But in my memory, you’re…bear?”

His body tenses and I wonder if my answer offenses him. “What? I used to call you something worse?”

“It’s just… I thought you’ve…” he shakes his head, sends me a bitter smile and sits on the chair by my bed.  “That’s what you called me, before your accident.”

 I narrow in on him, scanning him from head to toe, puzzled. “Why would I? You look so different from ten years ago.” I remember why I called him that, he was the tallest among all the attendees invited to Youngbae’s birthday, and his bulky figure made him easier to be spotted in a crowd. His voice, my head supply. Yes, his voice. It’s even huskier now but it was already lower and hoarser than almost all the people I knew back then. But he chose to make lame jokes with that y voice. Everything about him reminded me of bear. A funny one.

“You wanted to tease me I guess, but I found it endearing.”  

Time seems to have slowed down when he looks at me, or when I lose myself in those dark brown orbs. Then something I heard before passing out comes to mind. “Mom said you’ve been outside our house for days, is that true?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you come in?”

He lowers his gaze. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

I’m not sure why I do that, but I put my hand on the two of his, which are fidgeting nervously against the bedsheets. His hands freeze at the touch and he stares at our hands, as if afraid it’s just an illusion and it’ll be gone once he blinks.

“Those things my dad said, are they true?” My voice is calm, far calmer that I would have expected. Yes, whatever they argued and fought over, it’s all about me and from what I’d heard, I know I should be upset, I should throw a fit, I should even hate this guy sitting by my side. Not to mention the last thing I should be doing is let him hold my hand.

But I don’t remember. I don’t remember who’s this Cordelia my dad mentioned; I don’t remember being pregnant despite knowing the fact that I’d had a miscarriage due to the accident; I also don’t remember my dad chasing me out of the house and Clarence? I know he’s cute and adorable and he must mean a lot to me from the emotions stirring within me when I first laid eyes on him in the hospital the other day. The problem is, I know, but I don’t remember.

The only exception is Seunghyun. I don’t have any memories about him in the last ten years either; the most recent memory being that on Youngbae’s birthday and even that feels like a very long time ago. Despite my wrecked brain doesn’t remember, my body and my heart tell otherwise. The current he sent through my body by an accidental brush between our skins, the frenzied beating of my heart when his lips were so close to mine.

“Leena? You alright?” He lays the back of his hand on my forehead, his brow furrows into a frown. “Your face’s burning red.”

I duck away, abashed by the mere thought of his lips could bring such an overwhelming effect on me. I rest a hand on my chest to calm the unreasonably fast heartbeat. “I’m good. I was just…thinking.”

He releases a sigh of relief and sits back down. “I don’t think you listened to what I’d said, so I’m gonna say it again.” I have my eyes trained on him so he knows this time he has my attention.

“No, they aren’t true.” He breathes out the words slowly, to make it unarguable. He takes hold of my hand and put it between his larger and warmer ones. “It must be hard for you, people telling you stories you don’t even remember. I promise you, I’ll tell you everything, including those I was too selfish to let you know.”

What does he mean by that? Was there something he didn’t want me to know? What was he hiding from me? “What—”

“But you need to trust me. Will you trust me?”

I can feel his hands shaking, but he tries to keep his face composed as his eyes keep their connection with mine, misty from tears starting to form.

How long it has been spent on us staring at each other, I don’t know, but at last, I nod. It might be a wrong choice, believing in a man whom I don’t really know, I might regret when I regain my memory— if I’ll ever do, but right now, in this very moment, when he’s holding my hand, I want to trust him.

When he told me that my mom’s organizing stuffs at my house, I didn’t expect it to be my house, nor did I expect she’d be living here with me.

I watch with wide eyes as Seunghyun punches in the passcode and lets us in, carrying two luggage bags my mom has packed from the house and bringing them upstairs after a short sentence, “I’ll put these in the rooms.”

Minutes later he comes back down and walks into the kitchen before he joins us in the living room with two cups of tea. “Are you sure this is my house? It appears to me you’re the one who owns this place, not me,” I joke, taking a sip from the cup.

He puts a hand on the back of his neck and sends me a sheepish smile. “Someone has to keep this place in order for you, and I happen to have time.”

Taking a seat on the couch across from us, he shares a look with Eomma. “Youngbae will be coming over with Clarence later, Jiyong and Daesung will come with dinner, and Seungri with his jokes.”

I appreciate his gesture to lighten up the mood, so I offer a sincere smile, because he does make me feel better. But the look the other two in the room have been sharing since Eomma arrived at the hospital didn’t go unnoticed, and I figure it has to be brought up, sooner better than later. “What’s going on between you two? Do you have a crush on my Eomma or something?”

He looks genuinely surprised, probably by the last part of my question, and his expression is funny I can’t help but broking into a fit of giggles. Eomma gives my hand a slight slap, shooting a glare my way but her lips are arching upwards.

When I have my giggles in control, I decide to spare him, for now. “Is it about Clarence?”

He seems to be relieved at the mention of the kid. “Yes, uhm… He’s been asking to live with you but we know it’s kind of inconvenient because of…” he trails off, another look shared between him and Eomma and I know what he holds back—Appa. “Of course, we’ve no problem looking after him, he’s a great kid and my members and I, we’re happy to have him. It’s just—”

I observe the man fiddle his fingers as he babbles, amused by his nervousness. Does he always act this way? I wonder. “Okay.”

He stops and stares at me, confused.

“He can stay with us.” I shake my head, inwardly scolding myself for my poor choice of words. “I mean, I want him to stay with us, in here.” Then I turn to Eomma, ready to plead if she disagrees. She rewards me a smile and grabs my hand. “I’m proud of you, my daughter.”

“Do you need help with those?”

I whip my head at the direction of the voice, a smile crosses my face as I find the man leaning by the doorframe, a finger pointing at the luggage spread on the floor.

I shake my head and turn my eyes back to the object I’ve been holding in my hand. Absentmindedly I tap on its screen twice and it lights up, asking me for the damn passcode I don’t have a clue of. It has become one of my daily routine—stare at it, try different combinations that my wrecked brain thinks are meaningful, and defeated by the “access denied” flashing across the cracked screen.

It catches his attention as he comes in and takes a seat on the bed. “Is this your old phone?”

“Yeah, the police gave me back, said they found it on the scene; it’s cracked, but it’s functional. I keep it charged but it’s as useless as a trash, I don’t even remember my passcode. I tried my birthday, Eomma’s and Appa’s birthday, Clarence’s birthday, even the birthday of my dog when I was seven. Can you believe it? I programmed a passcode to lock myself out.” I groan and toss the phone aside, it bumps on the covers and its screen turns black. I heave out an audible sigh, frustrated with myself.

The grin on his face grows wider with each of my sentence, as if his enjoyments come with my hardships. I cross my arms against my chest, offended. “What?”

He grins childishly and picks up the phone before typing on the screen. When he lifts the phone with its screen facing me, it’s not the stupid “access denied” flashing across the screen but the main menu and my breath gets caught in my throat. “How did you…?”

He smirks. “I’m a man full of surprises.” I reach for the phone but he takes it back, his fingers tapping and typing on the screen. With his eyes still fixated on the screen, he says, “I’m changing your passcode to your birthday, so you won’t be locking yourself out anymore.” He hands me the phone with a triumphant grin.

I take it in my hand and wait. But he just grins. “Aren’t you going to tell me what my passcode was?”

He tilts his head, as if thinking hard at my simple question. “Nah, you’ve to remember it yourself. What I can tell you is, it’s the date we got together.” A faint shade of pink creeps across his cheeks at the last sentence.

“Our anniversary?”

“Yeah, but we haven’t had our first anniversary yet, it’s not until—” he slaps a hand over his mouth, and the grin I once found attractive makes its grand appearance again; I feel like tearing it off his face now. “You know what, I’ll keep it a secret for now, until your memory tells you.”

“What if I can’t remember it forever?”

He shrugs and leans over, leaving only little space between us. “Then we can have another anniversary, a fresh start.”

I look at his eyes, really look into those dark brown orbs, hoping to find a hint of joke in there, but I know he’s not making any jokes. How can the words roll off his tongue so easily? Like it doesn’t bother him a bit? But when I mull over it, a fresh start sounds tempting.

“You might not remember, but your habits don’t change.”

He’s so close, I can see my reflection on his eyes under those long eyelashes. I gulp at the intimacy. “Habits?”

“Like how you bite your lips when you’re thinking.” His gaze lowers and settles on my lips. Subconsciously I purse my lips and on them. To my defence I’m not doing that on purpose, they just feel dry suddenly and his words make me anxious.

“Tell you something,” he whispers, his voice gets lower than usual and I brace myself to meet his gaze, knots are tied up in my stomach. “You take my breath away every time you do that.”

No, you leave me breathless every time you say something like this! I scream in my head as I look at him, eyes widened.

It’s happening again. He’s inching closer. My fists tighten around the bedsheets in anticipation and I wish my heart could stop beating so embarrassingly fast.

“Knock, knock.” We snap our heads to the door so fast I swear we could’ve sprained our necks.

Seungri’s standing at the doorway, flashing his teeth and grinning. “Sorry, I know it’s a bad time but there’ll be no more food left if you don’t go down now. I don’t think saliva is sufficient for dinner.”

I lower my head, looking for a hole to shove myself in, my cheeks burning. Seunghyun grabs a pillow and throws it at Seungri but he ducks away successfully, still smiling, proud of his impressive reflexes. He raises both hands in the air. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave before you drop threats about cutting off my balls.”

He turns to leave but after a step he pops his head back in. “I don’t mind having aunt and Clarence at my place tonight so you two can—” he draws circles in the air with his index, hinting at whatever he’s hinting, “—have more privacy.”

Another pillow is thrown his way and he runs off, laughing.

Seunghyun grits his teeth, staring at the empty doorway until the resonating laughter dies down in the hallway. He falls over the bed and groans into the bedsheets, “They should know when to shut up and leave when people are having their moment!”

Seunghyun offered to put Clarence in bed, but I figured I shouldn’t be getting help for this; I’m his mom. So I pushed him out of the house despite he insisted to spend the night.

“Hey, honey,” I peep from the ajar door and Clarence’s little head pops out from under the covers.

I settle on the edge of the bed, trying to get something out of my mouth, anything. I keep telling myself that I must have done this countless of times, but this is my first in the memory I’ve left. And I don’t know what to do. “So, what do I usually do? Do I tell you stories? Or sing?”

One thing that convinces me I’ve indeed spent years in the states, is my English. It wasn’t that bad, but in my memory I wasn’t that good either. Yet here I am, talking to him in English. And those words don’t feel awkward rolling off my tongue at all, like I’m used to speak them.

He stares at me, as if I’d just made a fool of myself. Then something hits him and his lips curl upwards in understanding. “Stories. But you usually talked to me.”

An eyebrow raises in curiosity. “Talked? What did we talk?”

“Everything. You’d ask me about my school and my friends, and you’d tell me about your day.”

His words make me feel warm. We must have been close, maybe I wasn’t too bad of a mother. “Do you wanna talk tonight? Or do you want stories?”

He lays back on the pillow and shakes his head. “I just want to stay with you. Can you sleep here tonight?”

My face breaks into a smile but tears are forming in my eyes. I’m his mom but he sees the others more than me in the past few weeks. “Sure, honey. Sure.” I climb under the covers and he snuggles up close, his little hand rests on my belly.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?”

I’m caught off guard. It’s a simple question and yet it’s complicated. Am I happy for not remembering a thing in the past ten years? Hell no! But am I happy for what I have now? They told me I own a company— God I’m managing a company; they said I drifted apart with my family but now I’m close to Eomma again; I’ve friends—all new to me aside from Shinyoung but I can’t complain, I love them all; I’ve this cute kid calling me mom, too. Some might say my life is perfect. Then he invades my mind. The way he smiles, he laughs, the eyes that can tell words his mouth can’t, speaking about his mouth— All right, I should stop. Well, I guess, yes, I’m happy.

“Yeah. Why’d you ask that?”

“You said you’d be happy when you come back. But you’re gone for really long time,” he says with a pout.

“I said that?”

He nods. “You brought me to Aunt Shinyoung’s place and you cried. You told me you’ve to go away for some time but you promised you’d be happy again when you come back.”

That’s the reason of me fleeing out of town to the small village? Because I was unhappy? Nobody has talked about this with me. They tended to change the subject or play me off before I even got to ask.

Looking at the kid beside me, I resist the urge to punch myself. Why didn’t I think of asking him before? “Did I say something else?”

Again, he shakes his head. “You left after that.” His voice is low and sad, it must have been hard for him.

Accepting the fact that I couldn’t get anything more from him, I brush his hair with a hand to lull him to sleep. His eyes close for seconds and fly open, startling me. “You asked me if I’d like Uncle Man to be my dad.”

“Before all that happened?”

It takes him some time to figure out what I mean by that until he shakes his head once more. “No, after that. You called and asked me over the phone. Uncle’s just beside me.”

I don’t know how much of what my dad said is true, and as much as I try to get it out of my head, some of his words just stick and I can’t shake them off no matter how hard I try. Seunghyun promised to tell me everything but we didn’t get around to do that, yet. And even that doesn’t sound very helpful; they can tell me what had taken place, things that had happened but they can’t tell me how I had felt.

Those dreadful things my dad had claimed to be true, did I know any of them before the accident? How did I take it back then? Was I resentful at Seunghyun? Was that what cause me to leave my son and take off to a village so far away?

I’ve nothing belongs to myself to hold on to.

Tears try to escape my eyes but I blink it away. “What’s your answer then?”

I wait but light snoring comes instead of his answer. I could do nothing but smile, resigned to my luck. Maybe I’d have better luck with another person involved.

Seunghyun shows up at the front door the next morning, looks nothing older than a college student with Goofy printed on the front of his grey hoodie and a cap of the same colour, big smile plastered on his face. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Why did you ring? You know the passcode.”

His smile turns sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “I thought it’d make you more comfortable. I don’t want you to freak out on me, y’know, a man in your house when you open your eyes.”

I make a mental note to add this to the growing list of “Why Seunghyun is lovable”. I know, “lovable” seems to be too heavy of a word for anything that has been going on between us, especially after the accident and what happened the other day at my house. But almost everyone around me is saying good words of this man, even Eomma who I swear didn’t like him, is growing fond of him; during the last consultation I had with Doctor Kim, Seunghyun’s waiting for me outside the room and the doctor winked at me, saying something about “this guy is a husband material, keep him”.

Most important of all, I want to figure out why I fell in love with him, and observe seems to be quite a good start.

Like an arrow, Clarence storms passed me and practically jumps onto him with his school bag on his back; Seunghyun just grabs him and lifts him up, giving him a good bounce before letting him settle in his arms. He doesn’t seem to mind my hyperactive son at all. I’m aware that he’s Clarence’s dad, biologically, but we’ve come to a silent agreement that he keeps the title of “uncle” for the time being.

“Say bye to mommy,” he leans closer and Clarence leaves a peck on my cheek. “Bye mommy, see ya.” He waves his little hand at me.

It’s probably what I used to do every day—sending him off to school. But it’s the first time for me, at least with the memory I currently have, my palms get all sweaty when I bid him goodbye. Maybe it’s not that bad after all, I get to experience everything once more, I can feel the happiness twice.

When I close the door and turn around, Eomma’s standing behind me, the expression on her face falls between grinning and smirking. “What’s that face, Eomma?” I laugh and loop my arms around her hand, tugging her along to the kitchen.

Her smile grows wider and walks with me in companionable silence. While I rummage through the fridge for ingredients to make breakfast, she picks up a Korean phrasebook from the kitchen table, flips over a few pages. Clarence has been practicing with that; I saw Seunghyun and him snuggle together at the kitchen table last night after dinner. “He’ll be a good father,” Eomma says. I don’t have to look at her to know she’s saying that while her smile never subsides.

By the time Seunghyun shows up at my front steps for the second time on the same day, Eomma’s out to meet her friends. She’d made plan with them before Appa decided to go rabid and she moved to live with me, she offered to cancel the plan and stay in with me, but I declined and on a whim I brought Seunghyun into the entanglement, saying I’d had plans with him. Eomma nodded and gave me a look that made me flush before she left.

The truth is, I don’t have any plan with him. I’m not even sure if I will see him again that day. I flinch at the thought. Am I missing him? It’s less than an hour after he left and now I’m longing to see him? I don’t even know him much.

You’re so not you, Lee Nahyun.

With all those stupid thoughts running on my mind, it’s not hard to imagine how my face lights up when it’s the handsome face I’ve been missing shows up behind the door later that day.

My eyes linger on the shopping bag in his hand as he makes his way through the door to the living room. My stomach makes a little somersault. Is that for me?

“What’s that?” I point at the bag, drawing his attention from roaming the house.

“Oh, just some stuffs Eomoni needed, I bought them on my way back. Where’s she by the way?” A pang can be felt in my heart at the big leap in the way he addresses my mom. It’s still Mrs. Lee at dinner last night.

“Out with her friends. Are you sure you don’t have a crush on my mom?” It’s intended to be a joke but it somehow comes out bitter than I’ve thought.

Very cool of you, Nahyun, being all jealous on your mother.

“Owh,” he bemoans before placing the bag on the couch. He pauses a moment and asks, “Did you say something?”

Great, he isn’t paying attention to what I’m saying. My face falls and I ignore his question as I make my way into the kitchen. “Nothing.”

He follows on my heels and makes sure he stay within three steps from me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Temperature in the room seems to drop degrees as he keeps his one-sided conversation going because I wouldn’t answer nor look at him. Rage starts to grow within me with each passing second, not at him but at myself. What am I doing? This man has been nothing but wonderful to me and he’s merely extending his wonderfulness to the people around me and I’m getting mad at him?

“Are you mad at me?”

No, I’m mad at myself for being such a selfish brat.

I readjust the position of sauce bottles in the cabinet, doing anything but to meet his questioning gaze.

He’s had enough. He grabs me by my shoulders and stills me when I struggle to get out of his grips. He lowers his body so we’re on eye level but I look away. “I know you’re mad at me. I don’t know what it’s but I must’ve done something wrong. And I’m sorry.” He tilts his head to find my eyes, his voice low and guilty and pleading. “Please talk to me.”

My heart clenches and I feel like . What’s on my mind? Look at this guy, you’re mad at him over nothing and he’s apologizing for something he doesn’t even know but somehow accidentally got on your nerves. You’re right, you’re a selfish brat.

“What did I do?” He tries again, this time with his puppy eyes in tow.

I shake my head as denial and in hope to shake away the tears threatening to break through the dam. “It’s just me being silly. I—” my voice is caught in my throat. Should I tell him the truth? That I’m being jealous?

Jealous at your mother? My brain screams. Go ahead, let him know how y of a girl you are.

My eyes dart back and forth between his eyes and the floor, I don’t want to let him see how ashamed I’m of myself, but at the same time I want to know his reactions. “I-I didn’t know you and my mom are that close.”

He blinks at me, his expression blank, as if my words are yet to register. I don’t blame him; I’m not making any sense.

He’s going to snap, I’m sure of it. I don’t have much time before he does so I’ve to be quick. “I know, it’s just ridiculous and unreasonable of me. I’m sorry.” I sputter in one-go before clamming my eyes shut, crossing my fingers that I’m articulate enough for him to make out my words so he wouldn’t make me repeat. The embarrassment I make today is more than sufficient for the rest of my life.

Silence. I can feel his hands on my shoulders, so he’s still there. But why isn’t he saying anything?

Curiosity gets the better of me and I cautiously open my eyes, only to meet a confused Seunghyun, crease lines etched deep across his brow. He chooses his words carefully, “Are you saying…you’re jealous?”

If it’s not for his grips on my shoulders, I would have turned my head and bang it against the cabinet. Then his expression changes; the frown is gone and he flashes me a smile, showing off his dimples. The smile soon breaks into a grin, and the grin into a fit of laughs. Maybe I should bang his head, not mine.

“What’s it so funny?”

“Funny? It’s not funny.”

“You know you’re laughing right?”

“Yeah, because I’m happy.”

“Happy?”

He lets go of me and turns to the kitchen table behind him, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, rubbing it against the front of his hoodie before taking a bite. With his back facing me, he says amidst munching, “You’re jealous. That means I mean something to you.”

With that, he walks out of the kitchen without looking back at me. I wouldn’t notice if he did anyway; I’m too dumbstruck.

I stand frozen to the spot until his gleeful voice resonates across the living room. “Go wash up, we’ve places to go.”

“Where to?” I scream from the kitchen, too ashamed to face him for the moment.

“A walk down memory lane,” he screams back.