Seoul in summer was sweltering and stifling. The simmering sun took away the winds of winter and spring, the nip and tease of chills and shivers. In the heat of the kitchen Gayoon sighed, running fingers through her hair, parting bangs, flipping away her ponytail.

There was little to do, with much having been done over the morning, but there were the trifling, bothersome details. An inventory to stock, pans and trays to stack. She glanced at the clock hanging by the door. The second hand ticked, and she sped on with her chores.

 The chime came at almost the last second, just as she hung her apron, face scrubbed pink, bangs damply framing her eyes. She was still holding the towel she was using to dry her face from the water she had splashed onto herself by the sink.

She squinted through the little window, saw a figure lingering, floating between the stacks of buns and breads, a wraith slender and tall.

The girl spun around at the creak of the door. She was really a beautiful thing, the fair face of a princess in towers forgotten.

Recognition hit her like a wave thundering onto shore, then envy, a writhing green monster, an unforgivable, unjustified resentment for a beauty Gayoon could only dream to have. She smoothed away her shock, chose not to heed it. Instead, she plastered on her widest of smiles and greeted her politely.

The girl smiled beautifully, as perfect as the rest of her.

Gayoon understood why she’d once been his fairy.

“A cake, please. Red velvet, with a birthday wish for my sister.”

“What do you want written?”

She handed her a piece of paper with words neat, brief and plain. “Only these.”

Gayoon nodded, then went off to retrieve the cake. As she prepared the box the girl came over to watch. Gayoon was used to scrutiny, so the girl’s undisguised curiosity did little to bother her. It was only when the girl spoke again that her hand jerked, squirting a thread of pink cream from the nozzle. It was a good thing she had it up in the air and not yet on the cake.

“My name’s Hyun Yeonjoo.”

“I know,” Gayoon replied automatically. Quickly, she clamped her lips, wincing.

“He told you about me, didn’t he?”

Her vision was swimming. Pink threads of cream squiggled and squirmed before her eyes. She dragged it into more twists, into the curves of more words. “Quite a few times, honestly.”

“I suppose they weren’t good things, huh?”

Gayoon looked up. The girl looked neither angry nor hurt. Everything from her comportment to her eyes carried only the wistfulness for an unforgotten past.

“He had praises for you,” Gayoon answered truthfully. “Praises that I honestly think you deserve.”

She smiled. It looked rather sad. “I thought so. Jongin is always too kind to me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

The sudden wave of possessiveness she felt was nonsensical, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “Yes. I know.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not here to hurt you, verbally or otherwise. In fact, I don’t intend any harm on you at all. I’m just here because I’m curious about you. I want to know how well he’s doing.”

Gayoon clamped her lips to keep herself from saying her thoughts out loud, which in all honesty, weren’t really all that nice.

“It’s great that he’s doing better than me, at least.” She laughed. To Gayoon it sounded strangely discordant, unhappy. “I’m pretty much a mess right now.”

“I’m sorry about your breakup with Baekhyun.”

Yeonjoo looked surprised. “How did you know about that?”

“Baekhyun is my friend.”

“It’s been too long for me to be upset about that,” Yeonjoo said, smile forlorn. “It’s my fault anyway. All of it is my fault. You must hate me for the things I did.”

“It’s not my really my business.”

“Yet you don’t like me.” Yeonjoo shrugged. She didn’t look mad at all, as if Gayoon’s disapproval was the only thing she expected. “I don’t blame you. I confess I’m not really the best when it comes to relationships.”

“Or making an effort to maintain them, for that matter.” It was a rude thing to say, but she couldn’t help how it just slipped out of her lips.

 Yeonjoo twiddled her thumbs. Seconds stretched before she spoke again. “I know saying anything probably wouldn’t do much to redeem myself in your eyes, but will you listen to my explanation? I’m not trying to justify what I did, but I’d like you to know the truth, even if it means you hating me even more.”

“Why?”

“Because.” She shrugged. “You seem like someone who’d listen. You didn’t spew curses at me when I walked through your door and neither did you a raise a hand against me throughout this entire conversation.”

 Gayoon released a breath. “Okay.”

“I’m a ballerina,” Yeonjoo said, somewhat tentative, as if this was a story she never told. “I suppose you already know that. I’ve studied it since I was a child, never could quite let go of it even when the stage had slipped from beneath my feet.” She exhaled a deep breath. “I live and breathe for it, and I love it so much that my heart can spare space for only little else.

“Jongin and Baekhyun are both charming, gracious human beings. At some point, I did love them for it. In those short moments my heart truly was theirs.” She smiled distantly. “But always, always, ballet will claim me in the end. Practice demands much of me and takes precedence over all else, even dates –even short, half-a-second meetings where they held my hand and I held theirs.

“It’s an obsession.” Suddenly Gayoon was pinned by her eyes, its light and shadow, its play of romance and tragedy. “An obsession that I can’t live without. After some time, they grew tired. I was a ghost. Sometimes I’d come to them, but more often I don’t because I couldn’t stop dancing.”

“You cheated on Jongin. It’s a heartless thing to do.”

She dropped her gaze and looked genuinely remorseful. “I know. It was poor repayment for his kindness on my part. But the first time I met Baekhyun, Jongin and I had just fought, and well… I suppose he made me feel special. It’s a poor excuse, but it’s all I’ve got.” She looked up. “You can hate me, you know.”

“We barely know each other. And I think passionate emotions of any sort are best invested in those we actually know.”

Yeonjoo stared at her for a very long time. Too long, Gayoon thought, as the clock ticked away the seconds of silence.

“You’re quite different, aren’t you? But then again, I’m hardly in the position to comment anything.” She picked up the box, all wrapped and ribboned, from the counter and paid the sum.

“Keep the change,” she said, waving it off as Gayoon was about to open the till. “I don’t need it.”

With a quick nod, she crossed the threshold. Before she made her exit though, she paused, glanced at Gayoon over her shoulder. “I hope you two are happy.”

The chimes tinkled, and she was gone.

Gayoon stared at the empty space before her, at a loss, unsure what this sudden encounter with Jongin’s ex-girlfriend meant. There was no resentment, no drama. But there was pride, Gayoon admitted, on both their parts. Yeonjoo asked for no forgiveness and Gayoon promised none. They parted as shopkeeper and customer, neither love nor hate between them. Instead they’d established indifference, a tolerance that one would grant the creatures of the world with no particular significance to one’s life.

I suppose it’s a good thing, Gayoon thought, as she grabbed her purse and flipped off the lights.

But her mind was still on the beautiful girl with a swan’s elegance as she flipped the sign behind her, and she didn’t notice him until she barrelled straight into his chest.

Jongin caught her, tipped her chin up gently. By now, she was used to falling into the trap of his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She opened , Yeonjoo’s name just at the tip of her tongue. But then she closed it again and shook her head at him with a smile.

“Absolutely nothing.” She hooked her hand into his arm and pulled him along, into the warmth of summertime Seoul ribboned by his laughter.

He was hers and she his, and nothing could come in between them. 

A/N:

Yes, this is the end :P

I know it's shorter than most. I know it lacks a lot of things . And I don't know how you'll take it's ending.  

But I intend my future projects to assume this likeness: not too long, not too short. I learnt from other projects (Dear You) that the longer you try to make your story, the more it loses substance. Characters are a bane to develop, scenes more difficult to write, and the details! Those vicious, nagging things that always come back to bite at you. 

All I'm saying is, there might be some readers who won't be satisfied with my style (and don't misunderstand. I don't fault or hate you for it. Personal taste is a subjective notion) but personally, I'm satisfied with this story. I write as therapy, and I take joy in the way it is mine to shape and command.

So thank you for putting up with me, lovely readers. Until next time.