29

Days with Wendy are dazzling, warm and cheery. Wendy may not be the most exemplary of people she had ever met, but Irene feels like she’s living a page out of someone’s book whenever she’s with her.
 

The difference of their class timings are no hindrance; they would find a way to meet up, or rather, Wendy always does. Maybe it’s one of the perks of being the niece of the headmaster – she always seems to have a lot of free time.
 

Sometimes, they’ll have lunch in one of the food-courts in the school’s vicinity. Other times, when both are done with their respective obligations for the day, they head to town, enjoying the sights and sounds. Irene soon realises that her worries of the big city are mostly unfounded and slowly loosens up.
 

Her parents were delighted by the pictures she sent. (Truthfully, they are probably more relieved by the photographic proof that their daughter is really in Seoul and not some far-flung city across the ocean.)
 

Irene thinks she should be worried about the amount of time she has been spending with her new friend, but she doesn’t...mind. The addition to her daily schedule have had no drastic effect on her studies – she is one of the top scorers for a recent quiz and already done with her homework sets.
 

In fact, her roommate doesn’t mind Irene’s lack of presence in the room. She thinks it’s a wonderful thing.
 

“I’ll be honest,” Seulgi admitted one day, “But now that you’re hanging out with Wendy, I’m no longer afraid of coming back to a dead body hunched over the study table. Also, thank God she has the sense to introduce new music to you,” Seulgi clasped her hands together as if in prayer, “I have nothing against classical music and all, but there’s only so much Mozart and Bach and all-these-European-names-I-can’t-pronounce that I can stand.”
 

Wendy has declared that Irene ought to know the music world beyond her little band of long-dead composers and “trashy pop music on the radio”, as she puts it. She passed the first of a few mix-tapes to Irene (technically it’s a CD and Irene said so, but Wendy insisted on calling them mix-tapes – that just because technology has advanced doesn’t mean the music lingo had to be forgotten).
 

The overzealous musician had written down the titles in a neat cursive on crumpled lined papers and the first time Irene glanced through the list, she was struck by the fact that it ended on an odd number.
 

17. Who ends a list with 17? But as time passes, Irene soon realises that Wendy loves to end her lists on random numbers. 19, 13, 22 and so forth.
 

She believes Wendy is trying to screw with her obsession with numbers.
 

Despite that, Irene was surprised to find a few of the songs have wormed their way into her subconscious – a tune while she’s doing the laundry, a verse while reading a book and a chorus during a class test.
 

At first, Irene was apprehensive since Wendy had varied musical tastes and wondered whether she would really enjoy whatever selection of songs the girl had picked out. So she played the first song by a weirdly-named band Arctic Monkeys, and hoped for the best.
 

Irene only wished she had turned down the volume because it sounded like a gunshot blasted through her speakers and she fell off her chair in shock.
 

“Well you can’t expect me to start the playlist with a sad ballad,” says Wendy over the phone when Irene called to inform her that next time, her lists should come with a warning label.
 

Irene also adds that songs with mature themes should be indicated accordingly as well. This came about after Irene listened to a certain The Weeknd song and it had some lines that were – well, Seulgi came into the room during the chorus and she gave Irene judging looks for the rest of the day.
 

“You goofball,” Irene hears Wendy’s breathy laugh, “That’s why people invented headphones.”
 

“Still!” Irene protests, “It’s embarrassing! Seulgi thinks I’m weird for listening to that!”
 

“Is the song good though?”
 

“It doesn’t matter. Really, the lyrics made things uncomfortable–”
 

“Is the song good?”
 

“Did you even hear me?”
 

“IS THE SONG GOOD?!”
 

“Okay fine, YES!”
 

They have reached the point in their friendship where both are perfectly comfortable shouting at each other over the phone. Irene had not believed it would even last this long – It’s been a month since that fateful encounter at the party and it’s amazing how far she has come, from the stuttering mess who got drunk to shouting like a goofball over the phone.
 

Perhaps that’s how friendships are supposed to be. Fun. Comfortable. Easy. And Irene thinks she’s getting the hang of it.
 

Wendy yawns audibly and Irene asked, “Did you have a late night?”
 

Irene knows that Wendy went out almost every night, probably painting the town red with her friends. During their many conversations, Wendy had let slip a couple of times about things that happened at some parties and the occasional hijinks she gets up to in the wee hours of the morning. Not for the first time, Irene wondered how the girl manages to juggle school and her social life, plus get decent sleep at night.
 

“Not really. I just had a boring lecture. Say, do you have any plans tonight?”
 

Irene thinks before answering, “No. Why?”
 

“Cool! Wanna hang out?”
 

They had not seen each other for two days, as both were swamped with schoolwork. Irene shuts her laptop, “You’re not going out with your friends?”
 

“Nah – I rather hang out with you instead,” Irene thinks she must have misheard Wendy and almost drops her phone, “Also, I’m in the mood for a night-time stroll.”
 

She feels the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach and is momentarily thankful that it is a phone call, “I – urm – s-sure. Though I’m not sure why you would choose me over your friends.”
 

“Oh? Am I not growing on you yet?”
 

A sudden image flashes in her inner eye and Irene bites on her knuckles to keep herself from laughing out loud. Calming down, she asks, “When you say you’re growing on me, are you referring to yourself as a fungus?”
 

Wendy bursts into peals of raucous laughter and Irene tightens her grip on the phone, a wide grin threatening to break out on her face, “Do you always have to be so technical? A fungus...”
 

“Mushroom and Cabbage?” Irene bites down on her lip.
 

“Dear god, no. All them people got cool names – Batman and Robin. Han Solo and Chewbacca. Holmes and Watson. Thelma and Louise. And we’re stuck with Mushroom and Cabbage?”
 

Irene is laughing really hard.
 

“Like, how about Mushy and Cabby? Wait scratch that – we sound like rejects from some cartoon show.”
 

“Fungi and Veggie?”
 

“Spores and Seeds.”
 

“Brown and Green.”
 

“Stalks and Leaves – hold on, these have like double meanings, that’s awesome.”
 

“What,” Irene implores, shaking her head and wiping the tears in the corners of her eyes. The randomness of their conversations always surprises her, “were we talking about before all of these?”
 

Wendy sounds breathless from laughing, “I have no idea but I’ll have you know that my powers have something to do with mould so everything I touch will be all green and furry and they will keep on growing for eternity –“
 

“You’re insane. I’ll see you later.”
 

Nights with Wendy are perpetual, compelling and enthralling. When twilight fades to blackness, it brushes aside the drabness of the world and makes everything come alive.
 

Irene thinks it's strange how the city is so vastly different in the dark. The grey-scale world in daylight comes alive in a myriad of colours at night, in shades and tints Irene has no name for. Glass windows lighting up in mixes of fluorescents and incandescents, and marble exteriors reflect the flashing neon signboards and lamplights. Even passing headlights of traffic resembles streaks of stars shooting past.
 

"At night, the world is bursting with infinite possibilities," Wendy told her once and Irene finds that to be quite true.
 

Tonight, Wendy and Irene have no particular destination in mind, as always. One is nursing a ice-blended drink bought from a cafe while the other is snacking on her rice cakes, having gotten them from the street vendors. As Wendy had mentioned walking earlier, she is pretty adamant about it too. Irene is simply along for the ride (and the food).
 

They never discussed where they are heading to. Irene realises that as they turn a corner automatically, like an invisible GPS is guiding them along, navigating the routes of their impromptu plan. She thinks that she’s just following Wendy but even their steps are synchronised and it doesn’t feel like one is trailing the other.
 

Irene sneaks a glance at the girl next to her. Wendy is wearing her trademark grey hoodie tonight, her eyes (blue contacts) looking around as if in search of something. She wears an expression of indifference, but when she catches Irene looking at her, a corner of her lips curl into a half-smile, "What?"
 

Irene tries not to look flustered, fixing her gaze on her food, "Nothing. You look tired."
 

Wendy snorts and waves her hand, "I'm actually feeling really refreshed thanks to this coffee," She gestures to her cup, "Anyway, can I ask you something?"
 

"Sure."
 

"Do you have any friends back home?"
 

Irene finishes the last of her rice cakes and throws the tray into a trashcan. She wipes her hand with a napkin before turning to Wendy, "Maybe."
 

"What do you mean, 'maybe'?"
 

"If I go back, maybe they're still my friends," Irene remains nonchalant, staring at her feet while she walks.
 

Wendy is confused, "You don't keep in touch?"
 

"We didn't make any such pact after graduation. Just...drifted apart, I guess."
 

Come to think of it, Irene had not thought of her old friends in a while. She wonders what they are up to - high school seems like a distant memory now even though it's hardly been a year since graduation.
 

"And you don't mind?" Wendy asks, arching her eyebrows.
 

Irene shakes her head. At least, not until recently, when her forced isolation made her realise how very much alone she is. There's a sharp pang of envy when she sees groups of friends laughing together and, after a careful evaluation of herself, she finds a gaping hole that had widened with every passing day. Irene tries to cover it with her studies, much like slathering plaster over holes on walls.
 

But left to her own devices and the cracks resurfa