Six Years Ago

Seoul University

“I chose the three performers”, Professor Wang announces in an American-Korean accent the moment he steps into the lecture theatre, the sound of his shoes tapping against the wooden floor slowly emerging through the quietening students.

      By students I mean the red cheeked girls shamelessly fanning over a married man and the ever so annoying blabber head – Seungri, aka Lee Seunghyun.

      I straighten my posture in the stiff wooden chair, dropping the conversation I was having with Yongbae and fixing my gaze at the man at front of the room. Like every day, Mr. Wang’s hair rested on his shoulders in easy brown waves, his cheekbones sculptured high up his face, making his sharp chin and eyes prominent.

      He moves to the front of the lecturer’s table and leans backwards, his blue shirt tightening around his wide torso as his elbows support his weight.

      “All of your work was nothing less than impressive, as should be at your level”, he says in a calm firm voice, crossing his stretched legs in front of him, “So I would like to congratulate you all for a job well done.”

      “The choice was hard,” he takes out a folded piece of paper from the front pocket of his shiny black pants. A taste of copper seeps into my mouth as I bite harder into my lower lip and inch forward in my seat. “But it had to be done either way. So with no further ado, and in no particular order, here are the winning teams.”

      I tighten my sweating fist around the rough corners of the chair, the splinters brushing against my skin, and close my eyes, as if not seeing anyone would change anything. In the new found darkness, I can make out the hushed mumbles amongst the other students, the intoxicating damp smell of cigarettes from my collar, the loud beating in my chest pounding my head like a drill and the continuous vibration coming from the chair next to me. Yongbae should stop shaking his damned legs.

      “Lee Seunghyun and Yoo Rachel.” My hands do not clap, even though I am willing them to. I can feel the cold sweat trailing down my back as I wait in the long silence for the other names. “Jang Hyunwoo and Kang Daesung”, another roar of applause. My chest tightens, and my eyes are squeezed shut.

      Oh, God. Please.

      “And the last team is Kwon Jiyong and Dong Yongbae. Good job everyone.”

      My eyes snap open and my gaze fell on Mr. Wang’s smiling face staring right at me. Yongbae slams his hand on my back, bouncing on his chair like a five year old and says something. But I can’t hear him as I tune out the deadly loud applause in the lecture room, frozen in place. What? Did he just call our names?

      “Jiyong-ah!” A sudden side hug from my beaming best friend gets me off my trance, laughs from our classmates nearby directed in our expense. I wriggle myself out of his iron grip, the small Mohawk on his head brushing against my cheek in the process. “We made it!”

      Despite the overflowing tear pool in my eyes, I manage to release a crow like chuckle that evolves into a painful face stretching grin. “We did”.

Class ends too soon, the hurried squeaks of sneakers rubbing with the floor and click-clacks of heels echo in my head, the buzzing bodies passing by my sides, prickling my body hair, their forced pleasantries about the performance choking me in a death grip.

      I get it, congratulations Jiyong, and I really don’t care if you like it or not. But my personal space people. I beg you.

      “You go first,” I address Yongbae, rubbing my left brow hard and tugging at the little hair, as the class fails to empty within the first minute, “I’ll meet you at the theatre when the hallways clear out.”

      He springs up and slings his leather bag around his broad shoulder, the fitting varsity jacket tugging at the side. “Don’t be late,” he beams, “Wang will kill you.”

      “He wouldn’t,” I snicker after his retreating back.

      He turns around, his eyes in downward crescents opposing his uplifted lips. “He can’t. That is the only reason he won’t.”

      That…

      I crumble a piece of paper in my hand and aim at him, only for it to knock his shoulder lightly before hitting the floor. He tumbles over and clutches his stomach as his ed laughter comes out, “You are such a bastard, Kwon Jiyong.”

      Why isn’t he leaving yet? “Just go, will you?!”

      His laughter leaves a burning buzz in my ears, and I clench my trembling fists over my mouth. Inhale, Exhale. It sounded so simple when the school therapist had said it before, but the naive notion of breathing exercises do not completely stop the lingering thirst to punch a wall. After a while, it does manage to slow the blood thirst down.

      When lecture hall empties, I head to the door but stop mid track when I hear the useless chatter of the girls outside. Don’t they have classes to go to? I sigh and turn off the blinding lights and the freezing air conditioner, making the room fall into a newfound stillness, as if I had just emerged from a busy crowd, the chillness in the air falling off ever so elegantly.

      I sit on one of the front row seats, bending my head down on the little side table connected to the chair and start humming a melody that has been stuck with me for weeks – Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty.

      The lyricist that I am would say that roses would wilt and perish in her mere presence. But I prefer it being simple and straightforward. She was beauty, mesmerizing even. I’ve paid more attention these past two weeks, hoping to catch a glimpse of her here or there – I would be even lying if I said that I hadn’t been to the performing arts department.

      Was her ankle okay?

      Disturbing rays of light peek into the pitch dark room from the silent hallway. How long has it been?

      I squint my eyes, trying to adjust it to the intruding luminous beams. A small feminine frame of a slim body stands by the door, her hair falling behind her. “Oh,” she mumbled to herself, looking down at a paper her hands, “I could’ve sworn this was the class…”

      “Are you looking for Professor Wang,” I break the silence, and she releases a cute yelp in surprise. It sounds oddly familiar. I look up at the direction, but I can’t make out her facial features due to the blinding lights. How do people live with it being so bright?

      “Not really,” her voice was as smooth as velvet, low and steady. She steps into the room and switches on the light, making me wince and duck my head back into the desk. “But is this his class?”

      “Was,” I rub my face and lift it up a little, adjusting my eyes thus not able to look at her face. Unlike the other girls, she was in a pair of flats and I notice one of her feet in a white bandage, her legs thin and bare up to her knees, where a hint of white skirt ruffles entre my line of vision – she looks like a ballerina.

      The mussels in my body tense as I weigh up the possibilities. There are many ballerinas in the classic performance arts sector. Still, my breath hitches in my throat as I gulp before finishing my sentences: “It just ended like,” I glance at my watch, “fifteen minutes ago. Why?”

      – Yongbae is right, Mr. Wang will kill me.

      I blink away the remaining soreness and look at her fully, only for her to dunk her head while slinging her pastel white bag to the front of her short dress. So it was a dress after all.

      “Wait a minute,” she mumbles, distracted as she buries her head in her bag and shuffles around for something. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, why do girls have so many useless things in there? “Here it is!”

      She takes out a neatly folded paper, or a music sheet to be exact, her honeysweet big brown gaze falling squarely on mine, glinting with unspoken relief and disappointment.  All the pent up nervousness from two weeks ago came flooding in like the tsunami, shooting me off the chair abruptly, knocking it off. The loud impact of wood hitting ground bounces from one wall to another.

      She shrieked, not moving, “Are you okay?”

      “Yes,” I gulp, lifting it back into place “You should be asking the chair, not me”. I chuckle nervously, lightening up the atmosphere. Mainly for my sanity. But the soft laugh I get in return grab me into a spider’s nest. She really is mesmerizing.

      “Poor chair,” she takes a quick side glance at the clock behind me and holds up the paper in her hand. “Do you happen to know a Kwon Jiyong?”

      If I say I’m him, she’s going to leave now and I might not see her again. If I say no, she will leave as well, with the same result.

      “Why?” I copy Mr. Wang’s pose earlier, and lean into the chair behind me with my elbows. My heart thumps, too many times in one day actually. Okay, just be yourself Jiyong.

      “I found this music sheet with the lecturer’s name,” she unfolds it, “It has his name on it as well. I want to return it. So do you know him?”

      “Maybe”, I answer vaguely. And follow the trail of her thin rosy lips as they frown.

      “Give me a yes or a no,” she puffed her cheeks. I chuckle, the pit of my stomach twisting like a roller coaster on drugs. “I don’t have much time for these games.”

      “I’m not playing,” I smirk and walk towards her. With every step I take, she backs up against the door, fear overshadowing her stare slowly.

      “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

      “I just want a closer look,” her helpless stare turns into a fire shooting glare and her hands curl into fists as they hold onto the strap of the bag for dear life. She looks cute, so worked up like this. “Of the music sheet, of course”.

      Fully backed-up against the wall, she holds her head high and matches my gaze when I am but one step away from her. “Come any closer, and I swear you won’t be able to walk for days.”

      “Don’t worry,” I put my hands up in the air and tilt my head to the side, “I’m a gentleman.”

      “Sure you are,” she scoffed, her sweet demeanour completely buried under, and passed me the music sheets, “Do you happen to know this person, or not? I wouldn’t be asking you, but I didn’t get a full look of his face the last time. That creeper.”

      Hearing the supposedly hushed last two words, my heart thumps loudly in my ears and I try my best to keep it from showing. Play it smooth. So I raise my eyebrow and pretend to look over the name - it is indeed mine. “Creeper, you say?”

      “He was peeping into the ballet rehearsals,” I can see her a tad bit relaxing in my presence as she pens out her thoughts, and I hold back a smile. “Probably hoping to get a look under the skirts. ert.”

      “How do you know that was the reason?” She gives me a challenging look, so I continue. I should at least free myself from any accusations. I was not looking down there. “Maybe he’s a… fan?”

      A moment of silence.

      “Well, we are pretty…” she mumbles to herself again, rubbing her lower lip with her index finger in concentration, and I mine in response, wanting nothing but to kiss her. Instead, I release a scoff of disdain about her remark and it snaps her out of it. “Whatever. I found this under the door of the dance studio. Can you give it to him?”

      “Who do I say it’s from?”

      “Park Sandara,” she zips her bag in a swift tug, “If he is a fan like you claim, he would know me. Are you sure you can get to him?”

      I don’t get the chance to answer her.

      “Kwon Jiyong!” Seungri sticks his head through the door, his piercing gaze shifting between the two of us in such a position. I quickly back away when I see him looking as smug as a loan shark, “Eh, you’re here with a girl? And I thought you were allergic to anyone but Yongbae hyung.”

      “What do you want from me, idiot?”

      “Wang is pissed as hell,” he shrugs, not hiding the fact he’s checking out the tense girl in the room, “Leave this chick here with me, and head to the theatre. We’ll have a good time, won’t we?”

      She scoffs and gives him a look of disdain, her gaze not once falling on me. “I’m not a tad bit sorry to decline,” she crunches her face like a rabbit sniffing its food as her injured leg twitches slightly in her strut to the door, “I have to go to the theatre too, so excuse me.”

      She brushes past him and disappears into the empty hallway, my legs following right after her. The disturbing presence at the door cowering away under my glare as I leave the sanc