Woo Taewoon enjoyed his early morning jogs. The moments before dawn were his favorite. The world remained asleep, still. He always felt as if he were the only one that existed. With no sound except the dead silence of the predawn, Taewoon would run.

The weather had finally given way; the icy days of winter were slowly being left behind. Taewoon found himself needing less layers of clothing with each passing day. Today, he wore a thick beanie on his head, a running jacket, and his ever present, ever necessary mask.

In all honesty, Taewoon doubted anyone would recognize him. He had several routes he liked to run; he had not been stopped once while on them. Taewoon liked the anonymity, sometimes. Other times, it added to the suffocating pressure, a constant weight pressing itself against his chest.

Up ahead, Taewoon spotted an elderly woman shuffling along, old plastic bags in both hands. He slowed his pace until he was walking beside her.

“Grandmother, let me help you,” he said as he took the bags from her hands.

“My! What a nice young man you are! But why are you outside so early? The sun is only just now coming up. It’s cold. You should wear more clothes.”

Taewoon laughed as he tossed the bags into the large trash bin by the side of the road. He the beanie from his head and placed it on the woman’s head. “Grandmother, let me walk you home.”

“Ooh, thank you so much. Tell me, Young Do, what took you so long? I’ve been waiting for a long, long, long time.”

“I’m sorry, grandmother. I was stuck in traffic.”

“I’m always telling you to leave work early. You’re so thickheaded. You can’t make it back home in time for dinner if you leave work late. Your food grows cold. I don’t eat until you eat, you know that.”

“Yes, grandmother.”

He listened to her talk. Patting her hand when she tightened her grip around his arm. He walked her back home, a house several blocks away from where he always found her dragging trash bags along. The front gate was open, a woman in her forties stood wrapped in a blanked, looking disheveled.

“Mother!” She rushed to them, her plastic shoes clopping loudly against the pavement. “Mother you can’t be out at this time of day! It’s freezing!”

“Daughter, look! Young Do came home! We should make some dinner and throw a party.” The old woman looked up to wink at Taewoon. “Maybe we can have some beers, too.”

Ms. Park shook her head, prying her mother off of Taewoon’s arm. “I’m sorry about this Mr. Woo. We’re always troubling you. I don’t know how she gets out!”

“Don’t apologize, Ms. Park. I’m just glad I was around to get her back home.”

After another round of fussing and apologies in which Taewoon reassured Ms. Park that it really wasn’t an inconvenience and assure Mrs. Kim that yes, he would be home for dinner and he would drink with her, he went on his way.

Taewoon had come to learn that that Mrs. Kim was slowly going senile. She’d screamed the entire way home the first time he’d tried to help her and stopped only when he found himself forced to lie to a couple of onlookers that he was her grandson. He’d become her Young Do then; a grandson that had once promised to stop by for dinner only to never be heard of or seen again.

Her daughter, Ms. Park, had deteriorated after her son’s disappearance. Her husband had left her and her elderly mother. Lost to the bottle or some other disgusting vice, Taewoon suspected.

So, every Thrusday morning, Taewoon ran this particular route. He would make sure to be there, and if he couldn’t, he made sure Ms. Park knew where to find her mother. Sometimes, Mrs. Kim would recognize him, others she wouldn’t.

She had slowly become a part of Taewoon’s life just as she had become a part of hers.

Taewoon saw the stories of the world. He could read the struggles of a single mother as she left home in the early morning, in the way in which she carried herself, hurrying to get to work. He could see the premature wisdom, the deep intelligence, in the marching kindergarteners that tightly held hands as they made their way to school, leaving an empty house behind. In the hands of the elderly, in their wrinkles, their solemn and happy countenance, he would witness the events of a lifetime. And in the comings and goings of the youth he could see the inexperience, the thirst for excitement, the desire to excel.

What he saw became lyrics, sounds, rhymes; it became music. To Taewoon, the world was music; an endless stream of songs in harmony. He and his brother shared this trait. But whereas Zico locked himself in a room and worked himself ragged, Taewoon ventured out into the world.

Zico had been in scandals. All the right ones, all the wrong ones, all the meaningless ones. On the streets, he was easily recognized if someone stared long enough. Taewoon, on the other hand, used his anonymity like a shield.

He worked hard when he had to. He experienced life always. He didn’t understand why Zico would spend so much time working. Taewoon wondered if success had anything to do with the manner in which his younger brother ended up locking himself away “working.”

He wanted to be successful, but he wasn’t too sure if he would enjoy it if he ended up like Zico.

St. Cecilia’s Catholic Church appeared suddenly as he rounded a corner. Gradually, Taewoon slowed down, walking the rest of the way.

The church wasn’t old, but it wasn’t new either. Taewoon had actually come across it by chance once while chasing after one of his friend’s dogs. He’d been impressed by the magnificence of the stained glass windows, the stories of the Bible spread across in breathtaking colors.

The windows were not the only thing that had attracted Taewoon to the building. If one went around the right side, one would find a peaceful, beautiful prayer garden.

Statues of saints guarded the place, their white marble bodies casting a hushing enchantment. Paths of cobblestones would lead the devout across the landscape, leading them to a spectacular replica of Michelangelo’s Pieta. A single bench rested before it, offering moments of contemplation.

Further down, a prayer circle wound into itself in delicate curves. Taewoon enjoyed the prayer circle. He’d left several pebbles at its center; one for each heavy thought that weighed on him.

Soon, it would be lush and green. He couldn’t wait to come back then.

The cobblestones felt rustic under his feet. The wind chilled his cheeks, nose, and ears. He buried his hands in his pockets, feeling alive.

Visiting St. Cecilia’s always alleviated Taewoon. The pressure of being a public figure stripped of his name, the weight of being a leader, the desire to become better, bigger, greater. He struggled with so many thoughts, battled too many emotions all at once.

He was halfway to the prayer circle when he spotted a figure leaning against the base of St. Michael’s statue. The avenging archangel held his sword over his head, wings spread in a powerful flurry, his foot on the devil’s head; and just below that powerful scene was a girl.

Her legs were spread out before her, feet crossed at the ankles, hands clasped on her lap. She wore skinny jeans, and black boots over her knitted leg warmers. There was a light white sweater underneath her blue woolen one. Her hair fell across her face in dark tousles.

Normally, Taewoon would have been on his way; he wouldn’t have taken so much notice of anyone in particular if they were in the garden with him. But it was just after dawn, the wind blew in cold gusts, and the girl’s head swayed from side to side then snapped up only to hang limply.

“She’ll hurt her neck like that.” He made his way to her, the half-dry grass crunched when he stepped off the cobbled path.

Crouching low, he gave her a gentle shake. “Miss?”

The girl’s head lolled off to the side in an alarming manner. Taewoon steadied her, cupping her face in his hands. What he saw knocked the wind out of him.

She was a foreigner. Her long hair was thick, darker than black. Her skin glowed in an unknown tone, reminding him of milky mocha. She had a round face with high, soft cheekbones. Her lips were wide and plump, with the sharpest Cupid’s bow he’d ever seen. Her nose started out sharply, small and upturned.

Her eyes were rimmed with thick eyelashes. Her eyebrows were strong, just as dark as her hair. They weren’t styled in the popular straight-across fashion; they arched smoothly across. She wore no bangs, instead, her forehead lay bare. A gentle beauty mark rested on her left cheekbone, not quite under the corner of her eye but not too far off.

Taewoon was awestruck. He had never seen anyone so beautiful before. This girl was breathtaking.

Without thinking, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Her eyes fluttered; alarmed, Taewoon froze. When she gave no signs of waking, he exhaled, sat beside her, placing her head against his arm. She was so small, her head didn’t make it up to his shoulder. Her breaths were deep, even.

In her hands, twined between her fingers, rested a rosary. The beads were made of rose petals; constant use had tarnished their bright color.

Across from where they sat, a bundle of bushes surrounded a small statue. The stood with praying hands atop a crescent moon, an angel held them up with his wings; the corners of her mantle and dress in each of his hands. Kneeling before her was a man of humble clothes. The way the sculptor had created this piece made the man’s hair look very similar to the sleeping girl’s.

Taewoon had never noticed this statue before. It was his first time seeing it. He also didn’t know what this was. He felt rude for not knowing.

Minutes ticked by in silence as he contemplated the image before him and listened to the breathing of the girl beside him.

A vibration went off somewhere close to them. Taewoon’s heart jumped slightly as he fussed about to get find his phone. Except it wasn’t his phone that was going off.

The girl gave a little jolt as she woke up, her shoulders hitching up. She sat up quickly, reaching into her sweater. She accepted the call, sliding her finger across the screen, with still closed eyes.

“H-hello?”

Taewoon was surprised at her Korean; it possessed only a slight accent that didn’t quite reveal to him where she originated from.

“E-eh? What?” The girl spoke informally as she rubbed her eye fiercely with her free hand. “No, I’m not at the dorm. Eh? I think I was sleeping. What was that?”

She looked around her, squinting against the bright morning sunlight. She focused on Taewoon still sitting next to her.

Stiffling a yawn she asked in a formal tone, “Where is this?”
 

Taewoon’s eyebrows knitted together. “St. Cecilia’s Catholic Church.”

“Ah. I’m at St. Cecilia’s. The prayer garden? Yes, I’m suppose I’m there. Mm. Okay. Yeah, I’ll just wait here. Mm.”

She tossed the phone back into her sweater, covered her yawn with her hand, and settled back against the granite base of St. Michael’s statue.

“A girl can’t sleep in peace around here.”

“Well, you are in a public place, you know. It’s dangerous to sleep out in the open like that.”

“But, this is a church.”

“Bad things happen everywhere.”

She seemed to have been nodding off, but just as suddenly as her head had started to bob it snapped back up again. She snapped around to look at him so fast that she cried out in pain, her hand flying to her neck.

“W-who are you?”

Taewoon couldn’t help smiling. The entire scene was just too improbable and hilarious. “A bit late for that, isn’t it?”