‘She’s performing today. Want me to text where?’

James glanced down at his phone, and read the text from his friend. He was in the middle of judging a talent show for amateur rock bands, and he wished he hadn’t read that text. 

He turned off his phone and tried to forget it.

After the competition was over, he walked around town, having a few hours to himself before flying back to Seoul. He had gotten to a point where he could watch other people play the bass without feeling the need to excuse himself from the room. He looked down at his hand and moved his wrist experimentally, testing. He would need to soak in the bath later, to ease the stiffness. 

Busan was beautiful. With a camera slung around his shoulder (it was comfortable enough to be used with one hand), James snapped pictures of the historical monuments, and he walked along the places where famous movies had been filmed. Everywhere he went, there were students on their field trips giggling among themselves, and couples holding hands or taking pictures together. Reminded of her, he looked away. 

The sea was busy with people. James took shots of the horizon where the water melted into the sky. Freedom. To his surprise, he liked taking pictures and using different techniques to bring out fresh perspectives. He had found a new medium to be creative in. Life changed, and people found ways to be happy. He was discovering this adage to be true. He worked hard everyday to make it true. Still, the darkness was but a puddle away in his mind. 

Within the band, there were changes. In lieu of his bass, he was learning to use the keyboard and to program synthesizers and samplers into their performances. New possibilities opened, and their music broadened to encompass interesting directions. He was beginning to enjoy himself. Before, the bass had been like a drug, craved and imbibed at the risk of forgetting everything else. Now, the music was expanding, filling spaces he had reserved for the bass and nothing else. 

He his phone to check the time, and his notification rang. He read the text, half anticipating, half dreading the message. 

‘Busan Community Open Market Hall, 6 pm. You’re welcome .’

xxxx

The small venue was packed with young people, mostly women. The band she danced for had quite a following, but he was not here to see them. 

James stood at the very back, under the wild techno colors spinning across the audience, and the insistent beat of the booming speakers. The crowd screamed, and there she was. The dancers were hyping up the crowd before the band performed, and among the line of them in their skin tight glittering black uniforms, he had eyes for one. 

She was slimmer. He frowned, knowing that she sometimes forgot to eat proper meals during performance season. She slept poorly, too, he knew. He wished --- but he no longer had the right to wish. Or worry. Among the crowd of strangers who had come with their fantasies for the night, he wanted to pretend that he would wait for her after, and take her somewhere nice to eat, then make love to her in the shower with the soap and water running down their bodies. Then he would make love to her again, slowly, until she sighed into sleep without dreams. 

He had let her go because he had believed she deserved better than what he could offer. She left a fissure in his world, but people were said to recover from such wounds. Leaning back against the wall to watch her swaying in the music, waves of longing breaking his heart, he wished that were true.