Life .

I mean, sometimes it does.

Especially when you have to conduct an interactive child-friendly damn presentation to a group of annoying brats who only know how to sing silly nursery rhyme and cry whenever an adult glares at them.

But what can I do? This is what it takes to be a part of the police force. I’m a detective but every once in a while when there is not much work or when the police force are in need of staff, this happens and I’m forced to go to a stupid preschool to talk to the kids about my occupation and all that bullcrap. Don’t get me wrong, I like kids. But holy , it’s draining as hell having to talk to twenty to thirty kids all at the same time. They ask questions that you would never have thought of and they ask you questions all at the same damn time. Kids are vicious and I swear to God, I rather be out there chasing criminals and solving crimes than having to handle them.

But today’s a little different.

Because as I step into the classroom, I realize, I actually know one of the kids in the preschool. Okay, so I don’t really know her but I can recognize her. I know her father though… I mean… I guess… I used to know him. It’s all history between the both of us – Or at least to him it is. For me, the memories, the laughter, the kisses and the hugs all still feels so real and raw.

Kim Yoora has her long black hair in a ponytail, sitting on a chair playing with some toy blocks alone. Her other classmates are all playing together in groups however the cute little girl plays her toys alone and no one seems to bother her or even acknowledge her. Before we start the presentation, as my colleague is talking to the teacher in charge, I walk over to Yoora and squat down next to her.

“Hi there,” I greet.

Yoora looks up, grins hugely and then greets me back, “Hi!”

“You’re Yoora aren’t you?”

She eagerly nods her head and I continue, “Do you remember me?”

Yoora shakes her head and I’m not so sure why I feel a sense of disappointment wash over me. I brush off the hurt and then say, “So, why are you playing alone here?”

The little girl shrugs her shoulders, ignoring me as she continues to play with her toys. A little chubby boy suddenly comes up to me and pulls onto my arms.

“Ajushi! Don’t go near her!” The boy grunts while he tries to pull me away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, pulling him back.

The boy’s eyes moves to Yoora and then he points at her with a disgusted face, “She’s sick! Mummy say she must go home!”

I tilt my head in confusion and press my hand against Yoora’s forehead and realize that it’s not warm at all. “I don’t think she’s sick.”

“She is, she is!!!” The boy jumps around in front of me and then stops and leans close to my ears as he whispers, “Yoora has cancer!”

Yoora’s eyes goes huge and a flash of hurt crosses her eyes before she looks away, turning her body around as she continues with the toys. I frown and then eyed the boy seriously, “You shouldn’t be talking about someone like that.”

“But-”

“No buts,” I wave my finger in front of his face, “I think I’m going to have to talk to your teacher about what you just said.”

The boy’s start to pale and I resist the urge to burst out laughing. Kids can be so naïve, oh my god, it’s hilarious. I get up and at that moment, one of the officers call me up to prepare for the presentation.

***

I cannot take my eyes off her.

Kim Yoora.

She’s quiet and always alone. It doesn’t matter what her classmates are doing or saying to her because she keeps this expressionless mask on her face and ignores just about everyone. Plus, it doesn’t help that the more I look at her, the more she reminds me of my past lover, it just makes everything so much harder, everything so much more painful.

After we’ve answered about a million questions from the kids, the kids are finally dismissed as it’s the end of school. The other officers were packing their stuff while I linger around the preschool to see if I can catch a glimpse of Yoora. And just as I step into her classroom, there is she, sitting alone on a tiny little chair with her teacher sitting next to her. When Yoora sees me, she smiles sweetly at me and waves.

“Hey there, where is everyone else?” I ask, looking around.

“Her classmates have all gone home. Her father usually picks her up from school at about five-forty or sometimes even later.” The teacher informs me. “He is a very busy man and she doesn’t have any other relative that can pick her up any earlier.”

“Ah, really?” I then shift from foot to another, wanting to make conversation with the teacher and ask her a little bit more about Yoora but before I can do so, Yoora jumps out of her chair and runs to the door.

“Daddy!”

Donghae standing at the door with his arms wide open and the little girl flies into Donghae’s arms, giggling as she hugs him tight while Donghae kisses her cheeks. Donghae then carries her up and looks into the classroom. He bows to the teacher and when his eyes meets mine, he tilts his head, confused.

“Hey there,” I greet