“Grandpa?” I asked hesitantly as we were sitting on the bus, heading back to my parents’ house. It was, I believe, almost half an hour after we had both let out all our emotions.

“Yes, Nari-ah?” he looked at me curiously, furrowing his eyebrows in question. His eyes were still a little bit teary and swollen but so were mine. I don’t remember crying so hard for so long all my life before. I must have looked scary and terrible but I didn’t mind.

“I have some questions,” I stated confidently but the reluctance in my voice didn’t go unnoticed. I didn’t know whether or not I had the permission to ask questions but I was undoubtedly curious. “Would you mind answering them?”

“I would be surprised if you didn’t have questions,” he responded and his face slowly dissolved into an affectionate smile. “Of course I wouldn’t mind answering them. Go ahead!” he encouraged me and even pressed my hand gently which he was holding for some minutes now. We didn’t talk after we had left the graveyard but grandfather’s hand immediately found mine. His touch soothed my nerves a little and I guess he wasn’t the only one who needed reassurance.

“Did you make those polaroids?” I started, still trying to erase all those delighted faces from my memory. It hurt so much. Knowing how little did the world need to push them off the cliff. One moment, they were together, laughing freely and teasing each other and in the next minute, it was all falling apart. They were gone, one by one, until grandfather was left alone, in the abyss of endless sorrow.

“I’ve made them myself,” he nodded slowly and pondered over for a thought. “I got a camera from my parents when I turned 18 and I always tried to capture our happiest moments. As I was rummaging through a cupboard last week, I found these polaroids and thought about giving them to the boys,” he continued absent-mindedly and the fact that he still called his friends ‘the boys’ made my heart ache. He was right, they were still boys when they left him, but it was heart-wrenching to think about it.

“Okay, then,” I gulped and mustered all my courage. “Who was Boyeon? Was she Jimin’s love?” I inquired and a slight twinkle appeared in his chocolate-brown eyes.

“Ah, yes, I forgot that you don’t know her,” he massaged his temple nervously as he realised that I had never even heard of Boyeon. It wasn’t a surprise since there was a big chapter of grandfather’s life that I was never permitted to read. Yet, now that he shared it with me, maybe he could also answer some of my questions. “Yes, indeed she was. But I guess they were more than lovers, they were almost soulmates. Their bond was so strong and despite Jimin suffering after Taehyung’s death and pushing her away, Boyeon never once thought of leaving him. They met a year before Jimin died and we were so happy they found each other. Boyeon was a truly wonderful young lady; smiley, optimistic, cheerful, childish and a little bit cocky. We ate together several times as she always cooked meals for us and she actually liked spending time with the 7 of us,” he continued and a kind of bittersweet nostalgia seemed to have taken hold of him. He was smiling sheepishly, simply out of the sudden joy that the memories triggered.

“How is she doing now?”

“Well,” he rubbed his chin, probably wondering how he should phrase what he wanted to say. “I had a phone call from her last week and she said that she was doing just fine. But if you want to know, she could never fall in love with another man after Jimin had died. She was beautiful and captivating indeed, lots of boys wanted to approach her but I gue