Beyond the Sea

On the outermost edges of South Korea’s watery borders dwelt a sleepy village on an island where travellers seldom passed. Its inhabitants worked hard, and led simple lives, surrounded by lush green. They lived by the crash and fall of waves against their boats.

On a good day, a fisherman could feed his or her family and had enough to bring to the market the next day. On a bad day, neighbours would clamour and offer scraps of their own meal. Friends and family would shake their heads and clap them on the back and say, “There’s always tomorrow.”

After 84 days of consecutive grief, tomorrow, never seemed to arrive for Kim Yongsun.

Before her streak of bad luck began, she was simply a strange creature who built her home by herself at the outermost edge of the village. None of her neighbours knew quite what to do with her. At first, they were surprised by the newcomer’s dedication to learning the trade, but they welcomed her aboard gladly. Young and beautiful, she did not seem to be someone who would last long, though her calloused fingers soon proved otherwise. They wondered why she came, if not to find an honest husband. She always avoided the question, so they learned not to ask.

Besides, she was good luck. She always blamed it on coincidence, for she was humble above all else. The villagers adored her nonetheless. Food may have been scarce, and her two-room hut may have been full of holes, but she was more than grateful, and she showed it at every turn. The villagers knew better: any family who took her in always caught enough fish to sell. That was the plain truth. A symbiotic relationship was quickly built on the waters.

Among the clans in the village, Yongsun owed her life to a few: the Jungs taught her the trade, the Ahns helped her build her home, and the Moons fed her whenever they could afford it. Above all, their children taught her to love and to trust.

Jung Wheein and Ahn Hyejin had watched her with synchronized wonder when she first arrived. The peculiar city girl trying to thrive alone in the country: everything about her amused them to no end. The best part was that Yongsun never seemed to care. She did everything with a smile. She didn't care when they poked and . She simply laughed along. She didn't care when they followed her to her hut and invited themselves inside for dinner. She simply made more food. They could never shake her, no matter how they tried. There was something so harmless and cute about the inseparable pair, so similar but so different, that Yongsun never found reason to mind.

She cared about Wheein and Hyejin more than they could know, but it was different with Moon Byulyi.

The eldest Moon child followed her wherever she went, and Yongsun was more than pleased to take her under her wing. At first, it was a duty to the family who fed her, but she found it easy to love the way Byulyi watched her so fondly. She found it easy to open up, let her inside, and match her in stride. Everything was easy with Byulyi.

The friendship between the four of them was strong, but for over two years now Yongsun and Byulyi built their lives around each other. Byulyi would bring breakfast, and her nose would crinkle when she walked through Yongsun’s front door. Yongsun would rub her eyes and sit herself at her dining table, big enough for two. Breakfast was always shared with conversation on the side. They were fascinated with each other to no end.

“Unnie, you’re pretty when you eat,” Byulyi said once.

Yongsun froze, her chopsticks at her lips and full of rice. Byulyi often said these things so effortlessly, and it never failed to jumpstart her heart.

Byulyi had laughed, her voice ringing a deep melodic alto through Yongsun’s thin wooden walls. “You just look so happy.”

“Do I usually look sad?”

“No,” Byul replied with half a shrug, “but you’re you when you eat. Aish, I can’t explain it. Just believe me. You look more comfortable when you eat.”

“W-well…You eat like a hamster, did you know? It’s cute,” she said as nonchalantly as she could, but when she heard herself she immediately blushed. To hide her embarrassment, she picked up her bowl and quickly dug in. 

A tint of pink coloured Byulyi’s cheeks. “Yah, are you trying to be greasy?” Byulyi paused, and put her chopsticks down, “This is how you do greasy.” She reached over and gently cupped Yongsun’s cheek. Yongsun flinched a little at the touch, feeling a little shiver run down her spine as Byulyi deftly ran her thumb over her top lip. “Just kidding. You had a bit of rice there,” Byulyi said, “yeba.” Yongsun couldn’t help but smile along when she saw the mischievous grin crinkle Byulyi’s nose. 

Comfortable became the word that came to mind whenever Yongsun thought of Byulyi. These exchanges came easily and naturally, as if their hearts beat on the exact same wavelength. When they fished together, they seldom spoke with words. They kept each other close, and that seemed to be enough. The best words were saved for when they were alone, at meals or during walks along the shore.

Living comfortably beside Byulyi was so easy.

Until sharing meals and taking walks were no longer enough. Yongsun found herself starving for each moment with her, and she knew where this led. Worse, she was dragging Byulyi along for the ride, and the girl was wasting away with her when she deserved so much more. There was so much Yongsun wanted to give her, but she was just a girl burdened by her own mind. It was too dangerous. Besides, what would the villagers think? She couldn’t do that to the people she owed her life to.

The four of them had just begun sailing together when Hyejin finally struck out and bought her own fishing boat, but the what-ifs became too much for Yongsun to bear. “Join us, unnie,” Hyejin and Wheein had said.

“I can’t.”

She will never fully understand what it did to Byulyi when she decided to start fishing on her own, but something wedged itself between them and never quite lifted itself out. Byulyi went home and cried on the day that Yongsun introduced her to the old skiff that she bought with the little she saved up. It was Yongsun’s first time eating alone in a long time, and she told herself she deserved it for making the girl cry.

Suddenly, nothing was easy anymore. Words flew past each other, gestures got mixed up in the fray, and whatever left unsaid hung over them. Eventually, Yongsun would be thankful for Byulyi’s efforts to maintain their routine and have the semblance of normality. In spite of the awkward politeness, she knew neither of them wanted to see the old skiff set off every morning.  

Her stubborn independence was the beginning of her bad luck.

It had been 84 days since she started sailing alone, and each morning her white sail seemed to billow in defeat. On the best days, she was able to feed herself. On the worst days, she lived off her neighbour’s scraps for days, sometimes weeks. The Moon family did not seem to mind, but as her debt began to accumulate, she became desperate for a sign, something to keep her spirit alive.

*

Day 85 began two hours before the break of dawn.

“Unnie, wake up.”

Yongsun struggled into a seating position, sleep’s embrace still warm and heavy. She blinked and squinted into the darkness. “Byul? Is that you?” she murmured at the silhouette under the moonlight. Her front door was wide open.

“Stop sleeping in the living room, unnie. It’s not good for your health.”

Yongsun allowed herself a moment to adjust before she manoeuvred herself off her couch and, with a great yawn, walked over to greet her. “What are you doing here so early in the morning, Byulie?”

“Yah, you ask me this every morning.”

On this day, she pulled out a feast from the plastic bag in her hand like a magic trick. Plastic tubs began to fill Yongsun’s dining table. Usually there was little more than kimchi and rice, which she was more than thankful for, but the sight of the grilled mackerel, the soup, and the endless little containers rendered her almost speechless.

“W-what is all this?”

Byulyi smiled sheepishly, and a faint blush crossed her cheeks as she watched her hands twist the plastic bag around. “I told Umma that…today was going to be the day, y’know? I just…had a feeling and I wanted you to have the energy.”

Yongsun’s dimples showed, despite the fatigue in her eyes. “Thank you, Byul, but I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Byulyi looked up. “You could never disappoint me, Yongsun unnie. Besides, um, it was my sister’s birthday yesterday, so we, um, made a lot.”

Yongsun laughed and motioned for her to sit down. They ate together as usual, but all they could hear on this day were the seabirds outside. Though the food was good, though Byulyi smiled at her now, she knew she had gone out of her way to smuggle her dinner for her, and each bite tasted of guilt. 85 consecutive mornings of guilt.

After breakfast, they walked down to the shed, where Yongsun picked up her rods, harpoon, and tool box by the door, while Byulyi pushed inside to help her retrieve two coolers. Together they walked down the dirt path toward the docks, and enjoyed the crisp morning breeze in each other’s company.

Yongsun threw everything into her boat and turned back to look at her friend, who stared at her, two coolers dangling at her sides. “Isn’t that heavy? What are you doing standing around?” she said lightly.

“Maybe I should go with you, unnie,” Byul said, biting her lip. “We used to fish together, didn’t we? Maybe it’ll change your luck.”

Yongsun shook her head. “No. You’re doing well with Hyejin. I don’t want to ruin that for you. She and Wheein worked so hard to be independent. You shouldn’t let them down.”

“But—“

“Don’t be selfish, Byulie,” she said. “You have two sisters to feed. Think of them too once in a while.”

Byulyi dug at the sand with the toe of her boot. “What about you?” she said quietly.

Yongsun straightened herself up and walked over to Byul. She laughed as she reached up and ruffled her hair affectionately. “You think of me too much,” she said with an uneasy chuckle.

She did not comment on Byulyi’s quick withdrawal from her touch, and the way her frantic eyes tried to look everywhere but at her. It happened so often and she so adored the way shades of red lit up her face.

She reached up and poked the tip of Byulyi’s nose. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll help you bait the lures,” Byulyi said quickly, dropping to one knee to open one of the coolers.

Yongsun took a long look at the minnow in Byulyi’s hand. Already two days old, along with the rest of her bait fish, she knew it would be her last chance. She watched Byulyi’s deft fingers work around the little fish and that uncomfortable, but familiar, feeling began to swirl around her stomach again.

“I don’t want to disappoint you again,” she said, but the morning wind threw her words to the sea and only she heard them.

*

As the sun began its ascent above the water, other boats began to move along the coastline. Yongsun drifted along in her boat. She positioned her lines in the water, and sat back to wait.

Every day she waited for something to catch. Alone in her skiff, the isolation of the last 84 days had become a mirror to the life she left behind. She thought back to her school, where she first fell in love and first came to understand loneliness. Her first love was a senior, and perhaps her story would have ended happily on that note—if her senior was not a girl. Their great love story did not last long. “This isn’t real,” the senior told her. Her next relationship did not last long either. “I can’t give up my life to be with you,” she said. Or the one after that: “You’re not worth the risk.” By then, Yongsun resolved to be a better escape artist, so when her parents began to breathe down her neck about marriage, she decided to run.

Yongsun tried to shake the memories out of her head. She had learned quickly that silence wasn’t always her friend. In those moments, she did not mind talking to herself. She enjoyed the way her voice seemed to die at the edge of her boat, so nothing she said would ever be heard again. Sometimes, she sang songs, composed poetry, debated, philosophized, or even conversed with the wildlife. Anything was better than the countless hours of listening to her voice trapped inside her head.

“Yongsun-ah,” she said out loud to the orange skies above her, “get something big today so you can see Byulyi smile, ok?”

She began to hum a tune as she watched each movement of her rods, but she could not remember where she heard it from. The familiar tune calmed her down, and she hummed it twice complete. “Aish, how did the words go?” No matter how many times she asked herself, internally or externally, she could not remember a thing about the song. Perhaps it was something Hyejin showed her. It must have been an old song.

The sun rose higher and the sky turned blue. Usually she would be hungry, but today, sending a grateful thank you toward the west where Byulyi’s crew was heading, she packed only a single bottle of water. Though the summer sun was hot, she rationed the bottle carefully, and tried to rely on her straw hat to keep her cool.

Just as she was considering a nap, one of her rods dipped deep underwater. She sprang to her feet in an instant, and took the rod with both hands. The reel spun wildly, but she could not stop it. Whatever she had hooked in was heavier than anything she’d ever encountered before. 

A flock of birds flew overhead, but one solitary albatross swooped down to perch, watching with interest as Yongsun struggled. She glared at it. “Don’t just watch! Come help me!” she said, but the bird simply turned its head to and fro. “Dammit, I wish Byulyi was here. I guess it’s too late.”

The fish dragged the boat along further and further away from shore. Though she had never been far, she felt a strange sense of calm as she let the fish guide her into the horizon. She pictured the fish beneath her boat: proud, confident, and beautiful. Wise, full of answers she could not find.

I will follow you, she thought, gripping the rod tightly. Take me to where I need to be.

*

“Byul unnie! What’s wrong with you? Quit standing around!” Hyejin was shouting through the din of machinery.

Faintly hearing her name, Byulyi shook her bangs out of her eyes and turned toward her captain, though her limbs felt heavy and not her own. Her hands gripped the edge of the boat, but everything swirled around her like a dream. Sounds came from every direction as the crane came around with a net full of silver.

By some miracle or another, she pushed herself through.

Shortly after the fish were on deck, she felt a sharp push at her shoulder. “Byulyi!” It was a different voice this time. She stumbled backwards and came face to face with Wheein, who was wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Let’s take a walk. You’re useless here with the state you’re in.” Byulyi, unused to the stoic expression on her friend’s face, ducked her head sheepishly as she followed her.

They wandered to the front of the vessel, a mere three metres but far enough to avoid Hyejin’s wrath. A water bottle was passed around as they leaned at the rails. “Unnie, what’s wrong?” Wheein asked. “You’ve been out of it all day. I swear you’re gonna go overboard if you keep going the way you do. Hyejin is already pissed.”

Byulyi put a hand on her own stomach and breathed into it. Nervousness swirled, but she couldn’t find the words.

“Is it Yong unnie again?” At Byulyi’s silence, Wheein flashed a mischievous smile.

“Wheein-ah, please put that dimple away. It’s not what you think.”

But it did not go away. “Tell me—what do I think?” she said, smiling wider.

But Byulyi wasn’t smiling.

“I…I’m just worried. I have a feeling something bad is going to happen. I don’t know what or when, but I’m just anxious, I guess.”

“Wow, is this lovers’ telepathy? You’re not making much sense, unnie.” Wheein laughed to try and lighten up the conversation, but the hard look in Byulyi’s eyes was enough to make her skin crawl.

“I want to take the lifeboat. I need to see her.”

“Wait a minute, wait, wait, wait. Hold on. Nice to see you getting all worked up for your girl, but let’s take it easy here.”

Byulyi tapped the rail impatiently with a closed fist. She had so much more to say, but how could words ever be adequate enough to explain an abstract feeling taking hold of her heart? Wheein watched her closely, watched her like she was a caged animal. Byulyi willed herself to take a breath. Words failed because she knew that, logically, it made no sense. How could she know?

Finally, even the silence frustrated her. “Why do you do this?” she asked.

Wheein wound a strand of black hair around her fingers. She didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Fish. This is such a thankless job,” Byul said. “No money, no glory. I mean, don’t you have other dreams?”

Wheein grinned. “I like it here.”

“Why? What is there to like?”

“I don’t think it’s as complicated as you might think,” Wheein said with a slight shrug. “Hyejin is here, and so are you. What else do I need?”

“But you could’ve been, I don’t know, a doctor, a lawyer, or a singer. You have a nice voice, Wheeinie.”

Wheein scoffed. “A celebrity? Maybe in another life. I’m happy here, unnie. I’ve got my family”—she gestured to the boat—“and everything I need. Sure it’s a simple life, but I don’t know. Does a complex life mean a better life? What more am I supposed to want? Aren’t you happy here?”

Byulyi shrugged. “I guess I was.”

“Is this about being left behind again? She still loves you, you know.”

Byulyi playfully punched Wheein in the shoulder. “What are you saying?” she cried. “Stop making fun of me. I’m being serious.”

Wheein rolled her eyes as she rubbed her shoulder. “You’re such an idiot sometimes. Anyway, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s tougher than she looks.”

*

When her other line began to bob, Yongsun threw her whole body towards it, clinging to her first line for life and hoping to every force in the universe that the fish isn’t going to jump or circle. She breathed.

“Gather up your strength, Yongsun, you’re going to need every ounce. You can do it,” she cheered. She clamped down on her first line between the side of the skiff and her entire body weight. With her free hands, she reached out to grab the bobbing rod and lift it out of the water with a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength. Every muscle screamed at her, but when the single mackerel sailed into her skiff, she knew she was saved.

“Hey, fish,” she called over the edge of her modest vessel, “Kim Yongsun is going to live to fight another day!”

The moon was already beginning to shine behind the sinking sun as Yongsun clumsily rationed up her mackerel and put a strip of raw flesh between her lips. She peered over the edge, but couldn’t see anything. Her line was taut, and she knew that the fish could break her line, but it didn’t. Trust me, it seemed to say as it carried her boat to the horizon. “You seem to know what you’re doing, fish, but you’ll have to eat eventually. Come up here and I’ll take care of you for once.”

An albatross landed on the top of her sail as the moon shone ahead. “Sorry,” Yongsun said, with a sleepy smile, “no food for you. The fish needs me to live.”

Yongsun gave the line a tug, but the fish was stubborn and she knew she wouldn’t have the strength. If she forced her way through this, the line will break. Be patient, Yongsun, she told herself. You’ll get her. She will get tired of running away, and you’ll get everything you wanted.

“You want this right?” She asked herself out loud. The albatross looked at her expectantly. “A fish like this is all that you’ve ever wanted, right? All this will have been for nothing if you let it go.” She turned to the bird. “Do you think I’m being too ambitious?” The bird was silent. It turned around and picked at its own feathers. “The more you put your time and energy into something, the harder it is for you to let go, isn’t it? Bird-ah, I really want this fish. They’ll stop pitying me. I wonder if Byul misses me. I wish she was here. I’m glad you’re here, bird, but you’re not very helpful.”

She hummed the tune to herself again, the one she could not remember the words to. She hummed it again and again. Then it hit her. “Somewhere beyond the sea,” she sang in triumph, “somewhere waiting for me. My lover stands on golden sands and…Ah, I forgot the rest. These old English songs are hard to remember.” The image of Byulyi standing on the shore, and the smile on her face when she receives the fish warmed her heart. But she sighed, and willed herself to wave those thoughts away.

“How do I sound, bird?” she joked half-heartedly, “Think I could be famous someday?” The bird simply stared. Soon, a flock of birds flew overhead, and the bird leapt into the sky to join them. Yongsun gripped her line as loneliness pressed in closely.

By early afternoon the next day, the fish had slowed down significantly, though it continued to pull at its line with a snap every time. Yongsun kept a tight grip, and though her new life at sea had trained her body to be in top shape, she could not deny the strength slipping away after almost 36 hours of constant exertion. It was almost inevitable that her left hand would cramp up the way it did.

The pain seared through, and she cursed her own weakness. She tried to massage her hand. “You need to be ready when the fish is ready,” she said to her hand as tears stung her eyes.

She noted that the fish seemed to be heading toward the ocean. The proud, honorable fish, was ready to take her to the world unknown. There was no choice but to follow.

She looked behind her, where her village slept while its men and women drifted along the waters. “Byul-ah, would you tell me to let go? I don’t want to disappoint you. I won’t want to disappoint myself anymore. Damn, this hurts. This useless hand. Ok, I’ll catch this fish for us.”

When the moon rose again for the third time, her mackerel was long gone. The bottle of water had enough for one more sip, and her hand had relaxed a little. “It’s you or me, fish,” Yongsun said warily.

It was at the break of dawn when the fish began to draw circles beneath her boat, and Yongsun stood with the harpoon by her feet. “You fought well, fish,” she said. It would have been so easy to take her prize now—she’s imagined it a thousand times by now—but something in the distance made her blood run cold.

A single grey triangle glided through the water—closer and closer.

A mako shark. Oh god, she thought, I hope you’re ready, useless hand.

Had the hook drawn enough blood to alert the sharks? She couldn’t see through the murky water, but there was no use in rhapsodizing about her misfortune once again. The harpoon laid useless as she tried to pull back with both hands. Please, she thought, sending a silent prayer to whoever dared to listen, save this fish.

The fish jerked violently, dragging Yongsun to the edge of her boat in a heartbeat with its incredible strength. She clamped down on her rod, throwing as much of her weight onto it as possible. The line spun frantically hundreds of metres below the water. The shark disappeared. Her heart began to beat in .

Suddenly, a jet of water shot through the surface and she knew she could not hold on.

The blue, glittering swordfish froze against the rising sun. In that moment, its translucent fins spread and its long body unfurled the white underbelly like a flag. The point of its nose seemed to try to pierce the sun itself.

It was bigger than any fish she had ever seen, but her strength was waning, her vision blurring.

She felt the rod slip through her cramped fingers, felt everything she worked for crumble as she fell backwards.

At least she got to see her beautiful fish. Though it bled at the mouth and fear stained its eyes, it was a proud creature to the end.

Proud and beautiful until the end.

She hit the floor with a soft thud.

An albatross cried as the white sail above her billowed.

*

Hey…un…an…ear…

Sounds filled her ears like static and colours blurred her eyes through the slits of her eyelids.

…ke….sh….yi….so…ne…

The fragments made no sense. Her head hurt.

Who was talking to her? Her body felt like an unchained anchor at the bottom of the ocean, swallowed deep by the water pressure. Why couldn’t she move? Where was she? Where did the albatross go?

“Yongsun, can you hear me?”

Yes.

“How are you feeling?”

Who are you?

“We missed you so much.”

 “…Byul?” Her voice, cracked around the edges, sounded alien. Her fingers twitched, finding warmth beneath them. Her index finger shivered to the hand beneath her own. It felt familiar. Safe. Slowly, her eyes found the familiar patterns of her scarred white ceiling.

A face loomed into view—red-rimmed eyes, cracked lips, sunburnt nose. The blonde hair came into focus, and her heart sank. It wasn’t the shade of blonde she was looking for. It wasn’t the right shape of the eyes, curve of the lips, or the wrinkle of the nose.

But still she smiled. “Wheeinie?” She said hoarsely, cringing at the way the vowels opened themselves up in breathy bursts.

Wheein squeezed her hand and smiled. “Welcome back, Yong unnie.”

Suddenly, Yongsun was met with a mouthful of dark hair, as two arms tried to squeeze the disappointment out of her. “Hyejin-ah!” Wheein called, grabbing her friend by the shoulder with her free hand. She called a few more times, then gave up.

As soon as Wheein left the bedroom, Hyejin snapped away, as quickly as she had come, and turned to face the wall. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she mumbled, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Yongsun chuckled, but her tone was somber when she finally spoke again. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

Hyejin whipped around, her eyes as read as Wheein’s, yet she held her gaze so intensely that Yongsun couldn’t help but blush a little and look away. “You should be,” she said, feigning indifference as she looked at her nails. “Wheenie and Byulie has been worried to death about you and it’s been really inconvenient.”

“Ahn. Hye. Jin!” Wheein cried from the doorway, a glass of water in one hand and two tangerines in the other. “What do you think you’re saying?”

“Wha—”

“Byul unnie will smack you.”

Hyejin crossed her arms with a pout. “I’m just stating the truth. If Byul unnie hadn’t found her, we probably would’ve starved ourselves out of grief.”

“Stop being dramatic. Here, peel this.”

In that moment, Yongsun tried to push herself up into a sitting position, but her left hand howled at her. She collapsed her efforts and fell back against her pillow with a sigh that didn’t go unnoticed. Hyejin ignored the tangerine in Wheein’s outstretched arm, and immediately went to Yongsun’s side. She slid a hand under both armpits, and raised Yongsun up like a cat against the headboard. “There you go again,” Hyejin grumbled as she pulled the blanket up, “doing things by yourself for no reason.”

Yongsun’s head spun.

“Yah! What are you doing? Be gentle! Are you okay, unnie?” Wheein said quickly. She glared and gave Hyejin a swift shove in the shoulder. Hyejin stumbled back a step, but simply shrugged in response.

Yongsun nodded. “Thank you, Hyejin,” she said lightly.

Hyejin looked down at her nails again. Awkward silence. Yongsun continue to stare at her hands. Wheein watched Hyejin’s restless little movements.

Finally, Hyejin couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’ll go heat up some food.”

She began to stomp off when she paused, giving Wheein a look. Wheein sighed, rolled her eyes, and waved her off. Hyejin left, closing the door behind her, without another word.  

“You’ll have to forgive her, unnie,” Wheein said. She sat on the edge of the bed beside Yongsun and passed her a glass of water, then took a tangerine in her hand and squeezed it lightly as she continued, “She’s kind of on the edge after everything. As much as she wants to hide it, she’s been worried to exhaustion for the last week. You’ve been asleep for almost two days, you know.”

“Where’s Byulie?” Yongsun asked quietly.

“At home. She’s resting,” Wheein said, trying to suppress the grin. But her smiled disappeared and her face scrunched up when she remembered what happened next. Yongsun tilted her head expectantly.

“What happened?” She asked uneasily.

Wheein cleared and began: “Ah, the day you left she told me she had a bad feeling. I thought she was just being crazy, but she looked so scared. When you didn’t come back that night, she was really being crazy. We watched her pace around the shore like crazy. Aish, I’m using the word crazy too much, aren’t I? I don’t know if there are other words to describe what happened. Anyway, it took a lot of energy to convince her to go home. But in the middle of the night, she stole Hyejin’s rowboat.” She chuckled at the memory.

Yongsun listened, wide-eyed. She bit her tongue, and her knuckles grew white as she clutched her blanket.

Wheein continued with fervent gestures. “Hyejin was so mad. She kept saying, ‘Those stupid unnies!’ But I know she was worried too. Byul unnie didn’t come back until night. She was too stupid to even bring food, but she kept saying she wasn’t hungry, and she had to go back out there to find you.”

Wheein paused to feed Yongsun a slice of tangerine, which was reluctantly accepted. She then popped a slice into her own mouth. “You and Byulie unnie,” she said between bites, “make me think I’m going crazy.”

“Sorry,” Yongsun said with a sheepish smile. “What happened next?”

“Next?” Wheein looked thoughtful for a moment, then broke into a grin. Seeing the dimple in her cheek, Yongsun let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, felt her whole body relax just a little, and helped herself to another slice of tangerine.

“After Byulie came back,” Wheein continued, “We all thought she was going crazy. She kept refusing to eat, so Hyejin got mad and the two of us, plus Byulyi’s sisters, we all tackled her and made her eat. Then Hyejin and I slept on top of Byulie to make sure she didn’t run away. It sounds crazy, now that I say it out loud. It was actually kind of fun.”

In any other circumstance, Yongsun would have likely joined Wheein’s gleeful cackling. This time, she could only listen in horror at the mess she caused. But before she could react, the door squeaked open, and Hyejin returned with a tray and a much calmer demeanour.

“My sister bought this when she went to the market. She knows it’s your favourite,” Hyejin said as she set the tray down. The calming scent of beef intestine soup filled the air, and Yongsun brightened up like an excited child. “This looks amazing!” she said. The first taste drew a happy sigh from her lips.

Hyejin smiled for the first time that day, and resumed her old post against the wall. “Wheenie, finish the story,” she said.

Wheein stuck her tongue out at her, “Why don’t you finish it?”

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

Wheein rolled her eyes. Yongsun watched them both attentively as she ate, hoping the food will allow her time to  process her own emotions and prepare herself for the rest of their narrative.

“Okay, fine,” Wheein continued, “The next morning we all woke up, but Byul unnie still wanted to go out. So Hyejin begged her sister to take the boat out so the two of us can go help Byulyi look for you.”

Hyejin cleared . “I didn’t beg.”

“Yes you did.”

“No.”

“You were crying.”

“No.”

“’Unnie, please! I have to go save Yongsun unnie! She needs me!’” Wheein mimicked with a dramatic display of invisible tears and clawing desperation.

Hyejin, with arms crossed, fervently shook her head. “Nope. That didn’t happen.”

“Do you want to tell the story then?”

“No.”

Wheein threw the remaining tangerine at her. Surprised, Hyejin fumbled with it, but caught it in both hands. “Eat that, and shut up,” Wheein said with finality. “Anyway, so we spent the whole day looking, but we couldn’t find you. We wanted to come back before sunset, but Byul unnie wouldn’t listen. Aish, she was so stubborn. Eventually, we had to give up and go home. We told unnie that we would try again the next day, and she agreed, but—”

“That idiot stole my boat again!” Hyejin shouted through her mouthful of tangerine. Her excitement incited a coughing fit as she nearly choked on the juice.  She thumped her fist over her chest, and managed to swallow before she resumed her coughing.

Wheein rushed out to get another glass of water, as Yongsun waved her over to the spot beside her so she could rub her back. Hyejin stumbled over to Yongsun’s bed in compliance. “Hyejin-ah, you shouldn’t eat the whole tangerine at once,” Yongsun said with a giggle. “I’m sorry Byul and I caused so much trouble for you.”

Wheein returned with the water, which Hyejin downed almost immediately. When she calmed down, Hyejin said, “Stop apologizing, unnie. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re both stupid when it comes to each other.”

“Nothing new there, but you two really took it to the next level this time,” Wheein added.

Yongsun blushed. “It wasn’t like that.”

Hyejin frowned. Her arms flew up, shaking as she spoke, emotion crashing through them in a waves. “Byul found you half-dead in your stupid skiff, halfway out in the middle of who-knows-where. And by the time she dragged both of you back, you were both almost dead, so yes, it was like that. It was exactly like that. You almost tore us apart, unnie!”

“Hyejin, stop!”

She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop the words, her arsenal built over the last few days, from tumbling out. She knew she was misfiring, but Hyejin couldn’t stop the tears that drove the shots forward. Yongsun said nothing as Hyejin continued to unravel her soul with higher decibels. Wheein got up, and put her arms around her, only to be shaken off as Hyejin stormed out for the second time.

Wheein turned to Yongsun, her expression completely transformed from her usual cheerful self. It was unrecognizably dark. “Did you even stop to think about us for once? What it would do to us if you never came back? Whatever happened to you out there, I hope it happened for a very, very good reason.”

Yongsun stared down at her bowl. “I don’t know if it was. I think it was supposed to be.”

*

Yongsun spent the next several days in virtual isolation. People came from all over the village to see her, but she turned them all away. Only Hyejin and Wheein stayed, if only because there was nothing she could say to make them leave. If she could have it her way she would hide alone in her bed until she found the courage to face Byulyi, but Wheein’s cooing and Hyejin’s yelling took turns making sure she didn’t survive the ocean just to die in her bed.

On the first day, Yongsun waited expectantly at her dining table. She waited to see the familiar silhouette at her door with a plastic bag in hand. She waited to say, “Byulyi, is that you?”

But it was only Wheein.

On the second day, it was only Hyejin. And half a dozen bottles of soju.

She was still nursing a headache when Wheein came by with dinner on the third day. Wheein said. “Your eyes are still kind of puffy, unnie.”

Yongsun apologized, and blamed it on her hangover.

“Hyejin said you cried all night about Byulyi unnie and some fish, and ended up throwing up a bunch of your feelings. When are you going to go see her?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Wheein gently put her forehead down on the dining table in resignation. Her shoulders drew up as she heaved a heavy sigh.

Yongsun apologized again, staring down at the bird motif on her mug, a birthday gift from Byulyi last year. “You must be tired of me by now, Wheeinie. You should go home.”

Wheein straightened herself up, and shot a sharp glare right through her eyes. “You know, if this keeps going on, Hyejin and I are going to have to take care of this. Do you want us to take care of this problem? I don’t think you do.”

“How is Byulyi?”

“Aigoo, why are you changing the subject? She’s fine. She’s joining us tomorrow. Do you want to come?”

Yongsun ran her thumb over the yellow bird with the soft, brown eyes. “Where?” She said absent-mindedly.

“We’re going to sing and dance and audition to be idols,” Wheein said with a roll of her eyes. “We’re fishing, yeba. What did you think? Omo, look who’s smiling now? You like being called a yeba that much?”

Yongsun flushed a little, but could not shake the smile from her lips. Byulyi’s fond name for her brought her back to the happier days. Simple and comfortable days. She wondered now how much longer those days could have lasted if she had been more careful.

“Unnie.” Wheein’s voice brought her back to reality. She said, “You should come, unnie. She misses you a lot, but she won’t come because you’re both idiots.” Wheen shook her head, though seeing Yongsun’s smile had drawn a breath of relief.

“I made such a mistake, Wheeinie. I don’t know if I’m ready to face her.”

“You did what you thought was right at the time.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

Wheein shrugged. “Maybe not,” she said, “but you were just thinking of us. Mostly Byulie unnie, but I know that you’re always thinking about us. Too much. Don’t take this the wrong way, but Hyejin and I are fine without you. You don’t need to prove anything to us either. Yes, we love you, but you don’t need to take care of us. You really don’t. Hyejin might be a baby, but she could probably punch a shark and break every set of teeth in its mouth. I would do the same to protect Hyejin.”

Yongsun chewed her lower lip.

Wheein pushed the bowl of rice closer to Yongsun. “Just be yeba and everyone will be happy,” Wheein said with a grin.

Yongsun picked up her chopsticks, earning a little cheer from Wheein, and took her first bite. She stopped, mid-chew, when a thought struck her. “Do you think Byul feels the same way? She probably doesn’t need me,” Yongsun said.

Wheein scoffed, loud enough to shake the walls. “I said Hyejin and I are fine without you. Byulie unnie will always be a little duckling. That girl needs you like a fish needs water.”

“But I—“

“No more excuses. Wheein is bored of this,” Wheein said, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her forefinger. Yongsun took another bite of rice with downcast eyes.

Seeing Yongsun’s reaction, Wheein sighed and reached out. Gently, she put a hand on her friend’s forearm, sending a truce with her eyes. “Unnie, listen. That fish of yours could’ve taken you around the world. It could’ve been the biggest fish in the world, but who cares? Stupidity isn’t the same as perseverance, or masochism, or pride, or whatever you were thinking of when you were dying at sea.”

Yongsun turned her face when she felt all the insecurities she had accumulated ready to burst forward.

“Don’t cry, unnie,” Wheein said. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. Do not cry! Do not cry!”

Wheein’s chair scraped across the floor with a whine as she pushed herself up. She took Yongsun by both arms and tugged her up. “Come here,” she said, and pulled her into a hug over the little square dining table. “Everything is going to be fine. Don’t cry, okay?”

Yongsun sniffled a little and nodded. 

Wheein patted her on the head as she let go. With a laugh, she said, “I have to go get ready for tomorrow. I hope you come so Hyejin can stop yelling ‘stupid unnies!’ every time I see her. You know I see her almost every hour, every day right? Aish, what’s with that look? Do you want another hug?”

Wheein stepped around the table and pulled Yongsun into her warm arms. Yongsun bit her quivering lip as she clung to the smaller girl. “No more tears, Yong unnie,” Wheein whispered. “Everything will be fine.”

*

Byulyi stood at the rail of Hyejin’s vessel, overlooking the empty docks below her. It was too early for most sailors, Hyejin included, and she found herself enjoying the tranquility of the morning alone. The moon hung above her and the waves lapped below her to create a familiar symphony. A symphony she had not enjoyed alone in years. It didn’t sound like what she remembered. The salt breeze felt like a slap across her face.

The last three days she spent with her family felt like a blissful illusion, one that faded as soon as she stood on the golden shore, where the image of Yongsun’s still body in the little rusty boat continued to haunt her. She saw it every time she closed her eyes.

Her deathly pale face. Her cracked, cold lips. The salt-crusted black hair across her neck.

She remembered frantically pressing her wrists, her neck, her heart to find her pulse, and calling out her name just to drown in the silence of the ocean. The knots in her stomach made her want to throw up. She remembered rowing with all her might, even when the wind and the currents were against her. She must’ve cried the whole way, but—then again—she must’ve been crying for days.

She absentmindedly ran a thumb over the calluses on her palm. At least Yongsun was safe and sound now.

The crunching of gravel turned her head. Seeing someone approach, Byulyi quickly straightened herself, fixed her clothes, and brushed the negativity out of her hair. She cleared and smiled twice for practice.

“Oi! Hyejinie!” she called down to the dishevelled figure below. “Good morning!”

Hyejin looked up for only a moment, yawned, and pulled the collar of her jacket up. “Too early, unnie. And wipe that stupid grin off your face—you can’t fool me.”

Byulyi jumped onto the wooden pier and lifted her arm in mock salute. “Whatever you say, Captain!” she said with a frown.

Hyejin shook her head and walked off.

She followed Hyejin around as she looked over her fishing boat, neither saying a word unless necessary. The 19-footer looked the same as it always did. The aluminum body still had its dent from that one time Hyejin was impatient when they were docking. Though she hadn’t been away for long, Byulyi still felt a thrill when she pictured their three-man team sailing in the white vessel. She pictured Yongsun standing beside her, gazing up at her with open affection, but she quickly shook the image out of her head. Don’t do this to yourself, she thought sullenly.

As she stood in the middle of the wide deck, she remembered the quiet moments she used to share with Yongsun as they waited. She remembered the way Yongsun would lean into her as they listened to Hyejin and Wheein’s banter, or the way she lit up whenever she came close.

A loud snap by her ear woke her.

“Hey!” Hyejin said, leaning on the side of the boat, “You’re sure you feel ready to get back into it?”

Byulyi slung an arm over Hyejin’s shoulder. “Of course. I feel better than ever. Are you underestimating me?”

“Just don’t want you to suddenly start crying because you miss your Yong unnie or whatever,” Hyejin replied with a smirk. “I’m not going to turn the boat around just for you.”

With a deep exhale, Byulyi extracted herself from Hyejin and threw her back heavily against the rail. “Why did you have to mention her? I’m trying to forget about her.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Can’t you just pity me, Hyejinnie?”

Hyejin rolled her eyes. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the last six days? You guys are really annoying, you know that?”

“Wha—?”

“You obviously like each other, so I don’t understand why you’re both being s about it.”

Byulyi rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not like that.”

Hyejin held up a hand. “Please. I’ve heard that one before.”

“It’s just…I don’t know. It’s my fault, and I don’t really know how to face her.”

“What do you mean?” Hyejin asked with a raised brow. “Why are you taking all the blame? She’s the one who made all those stupid decisions.”

Byulyi exhaled. Again, she could not put it into words. The feeling was clear, but how could she translate it? She recalled her conversation with Wheein on this boat, almost a week ago now, when Yongsun had embarked on her 85th trip. Words always failed her when she needed them the most.

“It’s just my fault. I don’t know. Let’s not talk about this.”

Hyejin ran a hand through her short hair. “This is why you guys get nothing done. For all this drama and angst, you’re probably blaming yourself for not being clear with your feelings and getting her all insecure, or something stupid like that. The funny thing is, she’s probably blaming herself for having feelings or whatever, because she doesn’t think she should. It’s an endless cycle of you two running away from each other because you’re both so damn afraid.”

Byulyi narrowed her eyes as she watched Hyejin talk, watched her hands move with her words, but she could barely comprehend it. Surely there had to be more. There had to be something more complex to what she was feeling.

Look, you got this all wrong, Byulyi wanted to say, but all she did was nod.

“Don’t look so scared, unnie,” Hyejin said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not that hard. Just stop running and—ah, look, there’s Wheeinie.”

Byulyi whipped around at the sound of boots thumping against the boardwalk, and a smile returned at the sight of Wheein slugging toward the boat, too busy yawning to fix the fallen strap of her overalls. They exchanged unenthusiastic waves as Wheein approached.

“Is that all you’re wearing?” Hyejin said with an arch of her brow. “Where is your jacket?”

Wheein looked down at her overalls and short-sleeved T-shirt, obviously wrinkled and slept-in, and groaned, just loud enough to wake the neighbouring houses and scare off several birds nearby.

Hyejin waved her off. “Hurry back. We need to get going.”

Fifteen minutes later, hurried footsteps hit the boardwalk and onto the pier. Byulyi turned, and said, “Yah! You’re late, Whee—”

Byulyi stopped short when she saw Yongsun, with her pink cheeks and tousled hair looking up at her. Her heart clamoured uncomfortably against its cage, but there was nothing she could do to urge it to be normal. Her gaze was intense, and Byulyi didn’t want to look away.

Neither heard the pattering of Wheein’s approach until she gave Yongsun a shove and said, “Let’s go, unnie. Stop gawking or Hyejin will throw you overboard when you least expect it.”

It wasn’t so noticeable when they were preparing for departure, but once they anchored, it was all awkwardness on every front. Wheein and Hyejin stood around uncomfortably, occasionally whispering to each other, while Yongsun, just out of sight from behind of the cabin, and Byulyi occupied opposite ends of the vessel, each rehearsing their own versions of normalcy.

“I’m about to go drown myself in the ocean. Anything is better than this awkwardness. Do you want to come with me, Wheeinie?” Hyejin said, loud enough for all to hear. Byulyi glanced at her, then at the cabin, then at the water.

“Yes. Oh my gods, yes!” Wheein exclaimed. “If I’m going to suffocate anyway, I might as well do it with style.”

Byulyi faked a laugh and shook her head. “Why are you two like this?”

She wasn’t ready yet. Why were Hyejin and Wheein trying to make her?

It was Yongsun who stepped forward from the bow, and tugged at Byulyi’s sleeve. “They’re right, Byulie, we should talk.”

“Good job, Yong unnie!” Hyejin cheered.

Byulyi swallowed. Her hands were getting clammy. She ran them through her hair to buy some time. “Not here," she mumbled.

"Wha--!"

"Relax, Hyejin. Just let them be," Wheein said. Byulyi breathed a sigh of relief.

"But!" Wheein continued, "At least hug it out first."

Byulyi was certain her heart would give out. She watched, in her peripheral, the tips of Yongsun's ear turn pink. She couldn't see her eyes behind the curtain of hair. Perhaps her silence was a good sign. She was rubbing her hand against her arm nervously, her gaze seemingly fixed on the deck.

Byulyi exchanged a look with Hyejin and Wheein, who were waiting, for the first time in their lives, patiently. Hyejin made a sweeping gesture, as if trying to push Byulyi toward Yongsun.

Byulyi bit her lip. She opened her arms.

Yongsun turned, her curls flipping over her shoulder like a crashing wave, and met Byulyi’s uneasy smile with her own. She stepped forward into her arms, and, like clockwork, they sighed into each other’s warmth. Byulyi closed her eyes, dizzy with Yongsun’s scent.

Hyejin and Wheein turned away, barely able to hide their snickering.

Byulyi pulled Yongsun closer, wrapping both arms around her back, holding her like she would dissolve into foam as soon as she let go. Byulyi felt Yongsun’s smile against her shoulder as Yongsun pulled them even closer, until their bodies were pressed so closely that neither could tell their heartbeats apart.

The world suspended around them. An eternity could have passed and neither would have noticed. If only had not Wheein cleared .

They stepped away shyly, stood around, and looked all around them—the sky, the sea, the birds, anywhere—just to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. 

For the rest of the trip, Yongsun and Byulyi found themselves falling into their old pattern. They were silent when they were left alone, though they were happy to joke around with Hyejin and Wheein. They stayed close to each other. A brush of the hand here, a touch of the arm there. Byulyi was even bold enough to tuck a strand of hair behind Yongsun’s ear. She was rewarded with a shy smile, but the tension did not melt away like it used to.

The air was simply overcharged with too many words unsaid.

That day, they caught more than enough fish to make up for the loss of Yongsun’s swordfish. She had watched, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as the crane came down and fish poured into the boat. There was barely room to stand. She stood slightly behind Byulyi, instinctively wrapping her fingers around the younger girl’s arm.

Once they reached shore, almost the entire village met them on the pier, cheering as they disembarked. Yongsun was greeted with a procession of hugs and well-wishes as she stood wide-eyed, unable to process what was happening. Yongsun looked at Hyejin and Wheein, who simply grinned like twin Cheshire cats. Byulyi stood by, stock-still, and confused.

As everyone helped unload the day’s catch into baskets, Yongsun and Byulyi were pulled aside and told, with wagging fingers and shaking heads, not to strain themselves. They took turns crowding around them and firing off every question they had built up over the last week. In her moment of triumph, Yongsun was patient, and she received them with an easy smile. Byulyi enjoyed Yongsun’s presence beside her, and was more than happy to let her do the talking.

At the end of the night, the Moon family received the village into their front yard. Each family brought food and drinks to share, and everyone celebrated with drunken glee. Hyejin and Wheein leapt into the middle of the crowd, two bottles of soju bubbling inside them, and danced, stumbling around and into each other. It wasn’t long before everyone else joined them.

Yongsun and Byulyi stood at the edge, watching the crowd, once in a while turning to each other to share a laugh. They had been refusing drinks all night—Yongsun shivered at the memory of yesterday’s hangover, and Byulyi, seeing Yongsun abstain, followed suit. “No thank you. I am keeping unnie company,” she would say with a toothy grin. But the atmosphere was infectious.

They watched as everyone sang, danced, and laughed. As the night got colder, no one but them seemed to notice. They held hands then, though neither knew who initiated it first. It was the right thing to do.

The moon shone high in the sky by the time everyone began to stumble home. Wheein and Hyejin, with their arms on each other shoulders, sang at the top of their lungs as they wobbled home with their families.

It was Byulyi who suddenly pulled Yongsun aside by the hand at the end of the night, and led her to the cliff’s edge. “Where are we going?” Yongsun asked shyly. The warmth of Byulyi’s hand in hers blossomed through the night, and it was too late to deny her pattering heart.

Byulyi rubbed her eye, but said simply, “The night is still young.”

They had been here before, when things were still comfortable between them. Yongsun often walked Byulyi home, and when Byulyi insisted on spending a few more extra moments with her, they would often dangle their feet off the rocks and hold onto each other for warmth.

The view overlooked the moonlit shore where they often walked, and the waves could be seen crashing against the jutting rocks below. The moon cast a silver shadow on everything it touched—it was an ethereal sight. The night sky was filled with stars, but nature’s beauty couldn’t be farther in Yongsun’s mind as they stood side-by-side.

They held each other’s hand as they each pretended to watch the scenery unfold in slow motion.

Suddenly, an albatross swooped down and landed near them, and Yongsun jolted, pulling her hand from Byulyi’s. Byulyi blinked, her expression crestfallen.

“Unnie,” Byulyi said, shoving her hands into her pocket as she watched her shoes kick a pebble toward the bird. It gave a cry and flapped its wings, clumsily stumbling onto a new rock.

Yongsun breathed a little sigh of relief when Byulyi broke the silence. She turned to Byulyi with a shy smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Byulyi?” she replied.

“I, um,” she looked up then, gave Yongsun a brief glance, and fixed her gaze on the ocean before her. Several birds were circling over the waters. The lone albatross finally flew up to join them. “I…missed you a lot,” she said softly.

“I missed you too, Byul,” Yongsun said. She fumbled with the hem of her shirt. “I’m sorry I put you through that. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of this. I’m sorry I was stupid. I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

Byulyi shook her head. Sneaking a glance at Yongsun, she said, “You were being stupid.”

Yongsun laughed. “Yes, Wheein and Hyejin have told me a thousand times by now.”   

Byulyi met her eyes this time, and smiled. “You did disappoint me, but you can’t blame everything on yourself. I was stupid too.”

“You weren’t. You saved my life.” Yongsun reached out and touched her elbow. She was about to pull away then, unsure whether it was appropriate, but Byulyi took her hand and held it to against her heart. The air was cold, but Byulyi was soft and warm. When Yongsun did not pull back, Byulyi took a step forward. A deep breath. She willed herself not to turn away. She tried to still the trembling in her hands.

“You would not have gone out on your own,” she said, “if I just had the courage to tell you how I feel. But all I did was run from you—I felt so unworthy. So scared. I want to tell you now, so please don’t do this again. I can’t stand the thought of losing you again. I love you too much, Kim Yongsun, and no fish can change how I feel about you.”

Yongsun could not look away, but the instinct to run away was strong. Unaware of Byulyi’s rattling heart beneath her jacket and her dizzying nerves, Yongsun wondered how she could say these things so easily. It was too good to be true, but if it was a lie, she would be better off throwing herself into the ocean, she thought. Byulyi moved her hand and cradled it tenderly against her cheek, and she loved its softness.

Torn, she simply stood. Gaped.

Byulyi frowned. Waited. Blinked. Then, a thought struck her like lightning, and she let her go. “Oh god,” she muttered, throwing her hands up like she had run them through fire, “I’ve made a mistake. I’m so sorry, unnie, I just…ugh, I’m sorry.” She took a step back, and ran a hand over her face. She covered her eyes, hoping against hope that Yongsun did not hear her confession. Why, oh why, did she have to be so clear? She dug the heel of her shoe into the gravel. One pivot, and she could run from all this embarrassment. She began to turn away.

Yongsun grabbed her hand.

Don’t think, Yongsun, she thought to herself. Don’t think…

She pulled her in by the wrist and pressed her lips against Byulyi’s. She intended it to be quick and chaste, just enough to let her know how she felt, but the sensation triggered a fire beneath her: she reached up, cupped her cheeks in both hands, and deepened the kiss.

Suddenly she couldn’t remember why she had been running all this time. She couldn’t remember why she had waited all this time, or why she pretended not to notice how Byulyi felt. Her lips fit perfectly against her own, and nothing else mattered.

When they pulled away, Byulyi’s eyes were glittering, dazed. “It took you long enough, yeba,” she said with a sniffle. “You really scared me, you know that?” She pulled Yongsun in for another quick kiss and wrapped both arms around her, breaking down all the barriers that stood in her way.

Yongsun did the same. Byulyi’s hair smelled like salt. Her touch was soft. Her taste was addictive. In that moment, all she wanted was to be surrounded by these sensations. There was nothing else.

*

On the outermost edges of South Korea’s watery borders dwelt a sleepy village on an island where travellers seldom passed. Its inhabitants worked hard, and lived simply, surrounded by lush green. They lived by the crash and fall of waves against their boats.

At the bottom of the hill, along a dotted row of little white houses, a strange creature built her home. She was no longer alone. Every morning, Kim Yongsun would hear the sounds of her happiness: the rumble of the ocean outside, and a voice.

“Wake up, yeba,” the voice would say.

She would snuggled up, and crack her eyes open to enjoy the moonlight wash over Byulyi’s silhouette.

On a good day, they would hold hands and walk across the shore, enjoying the early morning breeze before anyone else. They would fish in silence beside their best friends, and celebrate the day’s catch with laughter. On a bad day, they would fight over little things and big things, but they would hold hands and walk across the shore. They would count their disappointments and throw them to the wind.

Yongsun thought about the fish from time to time, but no fish could ever have made her happier. No bird, no gold, no treasure could have made her happier, even on the worst of days.

As long as Byulyi took her hand and walked with her, she could move forward and embrace the horizon.

END