For rest of the afternoon, Haute and his undying excitement was the only thing that cracked a smile out of Minho. The greyhound scampered down the aisle, complete in a mini tux attire and a basket in his mouth that held the two rings of the soon to be husband and wife.

Minho kept his eyes from wandering. A dull feeling sitting in his stomach when the little girl he saw during his walk trailed shyly past him, her small fingers stretching out to let go of white coloured petals one after the other along the length of the aisle.  

Calla. It was a beautiful name, he remembered agreeing silently when she looked at him with wistful hope in her eyes. Yet it sent a pang to his chest while it rung in his head, her voice dripping in a different note that outgrew the one he came to know. But she was the same person, the same one that laughed at his awful jokes, the same one that jumped to the back of his pickup truck; love struck teenagers chasing shooting stars until dawn.

Back then he never said anything about wanting a kid of his own.

Would it still be Calla if the little girl were his?

The thought clawed him, cursing to himself for the bitterness he had the nerve to feel. Somewhat betrayed that she’d name her daughter with a name she gushed to him so keenly, as if it was a secret he only had the privilege to know.

“You two met didn’t you?” Taehyun asked, taking his seat beside Minho casually.

Minho turned to see the same placid expression that lingered in his friend’s voice. His eyes drifted to the silver band wrapped around Taehyun’s ring finger, wondering why it bothered him that Taehyun, the one that he synchronized best with, finally settled down.

For as long as he could remember, Taehyun was a free soul. The kid with the droopy eyebrows and signature parted hair was also too busy with local band gigs, or cooped up in his garage reeking of paint oil and turpentine solution. He’d grown his hair out, tied in a little bun that complimented sharp, delicate features. A new set of quirky tattoos decorated his pale skin, something else that added to the heaping pile of new memories Minho had missed out on.  

“Yeah, just for a bit.” Minho confessed quietly, unable to hold eye contact.

“Figures.” Taehyun shrugs, “You have the same look on your face the last time you were here.”

When Minho glanced at him, Taehyun was looking over to the wooden platform, newly occupied with fellow guests who scurried zealously to join in the first dance.

“What look exactly?”

“Like you just lost a damn war.” Taehyun responded, looking at Minho like he was sorry.

“I’m fine, Tae.” Minho was quick to look away, unsure if Taehyun’s knack for over-analyzing was necessary. He was the one that was blunt enough to hit Minho with the hard truth after all, how it was cruel of him to give a false sense of security into a dead end relationship.

“You’re not fine, hyung. You’ve never been fine when it comes to her, you just gotta lot of pride in that head of yours to ever admit it.”

“Taehyun.” Minho braced, eyes fluttering shut for a split second, “It’s been fourteen years. I’m fine.”

“Right, and everyone’s moved on.”

The two friends knew that Minho hadn’t. Each one of Taehyun’s words pricked him, even more so when Taehyun could read him like an open book.

“You need to move on, hyung. You need to.” Taehyun continued, eyeing Minho who’d leaned forward for the glass of wine and gulped the drink in one go.

It dawned on Minho that he never felt like it was over, really over, until now. The kind of crushing realization that struck him all at once, all fourteen years worth. It hit him too late, convinced that coming back here was a mistake. There was remorse and there was anger, a myriad of feelings that made him wring his fingers together and hang his head low.

He had to remind himself to ease up on the alcohol; there had been more than enough regrets to drown him alive. Besides, it was supposed to be Seunghoon’s big day, a heartwarming occasion that spared no space for drunken stupors that Minho could easily ignite at this point.

It was easier said than done when she came into his line of sight, a carefree smile tugging at her lips with the same adoration in her eyes back when they were eighteen, only this time it wasn’t him she was looking at. Minho shouldn’t have, the way the moment seemed too intimate but he couldn’t look away.

She fixed her husband’s crooked bow tie before running her hand down to his chest, the other wrapped around his fingers as the moved against the slow jazz in the background. Minho swore the waves nearby were crashing in.

Oh, Jihoon? He owns a law firm, Jinwoo informed while they lounged around like the good old days. At least Minho had imagined it to be, yet the longer he tried to make sense of unfamiliar stories he didn’t recognize the more he drifted out of the loop. It was the mention of the man’s name that spurred his interest to which he now could put a face to.  

Much to Minho’s dismay, Jihoon looked overly friendly, soft and comforting. The kind that walks around with a smile brighter than the sun; the kind that your in laws would fall in love with without even trying. They met in college, Jinwoo went on.

Of course they did.

They were nothing alike but Minho wondered if she saw parts of himself in Jihoon. If she looked for him in the way he laughed, in the way he held her. Just how Minho had through the broken relationships he had after her, those with names he could barely recall.

Minho looked for her in everyone he met.

He exhaled a sharp breath he had held in for too long, running his hands across his thighs before getting to his feet. It ripped him apart seeing the shy smile she buried into his shoulder as they swayed in the midst of dancing bodies.

“Where’re you going?” Taehyun grabbed Minho by the elbow, fully alert.

“Getting another drink.” Minho muttered, blinking lazily as he turned around but Taehyun insisted for him to stay put.

“Hyung, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Yeah.” His jaw rolled in annoyance, jerking his arm away from Taehyun’s iron grip. Yet Minho was still in his right mind and concurred, “I won’t be long.”

His legs felt light, somehow carrying him to the vast parking space of the beach property, enclosed by pine trees that shielded the lingering sunset rays.

Minho was tempted to drive away. The careless nature of the act making him realize how he was the only one that was still stuck. Stuck in a series of memories that people he grew up with had built newer ones upon, ones that meant more than it does to him simply because he wasn’t in it.

Perhaps, it was the darkening sky, or his chaos of a mind that made him jump out of his skin when he almost walked into a man that took Minho a good second to register.

Jihoon.

Something dropped within him, his insides knotting sickly as he stared back at the person’s peculiar features. A pair of wide eyes that almost disappeared when his lips curled upwards to reveal a pleasing gummy smile.

Minho hated how a person could look so sincere. He hated how he was supposed to despise this man before him, one that probably had the purest intentions, and one that was more of a man than he will ever be.

An unspeakable throb pulsed under his skin. The way Calla dozed soundly, cheeks squished against Jihoon’s shoulder as he carried the child with one arm, his free hand intertwined with hers.

It was like staring into a picture perfect family portrait; the one she always wanted.

“This is Minho.”

He snapped her way without missing a beat and their eyes locked, both surprised at the abrupt introduction that they didn’t need.

“Song Minho?” Jihoon has a certain low depth to his voice but it rung with an innocent curiosity that Minho didn’t expect.

Minho wondered why he was still taken over the fact that his name was no longer a stranger amongst everyone in this town.

“Yes, the one I told you about.”

That was when Minho peeled his gaze away from her, unnerved by what Jihoon could possibly know. Everything next seemed to pass by in a blur.

Ah, Minho, I’ve heard lots about you!

Your mother’s waiting for Calla, hon.

I’ll catch you later?

The two of them stood by the empty parking spot, the sound of Jihoon’s car slowly disappeared into the distance allowing the eerie silence to fall upon them once again.

“Do you love him?” Minho asked after a while, without sense and without thought.

He could feel her eyes on his skin when he refused to look at her, not wanting to regret more of what he just foolishly asked.

“Of course. Very much.” She sounded calm and collected, answering like it came naturally for her and Minho found his tongue between his teeth.

“You must hate me.” He said, gathering the courage to face her this time.

She held a vacant expression, the same one Minho still couldn’t pin point. He might have finally deluded himself into thinking that he caught forgiveness weaved beneath her features.

“Don’t be silly.” The ocean’s breeze combed through her hair, hiding the faint smile she breathed out as she finally looked away from him.

“Just…” Minho sighed, “Just be mad, be angry.”

She looked ahead, adjusting the shawl over her shoulders, feeling the evening chill seeping in.

“I was. I was for a very long time.” She said haltingly, “I was angry at you for leaving. I was angry that it was so easy for you. But I never I hated you.”

Minho wanted so much to close in the solid distance that separated them, but he knew that he couldn’t have another man’s wife in his arms. Not in the way it would mean for him to have her pressed against him, enveloped in an embrace that he so badly missed.

“That day, I looked for you. I swear I did.” He said.

“I know, Seunghoon told me.”

“I wanted to say goodbye.”

“I didn’t.” She looked at him then, eyes full of accusation this time and somehow a part of his was relieved.

“I’m sorry.”

She scoffed a small laugh soaked with nostalgia, “You still do that.”

Minho knew exactly what she meant, how she could still pick out his habits, bad and good.

This one was the deadliest.

“What?” He swallowed, silently praying that she’d brush it away, that she’d play pretend back to this new person she failed to fool him with.

“Say you’re sorry when you’re not.” It was as if she read his mind, leaving Minho to run after his futile attempt.

“I am-”

“Don’t.” She sighed, shaking her head with a heavy gaze. “Fourteen years, Minho. And I heard nothing from you. It’s not fair that you get to come back expecting things to be the same way, telling me that it’s nice to see me again, looking at me as if we’re still eighteen. It’s just not fair, Minho.”

“I loved you, you know. I did, I really did.” He resorted to the one thing he promised not to say.

“I know. But we were young and stupid, and naïve.” It didn’t come to her as a surprise, the way her voice remained steady.

“It doesn’t make it any less real.”

“Then why did you make me feel like it wasn’t?”