Kyungsoo:

The door makes a soft click as she pushes it closed. I stand to the side and wait for her out of politeness. She takes off her shoes and I can't help but notice how small her feet were; they looked so delicate. She slipped on her house slippers and apologized.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid my spare house shoes won't fit your feet."

I nod my head. "Don't worry about it, I've got socks on."

I take off my shoes and place them next to hers. She gestures toward her couch and asks me to sit down. I watch for a short minute as she walks away, leaving me in the doorway by myself. It feels strange to be in someone else's home, but I couldn't turn her down after she asked to make tea for me. I'm not sure why I couldn't do it, but when I step into the main room and look around, I'm taken aback. I found myself standiing in the middle of the floor, looking like a fool, gawking at the images in her home. At first, it was just curiosity, as it was strange for someone to have so many paintings of birds in their home. However, my curiosity grew into genuine interest when I noticed an eisel by the window. The window was small, and it was the only one in the room, letting a thin, rectangular beam of light in, casting a shadow of the tree branches hanging in its view on the floor. On her eisel, sat a charming little painting, almost finished, it seemed, of a bird. Her voice broke me from my stare.

"Ah, you want to know about my paintings?"

I hesitantly pull my attention away from the window and meet her gaze.

"I love birds. It's all I'm ever interested in painting. My father used to scold me for sitting infront of the canvas all day, because I would actually forget to take care of myself. I was too engrossed in it." She wiped her hands off with a dish towel she'd carried in from her kitchen and I could hear the flame from her gas stove humming as it warmed the kettle. Her voice was gentle and reminiscent. "Even though he used to scold me for it... He loved my paintings."

She held out her hand, offering for me to take a seat a second time. "Please. The tea should be finished soon."

I watched her walk back into the kitchen, noting her quiet foosteps. It was then that I realized an ironic connection. Goo Yoora is like the birds she paints, petite, colorful, and delicate. Her light complexion and long black hair that she wore down, reaching to the small of her back, made her look like a porcelain doll. Her hair was straight, with a silky sheen that made it seem like her head had never seen a of wind, as though she'd been kept in a box, like a collectors item. I sat down slowly, unable to take my eyes off of her. Observing her while she reached above her head, shifting through items in the cabinets,

I realized I'd been staring. I quickly became frustrated with myself, I knew it was wrong to allow myself to feel such a strong attraction to this woman, but I didn't want to look away. I didn't want to feel any different. I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to know everything; and I hated myself for it.

Precious memories of my daughter seeped into my thoughts, and made me blind to my surroundings. Her smiling face appeared in front of me, clear and bright. I swallowed hard and held back the urge to embrace her. I knew she wasn't real. It was only my imagination, bringing her to me to torture me. In times like these I'm my own worst enemy. The pain of losing the apple of my eye had changed me and I swore never to make the same mistake again.

Do Kyungsoo. Stay away from Goo Yoora. For her.

"Excuse me. Are you alright?"

I blinked hard and the image that haunted me disappeared as I was faced with reality. My eyes met the eyes of the woman infront of me, holding two teacups, one in each hand.

"Yes.", I barely managed to voice the word through my dry throat.

She handed me a cup of tea and I accepted it with both hands.

"Thank you."

She smiled, her almond shaped eyes turning upward as she opened to continue speaking. "You seem uncomfortable. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I'm plenty good at filling the silence."

The slight giggle in her speech was charming, and I felt tug threatening to pull at my lips.

"You almost smiled. I haven't seen you do that yet. Do you ever smile?"

She sat patiently as she waited for my response. The silence was uncomfortable and I found myself feeling self-conscious.

"I guess you're an off-limits topic..."

Her words drifted off in thought, and she drew in a sharp breath as she started again.

"I bet it's awfully odd to a stranger... My paintings, that is. I don't always paint birds, I just really like them. When I was a little girl, I spent a lot of time alone at home. I was homeschooled because of my illness. I know you're probably curious about my sickness after today. Most people just assume I have asthma and think I'm overreacting..."

I looked at her closely, listening to her speak and enjoying her heavy country-side accent.

"Either that or they overreact. I don't really like it when people treat me differently when they find out what's wrong with me. I used to beg my father to let me go to school because I wanted to be like the other children in the village, but in my heart I knew it was painful for him when I would ask for things he couldn't give me, so I stopped begging, and I forced myself to accept the loneliness."

"I hated it so much, and resented myself for being sick, but when I turned 12, my father hired a hand and his son to help out with some of the farm's upkeep. The farmhand's son was 2 years older than me, and we really didn't get along at first. He loved to tease me and taunt me, by playing and doing things I couldn't do, like splashing in the rain while I watched from inside or chasing the chickens. But when his father passed away, my father took him in and we became closer. He wasn't the same boy that he was before his father's death, though, and I missed him, even if he was a little bit of a snot."

She laughed and wiped the back of her hand against her cheek, drying the tear that fell from her eye. I sipped on my tea and watched her tea sit still on the table, untouched. A ring of condensation had formed around the base of the cup and I knew that she'd forgotten about it. She was deep in an other time, remembering someone she loved, as I had just been doing before.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start crying."

She in through her teeth and worked to compose herself.

"Anyways, he loved to play with his father's binoculars, and told me about how his father loved to watch birds. He gave them to me as a birthday gift shortly after his father died because he couldn't stand to use them anymore. Originally, I think it was just a way for him to bury the pain, but he told me one day that he was glad he'd given them to me, because it was comforting to see me using them as a door to the outside world when he knew how much I hated having to stay inside when I was unwell. It made him feel like he'd done something good. I started painting later on, after he'd left to go to college."

We sat in silence for a few mintues, sipping somberly on our now luke-warm tea. I opened my mouth as I began to speak, but she suddenly lifted her eyelids as she look away from her teacup and stood abruptly.

"Thank you for keeping me company. I hope the tea was to your liking. I feel like I actually got more out of this visit than you did."

She laughed, her cheeks red and her smile genuine. I set down my tea and pushed myself up from the couch.

"No.", I said.

She tilted her head, her eyes confused, but blinking with curiosity.

"Hm?"

"I mean, I enjoyed listening to your story, Miss Goo Yoora. Thank you."

A soft tap sounded as her teacup touched the table carefully.

"Ah. Yes. I'll see you out, then."

I bowed to her.

"No need. I'm alright. Goodbye."