September 19^th 2028.

It was cloudy overhead, sunlight streamed gently in small erratic bursts from between the clouds, bathing the people occupying the busy streets of Japan in soft light that made them seem like they were glowing before the light subsided once the clouds blocked out the sunlight once again. It was a process that repeated itself over and over again, a mundane one but yet at the same time, a beautiful one. At least, that’s what I think.

I heard the vibration of my phone on the table before the ringing began. I snatched it up when my eyes fell on the caller’s name, answering quickly before the embarrassing ringtone reserved only for him could blare out and surprise the other customers around me.

“Yobosaeyo?”

“Jagiya, when are you coming back? I miss you.”

“I’ll come back when I’m done, silly.” I paused for a beat. “How have you been?”

“I’m dying without you here, that’s how I’ve been. Hurry and come back from Japan—”

Sounds of a scuffle and struggling came crackling through the phone. A yelp and a cheer had me covering my mouth as I tried to stifle the laughter that was threatening to burst forth from my chest.

“Yobosaeyo? Yobosaeyo? Mija?”

“Appa? What did you do to Daeyeol?” I questioned him jokingly.

“Aish. That boyfriend of yours is the most annoying person on this planet,” he rambled on as the protests from Daeyeol became increasingly louder and more desperate. “So you should definitely break up with him as soon as you can!” He concluded, his voice smug and pleased.

“Yah ahjussi!” I heard Daeyeol holler from the background. “Ah! Stop hitting me!”

“Don’t call me an ahjussi!” The laugh burst forth. I covered my mouth and tried in vain to stop it but it was no use, I laughed, loud, unladylike guffaws over their little exchange.

The line had gone silent when my fit of laughter finally subsided. Even Daeyeol had gone quiet. I looked at the screen of my phone curiously. No, the line hadn’t been disconnected. “Appa? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. It’s good hearing you laugh,” his voice was slightly distorted by the static crackling through the receiver but I knew exactly how he must have been feeling. A small, almost despairing smile would grace his lips, it was an expression that I had seen countless of times, much too many times for my liking.

“Appa, I have to go now. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Come back home soon, Mija. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hear faint shouts of ‘Saranghae’ in the background before the line went dead. The beeping tone echoed deafeningly in my ears and I was suddenly engulfed by a wave of unexplainable loneliness. I sighed to myself, dropping the phone onto the table with a loud clatter.

“You have your mother’s smile.”

That was his answer when I first asked Appa for the reason behind his melancholic smiles. It would be a lie if I said I wasn’t crushed, I had only been sixteen at the time. An age much too tender for a father to tell his daughter that her laugh reminds him of his dead wife. All the regrets, all the longing and words that he never said and will never be able to say, I reminded him of them. I know he didn’t mean it that way, but the guilt that befell me had been devastating. Smiling became like a sin, laughing a crime.

I sighed again.

What was I doing in Japan? I’m not too sure myself. I guess I needed to get away. Not from Appa or Daeyeol or anybody else for that matter. Away from myself. Away from the Lee Mija of South Korea. I don’t quite understand it either. But these, phases, as I’ve come to call them, they come along and pounce every now and then, and at the strangest times.

But one thing never changes, as September begins to die, these phases become more and more frequent. Maybe it has something to do with Umma’s death. She died just ten days after my fifth birthday. It’s funny I don’t remember much of it. Of course I remember Umma, I’ll never forget her warm smiles and her love. She was, and still is a part of who I am.

But it's strange that I don’t remember much of the events leading up to her death. Not that I’m blowing my own horn on purpose but I happened to have an excellent recall of memory, which is probably how I ended up becoming a History teacher instead of the pianist that was scribbled on every single ambition form when I was growing up. My very first memory had been of me tumbling out of my cot and onto the cold wooden tiles of my nursery room. I winced as the sensation of my body smacking against the floor assaulted me. It’s not a memory I liked to dig up and bask in. I had been two when that happened.

So it’s mind-boggling, or should I say, immensely irritating that I can’t remember that particular period of time in my life. I was already five then! How is it that I can remember things from when I was two but I can’t even produce the slightest recollection of a memory when I was five?!

I drummed my fingers on the table violently, feeling rather murderous at the moment as my irritation continued to build up rapidly. I in a deep breath and let it out slowly, my method for calming myself when it felt like I was going to explode from all the emotions swirling in me. It’s pretty effective and I used it often, like when Daeyeol’s nagging at me or when Appa’s nagging at me…

I glanced at the silver ring on my right index finger. The pink stone glimmered against the sunlight, giving off haphazard rays of light from every angle the light hit it. This was the last present I received from Umma, before she died in that car accident that day. I treasured it more than anything else in my life. The original ring had become too small for my growing fingers so I had it replaced, but it was the same pink stone from seventeen years ago. I thought I had lost it once when it slipped off my finger and down the sink. I cried so much that day, thinking that it was gone forever. But Appa had rescued the ring for me, dropping it into the palm of my hand and muttering under his breath about how he didn’t get one. I chuckled at the memory. Appa was always like that, getting jealous so easily. Looking at the ring dispelled any unpleasant feelings I was experiencing from before.

I missed her. I missed her to death. Umma. She was such a kind soul, so caring and loving. Why did she have to leave so soon? Why did she leave Appa to suffer in pain alone? Why did she force him to make that promise when she knows that he’ll never be able to be happy without her? Did she really think that their love would just disappear over a few words? Over some stupid promise? If she did, then as much as I love and respect her, she was a fool.

My attention wandered to the table next to mine where a man sat. Thin lips, a tall and sharp nose that was uncommon on this side of the world, eyes, hidden by a curtain of thick lashes. He was wearing a black jacket, the stripes on his grey shirt barely peeking out from underneath all the dark fabric. Black pants and shiny boots completed his outfit. The ensemble was strangely familiar. He looked up and turned his head in my direction, locking eyes with me. A jolt of electricity ran through my veins when our eyes met. He regarded me for a few seconds before tilting his head and smiling. I smiled back, though a little more uncertainly. There was something about this man, something I couldn’t quite put a finger on. His eyes, dark, piercing and unwavering, I’ve seen them before, but where?

I continued to watch him as he scooted out of his chair and threw some cash onto the table. He looked at me again and smiled once more before taking his leave. My eyes fell on the things he left behind. Sitting on the table was a packet of unfinished marshmallow cubes and…

A single white rose in full bloom.

The memories came so suddenly and abruptly that I was knocked back into my chair from the sheer force of them invading my thoughts. Everything flashed by so fast and I could barely make any sense of it, only catching a few pieces here and there. The lights and colours were so vivid and bright that it was almost terrifying. I was panting by the time the memories subsided but my mind was suddenly clear. They had been muddled and hazy, like someone had tampered with them, but I remembered. I didn’t remember who but I remembered what.

“Umma?” The word tumbled out of my mouth without me realizing it. I shot out of my seat and dashed after the mysterious man. My ears were deaf to the angry calls of the shopkeeper, the fact that I haven’t yet paid for my untouched cup of black coffee completely forgotten. There was only one goal in my mind.

“Yah! Wait! Wait!” I yelled out after the man, but he either ignored my calls or couldn't hear them. I had a strong suspicion that it was the former.

I tried pushing against the crowd but it was no use. One girl stood no chance against a sea of people. But the man had disappeared into the crowd so effortlessly, maneuvering his way through the throng of people until he too, disappeared from my line of sight, merely another face in the many other faces I saw. I finally burst through the crowd to the other side, finding myself standing at the entrance of a playground. I raked the small playground with my eyes, searching frantically, breathing hard and fast. I was so sure; there was no doubt about it.

I glanced at the flower I had snatched up from the table before chasing after him. The white rose bloomed proudly, its petals a perfect shade of snow white, not a single blemish in sight. The stem was smooth and flawless with no sign of any clippings. A thornless, pure white rose. This was his signature. The signature of the man who left a bouquet of seven white roses on Umma’s grave every year.

I looked up again and scanned my surroundings. But he was gone. The ghost of his smile haunted me, seared into my mind’s eye.

A wry, crooked smile.

“Oppa…?”