“Mum, I’m fine.” Nabi says on the phone, putting all her stuff at the back seat of her car including her guitar bag, her backpack, and her huge water jug. “I’m just going back to Dad’s hometown, that’s all. I’ll spend the day there or maybe two, I’m not sure but I promise I’ll be back right after it.”

“Honey, it’s your birthday tomorrow, for goodness sake. Are you planning to spend your birthday alone?”

The daughter sighs, shutting the door. Her tongue slides on the inside of her cheek before answering, “Frankly, yes.”

“Oh.” Nabi’s mother huffs, devastated. “How did we get to this stage?”

“I don’t know.” She murmurs but truthfully to her, the answer is crystal clear. Maybe, if her mother spent more time with her than she did with her work, then perhaps, they have a better relationship than the one they have now, she thought. But of course, she isn’t going to say that. How can she, when she doesn’t even remember talking to her Mum for longer than ten minutes? Moments still come when she wonders if her mother really cares about her, or is she just a mere obligation?

It’s strange if she’s asked. She doesn’t hate her mother but she merely feels any connection with her. It’s like if she wasn’t her mother, she wouldn’t even know who she really is or more specifically, who they are to each other.

“Do you hate me, sweetie?” Her mother asks, apprehensive at the answer she might hear from her. She isn’t oblivious to what her daughter probably thinks of her. It’s just that, she doesn’t know how act around her at times.

“Mum,” She calls, “I don’t. I don’t hate you.” She says truthfully. She’s her Mum after all. She knows she loves her. She isn’t really just sure how she’s meant to talk and actually communicate with her. It feels awkward. It feels off.

“Be careful, okay?” She reminds, like how a typical worried mother would. “Please don’t do anything that will harm you like that again.”

Nabi heaves a heavier sigh through her nose. “I told you, Mum. That was just an accident and it’s never going to happen again. I did not even plan doing that.”

“Alright.” Her mother gives in. She really doesn’t want to add more friction and tension between them. Especially now that she’s trying to mend their relationship together. “Be back safe and sound, you hear me?”

Hopping into the driver seat, the daughter assures. “Yes, I will.”

“Be careful, okay?”

She hums.

“I love you.”

Nabi hums again before hanging up the phone call.

Then, she scrolls through her device and opens her GPS, entering her destination. With the its prompt, she drives off, ready to take on the escape she’s been yearning to have for a long time. Two hours before midnight, she decides to stop over at a convenience store at the gas station to buy food, drinks and everything she sees she’ll feel like getting.

Entering the isles, she takes two, three, no four, actually six large packets of chips, three bars of chocolate, two packs of lollies, chewing gums, three cans of energy drinks, four cans of beer, two 1L bottles of water and a medium sized bag of ice, all put inside the two baskets. After the quick shopping of impulse, she shoves it all on the counter, only to receive a judging look from the clerk.

Nabi raises her eyebrow at her, waiting for any judgemental remark. She did not wait for nothing when she hears her question, “Runaway, huh?”

“None of your business, really.” She mutters lowly, and just waits for the nosy clerk to punch everything she got into the register and then pay so she can finally leave.

After less than five minutes, she carries all the bags of the items she bought, shoving it once again at the back seat of her car. Then, she grabs her backpack and fishes out her water jug and one packet of the large chip she got, placing it on the front passenger seat. She tears open the ice bag, inserting the frozen liquid into the open large water jug and uncaps one of the one litre water bottle, pouring it all into the other container. She screws it closed safely. While at the very location, she decides to fill her car’s tank full so she doesn’t have to worry about it for the time being. When she’s done, all good and paid, she drives off again, playing her favourite playlist of mellow pop songs.

As she cruises down the road, she drinks gulps of water at the stop light and opens her large packet of chips. With the traffic light green, she accelerates again and continues to munch and munch the junk food until she decides to make a stopover, four hours later.

She decides to take a good ninety minute dress before driving off again for another an hour and half. At the hour of sunrise, she makes stopover at the roadside, along the highway, above ocean, where she can get to see the picturesque view of the calm beach with its little wave, its silken sand and the rocks surrounding.

She snatches her bag and places it over the hood of his car, getting the triangular kimbap she got from the fridge of her mother’s house. It’s funny as she thinks about it. The house she once considered home is now once again just a house, a structure. She peels it open and takes a bite as she leans against her car to watch the sun rise from its horizon. She takes another bite, and then another bite, and another and another until two bites are left that she can stuff in at once, if she really wants to.

Feeling thirsty, she stands on her feet and grabs her water jug that is still cool from the front seat. She screws the lid loose as she holds it between her rib and arm. She walks back to her previous spot and places the kimbap over her bag and swills the tasteless liquid down with her two hands. Drinking a quarter of what’s left, she closes it again and puts it down. She takes her unfinished food back to her hand and chews the remaining of it.

As the sun rises, she takes a deep breath and greets herself, “Happy Birthday, Nabi.” She smiles sadly. “Happy 20th Birthday, Yoo Nabi.” Ever since her father died, she never liked celebrating her birthday anymore. She was only fond of it because she had her Dad to celebrate with. But now, not anymore. It seems like all her birthdays will forever be meaningless and now matter how empty her heart feels, she has to deal with it.

With a full stomach, she grabs her bag and shoves it back where it was and walks around to climb into the driving seat. She drives off again, joining in the light traffic of the long road. By the stop light, she turns to the back, snatching a chocolate bar from the shopping bag to eat whilst driving. She steps on the accelerator as the light turns green, having her next stop by the field of beautiful flowers spread through the landscape. She parks her car and gets off, taking just her phone and guitar bag. Being early in the morning and having a cold weather, not a lot of people aren’t out of their homes, which means peace and quietness to her. There is one person jogging, but barely notices her presence. She likes it.

Nabi goes through, within and between the flowers with the path people have already made by walking on them. She doesn’t stop until she is satisfied with the distance she has from her point to her car. She makes sure she is many meters far from the main road that she can barely see her vehicle. It is the only way she can ensure that it minimises the chances of people seeing and noticing her.

She takes her guitar and its guitar pick out of the bag and sits down. She gets her earphones out of her pockets and plugs the jack to her phone and the buds to her ear. Positioning the body of the guitar over her thigh, the arm of the hand that’s holding the plectrum over the guitar, she adjusts the turners with her other hand and after, she puts its fingers on its neck ready to play the chords.

She strums the strings, playing in sync with the music she’s hearing through her hears, appreciating the beautiful and fascinating view before her eyes. Then, the memory she has of her late father walks through inside her mind. Reminiscing the times where they used to simply jam at many songs they covered or have composed.

Despite inheriting her father’s talent, Nabi has never let anyone hear her soulful and heartwarming voice— not her friends, her mother or anyone. Of course, her father is an exception. No one has heard of her voice apart from him, the air, her guitar and the immobile items around her.

Continuing to play, she hums and closes her eyes, recalling all the pictures of the time her and her father spent. Then, she lays on her back, legs crossed over each other. She doesn’t stop playing the instrument until sleep found its way to her.

Twenty minutes later, she wakes up with a breath of fresh air. She smiles at the cool breeze, grazing over her exposed skin. Loving the temperature that hugs her despite laying bare on the ground. Her hand grips back on the neck of the guitar, pressing her fingers again to the strings to play. She knows guitars like the back of her hand, having it the only instrument she plays other than the piano.

Looking around. she sits on her bottom. When she sees that she is very much alone in the area, she picks her phone up and searches for the song she recorded when her father was still alive. It is the song he always sang for his wife on every morning of the day of their anniversary. It is the classic song, Can’t help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley.

Closing her eyes, her fingers are quick to find the chords. Nabi strums with the guitar pick, beginning to play the beautiful melody. Then, with mind of no else around, she starts to sing the lyrics with her heart and soul, pouring every emotion. The tune and music from her voice naturally comes out as she recalls and pictures every image of all the anniversary mornings of her parents. The times her father will sing for his wife as she, the little daughter walks in with a tray of food for breakfast in bed. She won’t forget how her mother would always wake up with a sweet smile on her face as she sits, listening carefully to her husband play the guitar and sing their favourite song together.

A smiles grazes her lips upon finishing the chorus. She opens her eyes, ready to sing the second verse only to realise the presence of another person, sitting a metre away from to her left. Her fingers stop playing in instinct, gaping at the figure, clearly stunned at the sight. She isn’t alone after all. How long has it been, she wonders.

She takes a good look of the physique as she takes off her earphones, pressing the pause button. He’s sitting down, in a comfortable posture — his knees bent, leaving a good distance between his bottom and heels. A headphone is placed around his neck. He’s wearing a black waxed cotton jacket over his black hoodie with black jeans and classic sneakers. A mask is over his mouth, lying just under his nose and over his philtrum. She has been scrutinising him that she hasn’t noticed the man’s head is turned looking at her with wide eyes filled with slight guilt.

As their gazes meet, the male explains himself, taking off his mask. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Nabi cuts him off. “It’s okay.” She pauses. “Don’t worry about it.” She says nonchalantly. She looks away and shifts to get up, ready to leave when she hears him speak again.

“Please don’t leave.” He requests. The lady wonders if she heard panic in his tone so she looks at him carefully. “Please don’t leave just because I’m here.”

She doesn’t utter a word. She remains silent.

“If it helps, you can just pretend I’m not here.” He suggests, hoping to convince her to stay.

Nabi continues to stare at him.

“I’ll put my headphones back if it bothers you that I’m l