Jihyo loved the silence.

She inhaled deeply, relishing in the fresh coolness of the air around her. She was sitting in the neighborhood park, on a wooden bench placed in an obscure corner. This was her sanctuary, a place for her to escape to whenever the stress of work got to her head.

At the hospital where she worked, there was hardly ever a moment of silence. And even when there was, it was not the good kind. In an environment where everyone was bustling around in a hurry, the silence was dreaded. It was an impure kind of silence- sudden, fleeting, sullied by the monotonous beep of the electrocardiogram machine. it only emerged in the emergency room for a mere second, taking away a piece of her soul as she stared at the lifeless person on the bed. Then came the anguished crying of the relatives, shouting for their beloved to come back, to continue breathing, to open their eyes. Of course, they never did.

This particular silence suffocated her. Being a nurse registered for intensive care unit, she was subject to the chaotic struggle for life on a daily basis; naturally, a battle could not be won every time. In fact, the side of life suffered more losses than wins, and even when it did win, there was little glory, knowing the next battle was bound to come sooner or later.

Being an extra-emotional person, Jihyo tried her damnedest not to get attached with anyone, knowing she would not be able to endure the pain when they passed. Still, the duress of work gradually gnawed at her, killing her inside. One of the few things that kept her going was her private time at the park at night, where she could let go of her worries and simply enjoy the serenity of the surroundings. That was why she had taken to go out here every few days, only skipping out when the work division decided otherwise.

Tonight however, she was not alone. As she reached her normal spot, she was surprised to see it occupied- a young girl, no more than 20, was sitting on the far left of the long bench, reclining against it as she looked at the starry sky. The overhead lamppost illuminated her graceful features- lithe body, porcelain skin, and silky brown hair that seemed almost weightless.

Jihyo had half a mind to turn on her heels and leave, but the girl finally noticed the presence of another person. If she was startled, she did not show it. She merely stared with large unblinking eyes, tilting her head slightly to the side. She was curious, and so was Jihyo.

She decided to mirror the look, tilting her own head to match the sitting girl’s. They both chuckled a bit at their little showdown, and Jihyo decided against leaving.

And thus began their nightly meetings: reaching the same spot at more or less the same time, exchanging minimal amount of greetings, then sitting in silence with their respective thoughts until either of them got sleepy and left.

_____

There are times when the girl left alone. Other times, she was picked up by her caretaker. It was a gentle-looking elderly woman, dressed in a maid dress, who always called out for Tzuyu in a slow, quiet tone.

“Come, Tzuyu-ah, let’s get you home.”

As Tzuyu- whose name was now known to Jihyo- slowly stood up and followed the woman home, she looked back and waved goodbye. It was the slightest of waves; the girl did not move so much as three fingers, yet Jihyo could feel the warmth from the gesture.

See you later.

With that she headed off, the caretaker in tow.

Suddenly, solitary silence did not feel as comfortable as it should have been.

_____

Jihyo was walking towards their spot one day when she heard music. It was strange, hearing a melody take over the silence.

As the nurse reached her destination, she beheld an angel with a violin. That night, Tzuyu was dressed in a pure white dress that was almost incandescent under the moonlight, her long flowing brown tresses resting on the exposed shoulder. Her skintone, normally perceived by others as pale and borderline sickly, was of the most immaculate whiteness in Jihyo’s eyes.

Tzuyu must have anticipated her presence, as she did not seem troubled at all when she saw Jihyo appear in the corner of her eyes. She continued to play the violin with even heightened concentration.

The song, Jihyo noticed, was a particularly sad one. The melody swept her away as each note continued to strike her heart with a profound sense of melancholy. It filled the air without effort, rushing to fill the atmosphere with its slow tempo. It swam further to her soul, diving deep within her like an unstoppable tidal wave, clinging to her like a lost lover, promising to not let go.

Was Tzuyu playing it for her? There was never anyone else here but them; she was trying to send her a message. But why this song? A song filled with too much heartache... was that what she's feeling?

As she struck the last note and the music came to a stop, Tzuyu took a shy bow to Jihyo, who snapped out of her trance and clapped wholeheartedly. She looked up at the smitten nurse, her eyes dancing with mirth and pride.

For many years later, Jihyo spent her meager spare time searching for the song. It had become a drug to her, she was hopelessly addicted.

_____

One day, for no particular reason, Jihyo showed up at their usual spot wearing a new shirt. It was pink and flowery. It complimented her figures, and she felt pretty in it.  She approached the bench where Tzuyu was and did a little twirl.

Apparently Tzuyu loved it too, as she widened her eyes and grinned widely, revealing a cute dimple on her left cheek