By day, Chaeyoung paints landscapes. The sun rises, and Chaeyoung is there recreating her view. Every nook of the Italian countryside is gorgeous, and Chaeyoung fills dozens of canvases with her everyday life. Some days she puts oil pastel in her hands and goes crazy, filling a canvas with bursting colours, not stopping until her fingertips are stained with reds, pinks, greens.

Her subject changes every day, but the idea stays the same. It’s just Chaeyoung, her palette, and whatever wide-sweeping area she’s chosen to paint that day. It’s a cycle: she wakes up, moves her easel to what she’s painting, and begins. She stays there until dinnertime, most days.

But by night, all she paints is Mina. Mina, the sweet girl who lives next door and keeps chickens and brought Chaeyoung a basket of fresh eggs the first day she moved in. Chaeyoung had smiled, thanked her, and invited her in.

That’s when this whole thing had begun.

They ate lunch together, sunlight streaming over Mina’s bright hair. Looking back, it passes in snapshots for Chaeyoung – their legs brushing under the table, Mina’s laughter falling like raindrops, a brush of a warm hand over cool knuckles. Chaeyoung smiles for the first time in what feels like years. It hits her, how lonely she’s been.

That night, Chaeyoung stays up with the stars. She paints and paints and paints, filling canvas upon canvas with this sunshine girl. She doesn’t just paint portraits. She details Mina’s eyes, makes a sunset out of her hair, constellations out of her moles. Mina is everywhere, however, filling her tiny workroom, her mind, her heart, and her deft fingertips. Chaeyoung uses up all of her orange paint.

When Mina comes over the next day for breakfast, she questions Chaeyoung when she yawns. Chaeyoung pulls her up by the wrist, and leads her to the back of the house, into the tiny workroom. Mina’s eyes widen as she sees her own face shine back at her, but she doesn’t look at them for too long. Instead, Mina whirls around, places her hand around Chaeyoung’s face, and firmly kisses her on the lips.

Chaeyoung thinks it’s crazy. She thinks it’s absolutely insane, kissing this girl who she just met yesterday, feeling something for her. However, these thoughts flee her mind as Mina kisses her deeply, and grasps her hair, and then suddenly, they’re in her room, and there’s no room for thinking.

Mina, who always stays and eats breakfast at Chaeyoung’s small table, and interlaces their fingers.

“If you don’t want this to be a serious thing, that’s fine.”  Mina says, and while Chaeyoung freezes, she’s up, and gone. By the time Chaeyoung realizes what’s just happened and runs to the door, Mina is gone and her lights are off.

Hands shaking, Chaeyoung painstakingly paints dozens of flowers onto an envelope. They’re tiny, and she’s smudging a ton, but she’s still reeling from Mina leaving. Much to the contrary of what’s thought of her, Chaeyoung’s awful at speaking. She stutters, she messes up, she mispronounces. In the moment, she freezes. She lets the girl who’s been kissing her senseless for weeks go. Chaeyoung’s much, much better with writing. That’s why she’s been painting flowers for the last 40 minutes. Not so much for the envelope, but for the letter inside it.

… I don’t know how I managed to make you think that this means nothing to me. Mina, dearest Mina, how can I explain that this is everything to me? You are everything. You’re extraordinary, from top to bottom, and was pulled into your sphere the moment I laid eyes on you. Forgive my obtuseness, my insecurity. I only ever meant to make you comfortable.

Mina. I want this to be serious.

Be my girlfriend?

love,

Chaeyoung.

She slides it under Mina’s door, and sits down on the stoop. One of the chickens come out and squawks at her, and she gives it a smile. After a while, it occurs to her that maybe she should knock, hour of day be damned. When she turns around, the letter is gone.

Chaeyoung blinks once, twice, and then, quite predictably, the door is flung open.

Mina’s crying. She cries a lot, Chaeyoung’s seen her weep more times than she can count, but still, it hits her in her gut. She doesn’t have much time to ponder it, however, as Mina all but throws herself at Chaeyoung.

“Yes,” She gasps, hiccupping, “I’ll be your girlfriend, Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left.”

Chaeyoung holds her tighter, grateful for the feeling of Mina in her arms.