Rena.

      Years ago, as the top two music students of our high school, we had competed against each other for the senior year scholarship for musical talent. Out of desperation and stress, I wasn’t able to compose anything useful for the upcoming showcase. On the last day, while I was bringing Aunt Sung my mother’s mung bean dish, I had caught a glimpse of Rena’s score for the recital, and with the adrenaline from competition rushing over my head—I snatched it and scurried out of the house.

      She found out, and she wasn’t willing to let me win shoddily without a fight: she played the song regardless, score or no score.

      I did, too and accompanied with my own lyrics to go with the melody.

      And I won—I was given the award which would then be used to fund my early trainee days at SM Entertainment. That one music score allowed me to attain all my wildest dreams.

      Despite the success that somebody else’s work gave me, I could hardly remember who Rena was until she played that fateful song again today. Now, after all these years, I saw that karma came back around to get me. In a way, the fact that I was bathed in scandal and infamy was a punishment for the crime I committed years ago.  

      That night, with the antiquated guilt sprouting in my mind like wild grass, I tossed and turned in the creaky wooden bed. The thought of Rena being right in the next room further provoked the monster that was insomnia.  

 

      The next morning, while our mothers conversed over pancakes and fresh maple syrup, Rena sat across from me and ate in perfect silence. The food was delicious and appealing in every way, yet I wasn’t sure where I could set my eyes. She never spoke to me—not even the night before, when my dramatic clapping had taken her off guard—then she left without a word.

      Aunt Sung apologized for Rena’s silence, and I was ashamed to be on the receiving end. I was the one who should apologize, after all.

      A little part of me hoped that she had forgotten me because it had been nearly eight years since we competed for the absurd award. Maybe, unlike me, she wasn’t magnifying the dark blot from the past in her head. Thankfully, the rest of the morning was spent outside the house with a long walk in the woods with my mother.

      After the conversationless lunch, I brought the dishes to the sink as Rena put on rubber gloves and soaped the ceramic kitchenware. The crisp clatters of dishes had such a sharp contrast against the white silence that I felt obligated to break the ice.  

      As she stacked the dishes into the dryer, I walked up to where she stood and dumbly held out my hand, “Hi, I’m Jaejoong.”

      She scrutinized me with an indecipherable expression. “I know.” She closed the dryer and turned to press a few buttons, “You are Kim Jaejoong.”

      I wet my lips nervously. So she did know who I was. For a second I was relieved because she had said nothing more about the past; but her subsequent words harshly shattered any illusion.

      “You are the Kim Jaejoong who took my score and played the same song at the scholarship showcase,” her voice chimed like ice cubes against the glass; she was half-smiling. “I remember you.”

      Instantly, my face burned with shame. When I looked back to her again, she was beaming cheerfully like she had just told a joke to an old friend.

      I fumbled for the right words, “You still play that song?”

      “Of course. Just because you stole my spotlight once, I’m not letting you own the song.”

      “Look, I’m sorry,” I apologized sheepishly. “For the record, you still played it better than I ever could, even after all these years.”

      “Really.” She murmured, wiping her hands with a clean towel. “Well then, why don’t you play it for me once more? We will be our own judges this time.”

      I eyed her warily, skeptical of the eerie diplomacy.

      “I’m serious.” She answered my unspoken doubts and led me through the archway to the den. She motioned towards the bench and sat me down. It started to drizzle outside, and the pattering of the rain accompanied her soft voice. “I want to hear you sing.”

      I shot her a puzzled look.

      “It’s called Wasurenaide, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you forgot already.”

      “How did you...”

     She winked and sat down beside me as if we were never enemies. “I keep up with Korean gossip enough to know your tracks.” I winced, again, ashamed of the plagiarism I’d committed immediately after thievery. I expected a stinging comment follow, but when I looked back at her again, she was looking back with an expectant and genuine expression.

      “Go on,” she said. “I’m a fair judge, you’ll see.”

      Taking a deep breath, the qualm stirring inside calmed. For the first time since the lawsuit, I felt a sincere desire to play and sing again.

      A silver glow cast across the keyboard, and my fingers began to retrace those familiar notes. As my hand glided down the glossy piano keys, I began to harmonize along with the piece, intoning the words that I had buried in the most sacred corner in my mind...

     

      I sit on my bed and think of you

      It’s alright even if I can’t see you

      I miss you, but just this feeling is enough

      I’m right here, don’t forget me…

 

      She didn’t clap when the piece finishes with a final, subdued wasurenaide.

      I wasn’t speaking either. For the first time in months, it felt okay to share this precious piece aloud again. For a solid moment, the only din was the quiet dripping of the rain pattering against the window.

      “I’m glad it wasn’t me.” Rena said after a prolonged reticence.

      I glanced at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

      “The award—I see now why I didn’t get it. I’m glad the judges chose you.”

      I wasn’t sure how I should respond.

      “It was beautiful, and perfect,” a sincere smile broke across her face, yet the undertone of lament was obvious in her eyes. “No one could have sung it better.” She paused, “If my song was a bird, then you’ve given it wings, Jaejoong.”

      I stared down at the piano keys, alternating between black and white. The way she said my name made my eyes ache a little. It was as if I wasn’t the indecent Jaejoong who had stolen her masterpiece, I wasn’t the notorious traitor of my old group, I wasn’t Hero… but I was me.

      I was someone that I had lost after so many years in the limelight.

 

      Despite it being early spring, the faraway snow-capped peaks continued to capture my attention. The white swirls around the rocky slopes were a different type of beauty than the neat blanket of snow atop of Mount Fuji I was accustomed to from trips to Japan. When I asked Rena if it was possible to ski, she laughed and instead made an offer for an overnight camping trip in the Banff National Park.  

      As I lugged my portion of camp gears down the winding staircase, I’d come to notice an array of photos—aged and recent—lined up against the smooth coral wall. I carefully examined the series of pictures dating from Aunt Sung’s young days to Rena’s childhood.

      At the bottom, I came to one that included myself.

      A smile unknowingly crept up my lips as I scrutinized the young girl in fish-tail braids shyly handing me an embroidered heart, while I merely plucked off the chocolate and stuffed it in my mouth.

      “When was this?” I asked Rena, who was descending from the stairs with yoga pants on.

      “Oh my, my. I almost forgot this picture,” Unknowingly, Aunt Sung had joined from behind me. I turned to see her blissful grin, “Do you still remember this picture, Jaejoong? It was taken on Valentine’s day when you were both in elementary school.”

      Rena arched a thin brow and flitted down the steps with curiosity. I gave her a smirk as she neared us. “So, you once asked me to be your Valentine, huh?”

      She tried her best to conceal the twinge of embarrassment and bit her lips. “Only because I didn’t know any other boy back then.”

      When she slid away to tie her hair, I could have sworn I saw a shade of pink coloring her cheeks. I exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Aunt Sung, and felt the small laughter trickling down my throat.