o n e  m o r e  c h a n c e ; 

It was the 16^th of July in the year 2006. The air was colder than usual that day, which warranted Yesung’s decision to wear the same thick, black trench coat he’d worn on that day in November every year for the past ten years. He draped a red woolen scarf around his neck loosely and took one last look in the mirror. His eyes glossed over the wrinkles on his face, rubbing a hand over them, sighing. The folds of skin were now so pronounced it was difficult to tell what he must have looked like as a young man. His hair, once a shimmering black curtain that accentuated his facial features, had now become wisps of white. He picked up his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder and slipped on some loafers before unlatching the lock of the main door.

Despite the trials and tribulations of his life thus far, Yesung was quite comforted by the fact that he could at least visit his favourite restaurant to celebrate his anniversary with Kyuhyun like he had always done for the last decade. He always secretly feared that the restaurant would close down, considering the fact that he was nearly always the only patron there. The staff at the restaurant had befriended him by now, so when he arrived at the restaurant a few blocks down the street, he was, predictably, greeted with open arms.

"Happy anniversary, sir!”

The chirpy young waitress embraced Yesung tightly, beaming. Yesung smiled in exchange.

“Table for two, Seulgi.” I think that’s her name.

Seulgi took a menu from the podium at the entrance of the restaurant and led him to a table inside. It was a small table by the window of the restaurant, with two seats facing each other. It was the same table Yesung had sat at with Kyuhyun for the past ten years. Yesung took a seat on the chair closer to the restaurant’s entrance, placing his messenger bag on the floor beneath the table. He then began flipping through the menu, as if he hadn’t been ordering the same thing each time he patronised the place. Seulgi, who had been hovering over him like a hawk with a notepad in hand, grinned.

“I’ll go get you some iced water,” she said gently, before walking towards a water dispenser several metres away.

Yesung placed his hands on the table. His eyes wandered around the restaurant; there was only one other customer there: a woman, quietly eating her meal near the back of the restaurant. As his eyes wandered, he began to play with the ring on his finger subconsciously. The metal was cold to the touch, but the memories that began to play in his head upon contact with the ring, were warm. Images of the young versions of both him and Kyuhyun began to form in his head, playing like a filmstrip reel being fed through a projector. He could remember exactly how Kyuhyun looked the first time they’d met, some fifteen to twenty years ago. He was a dashing young man; he had a skinny frame, a porcelain-like complexion and short black hair that twisted and turned against the scalp of his head like the gentle waves of an ocean at low-tide. He also remembered how Kyuhyun had won him over and proposed to him in the spring of 1992 with the same ring that he wore on his finger at this very moment. Kyuhyun had brought him to a secret place; a garden, where an array of colourful flowers bloomed and basked in the sunlight. “I planted the seeds a month after I met you,” he’d said, kneeling down on one knee, “and now they’re in full bloom, as is my love for you. Will you marry me?”

The days that followed the proposal were beautiful, and Yesung had savoured each memory with the snap of an old polaroid camera that he had owned back in the day. He picked up his messenger bag off the floor and felt around for a book, taking it out and placing it on the table. It was a scrapbook of all the photographs Yesung had ever taken of the two of them back in the day. The pages of the scrapbook were yellowed and frayed, showing signs of being worn down from being flipped through over the years. Yesung cracked the book open to the first page. There lay a photograph of his first love, clad in a patterned sweater that Yesung had knitted for him with his own two hands, a broad smile plastered across his soft face. On the next page was a photograph of them sharing a kiss. Yesung’s hand dangled in front of him, showing off the beautiful ring that Kyuhyun had just placed on his finger after his proposal. Sunlight beamed off the ring, causing a lens flare. The flowers in the secret garden that Kyuhyun had grown for him filled the background of the photograph, and although the photograph was in black and white, Yesung could remember the colours of the garden vividly.

Yesung continued to flip through the pages of the scrapbook, skimming his eyes over endless photographs and journal entries that he had collected and written over the years. The faint smile that his lips had formed quickly disappeared, however, when he reached the last journal entry of the book. He knew exactly what was written in it, but for some reason he was compelled to read it. An incredibly excruciating pain began to proliferate in his chest like cancerous cells. Gravity began to weigh down on him, and his eyes, glassier than ever, produced a single tear that trickled down his cheek. Still, he read the messy scribbles on that began on the fifth last page of the scrapbook:

16^th July 1996

Lonely.

Here I am, sitting alone in a cave, in hiding. Alone. But I did it. We did it. We escaped. Together. Why am I so sad? All of this feels like a nightmare. I want to wake up. I want to wake up from it and see you sleeping next to me. I want to wake up to you reassuring me. I want to wake up, but I can’t. It’s not a nightmare. It’s reality, my reality, but I refuse to accept it. You’re gone. Kyuhyun, you’re gone. They shot you. I saw it. The blood… Why is this happening to me? We were supposed to leave North Korea together, and start a new life in a new country together. We planned it. We escaped, but they caught us, and they shot you. I didn’t know what to do. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, hoping you’d have the strength to run after me, but when I stopped running, I turned back. You weren’t there. I wanted you to be there so, so badly, Kyuhyun. How am I supposed to go on? It’s night now. I won’t be able to sleep. I don’t even know where your body is. I’m crying. I can’t stop crying. Please come back. I want one more chance. I want you here with me. I don’t want to go on alone.

Please.

Hot tears began to stream down Yesung’s face. It may have been ten years since the death of the love of his life, but the wound had never been close to healing. How do you heal from witnessing the passing of your loved one, right before your eyes? An overwhelming ache took over his body. Yesung held the scrapbook tightly against his chest. The tighter the grasp, the louder his sobs, and the faster the tears rolled down his cheeks. It hurt. It really, really hurt. The pain had gotten too unbearable for him to bottle up any longer, so for five full minutes, he let his emotions take charge. I miss you so much, Kyuhyun, his conscience whispered.

Seulgi, who had left to get iced water a few moments ago, stood still, glass in hand. She knew better than to bother the man, and after working at the restaurant for several years, she understood that this was the man’s way of coping with loss. She didn’t know what kind of loss it was that the man was dealing with, but she didn’t ask any questions, and let him release whatever pain he’d been harbouring. She looked on as the man placed a framed picture of another man, visibly much younger than he was, on the table across from him as he always had for the last decade.