“What are you looking at?” Dahyun set the tray on the coffee table, before sitting down on the couch.

   “I just noticed,” I said, before nodding at the walls, filled with her framed sketches. “You don’t have a family portrait.”

   “It’s in my room,” she said. “You don’t have any, either.”

   The picture in the shoebox flashed before my eyes. “I don’t have one in the first place.”

   “You know,” she poured herself a cup of barley tea. The golden liquid shimmered against the faint sunshine streaming through her glass windows. “You coming over has become such a natural occurrence to me.”

   I didn’t respond.

   “But why is it that I’ve barely scratched your surface, Namjoon?”

   “I wonder.”

   “Is it too much to ask?” she lightly pushed.

   “I don’t know you that well, either,” I returned. “I don’t even know what it is that you really do.”

   She smiled. “Is that all?”

   Of course, that wasn’t all.

   “In a sense.”

   “I’m a freelancer,” she said. “I monetize the things I draw.”

   “And yet, you can afford a place like this.”

   “You may despise me if I tell you how.”

   “What makes you say that?”

   “Gut feelings. You have no problem socializing with people, but you do have this…slight disdain towards the ones who are better off financially.”

   I could only chuckle at her conclusion. It stung, but she struck a chord within me. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t completely right, either. It was difficult to pin it down. Perhaps, it was like that for me, because I was the one getting noticed.

   “That’s why sometimes I get scared. What if one day you get fed up and leave?”

   I furrowed my brows. “Does that matter?”

   “Namjoon, I rarely have friends. I’m not saying this so you’d feel sorry for me. What I’m trying to express is I tend to keep to myself. But if it’s with you, I don’t mind opening up.”

   “Why?”

   She shrugged. “You’re simply that kind of person.”

   Silence shrouded us. I couldn’t reply. Despite hesitating to tell her about Suji, or the nuances of my mundane life, I also felt relaxed around her. But of course, the both of us were diffident, and I wasn’t one to say, “Me, too.”

   “You know,” she said. “If we keep this up, we really won’t progress.”

   “Progress, huh?”

   “It’s a part of friendship, isn’t it? To be vulnerable. But it shouldn’t be forced, as well. I’m not sure how to explain this myself, but I feel like we’re at a standstill.”

   “Hm.”

   “I could easily open up to you,” she pointed out. “But maybe I’m hesitating, because I’m expecting something from you, as well. And that isn’t fair.”

   “Why?”

   “It doesn’t sit right with me,” Dahyun offered me a saucer of acorn jelly, cut into tiny cubes, to which I gratefully accepted. “Especially with how I perceive you to be.”

   I chuckled. “How do you see me as?”

   “Elusive?” she suggested. “Or rather, you’re quite good at talking in circles.”

   “You’re simply straightforward, and you aren’t used to the way I talk.”

   She chose to not respond. Instead, she stared at me.

   “What?” I finally asked.

   “Hesitating will get me nowhere,” she began. “Namjoon, will you be scared, if I open up to you?”

   “Why would I be scared?”

   She paused at that one, before returning my question with a smile. “My biased thoughts must have slipped. I’ve assumed you don’t open up to people, because you don’t like sharing your life with them.”

   “I don’t mind listening.”

   She scrunched her nose. “How did the people you open up to gain your trust?”

   “That’s a good question, actually,” I said. “I don’t really know. For me, it simply feels right.”

   She made quotation marks in the air with her index and middle fingers. “‘It simply feels right’, huh? That’s something I don’t expect from you.”

   “There will be many things you won’t expect from me, then.”

   “I can’t wait,” she replied with a grin. Funnily enough, there was not a tinge of sarcasm to it. “But while I’m waiting for that time to come, would it be too much if I tell you my story?”

   She spoke, and I listened.

   I didn’t have to wonder about Mrs. Kim’s handwriting anymore.

-::-

   Dahyun had a twin brother. Had, because he apparently died a few minutes after he was born.

   “It’s really strange,” she said. “Because I never had any real memory of my brother. But I keep on wondering how things would turn out if it was the other way around.”

   “Why?”

   She shrugged. “I guess, despite my parents not saying it, I could feel they think about it, too. They’ve always wanted a boy, you know.”

   Dahyun said it with no trace of contempt, but a tinge of sadness was present in her voice. She grew up in a good neighborhood, and befriended two older boys. Kim Sunggyu and Nam Woohyun. They felt like—according to her—more of her brothers than anyone ever could. That included her adoptive brother.

   “Adoptive,” I repeated.

   She nodded in confirmation. “I suppose my parents couldn’t take it anymore. The yearning, or the guilt. Maybe both. But they adopted a boy when I was around six. They had the means, and that sense of responsibility. Nobody batted an eye.”

   “Not even you?”

   “Well,” Dahyun her lower lip. “I felt I had no right to complain. And the very fact that my adoptive brother was lovely didn’t help, either.”

   “Are you telling the truth, or are you saying those things to be nice?”

   “It’s the truth. He’s naturally smart and eloquent. I think I ended up drawing because of him. He deviated, though. When we were in junior high, he started writing.”

   “And where is he now?”

   “I’m not really sure. He could be anywhere by now,” her voice trailed off, before confessing, “I left home because I was insecure. He had achieved so many things, while I felt stuck. I wanted to do something great. By then, maybe I won’t feel this shame.”

   “Shame,” I repeated. “Why would you feel that, out of all things?”

   “Are you asking because you’re genuinely interested, or are you just being nice?”

   Truth be told, I was fascinated by her word choice. Perhaps, it was because I grew up as an orphan. The feeling of being indebted seemed natural for me, considering the people who raised me weren’t related to me by blood. I felt it was only right to repay their generosity by being the best version of myself, despite not knowing where I really came from. It was the least I could do—to grow up as a functional adult.

   And so, I assumed children who had parents wouldn’t feel that way, because they were born in a family they knew. They wouldn’t bear that kind of shame—of not being worthy, or good enough.

   “I’m curious,” I replied. “Why feel shame?”

   “I’m their real daughter, but I don’t make them proud,” she answered. “I can’t make them proud. In everything I do, he’s two steps ahead of me.”

   “I wonder just how great of a person he is, then,” I muttered.

   “You’ll know. You’ve heard of him, after all.”

   I looked at her, but I didn’t say anything.

   “My parents adopted Jeongguk. The Golden Child.”

   My world paused, the moment his name escaped from . To gain my momentum, I cleared my throat, and said, “Back then, you talked about him as if you didn’t know him.”

   “We lived in the same house, and we spent so many years together,” she said. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that I know him inside and out.”

   I kept quiet, then. I was one to talk. I pretended in front of Dahyun, as well.

   “In a sense,” she carried on. “I want to be recognized for what I do, too. Jeongguk was able to do it. Why can’t I?”

   “I think you can,” I said, and I had to pause and think of what I should say next. “But you’re limiting yourself. You focus more on the shame, and the mentality that you won’t be able to surpass what Jeongguk has achieved. You basically measure your talent with the wrong scale. Maybe that’s why you feel stuck.”

   Dahyun didn’t respond. Her eyes were downcast, and Sundae, too, was still.

   “Imagine yourself, being in a cage,” I said. “And the door is wide open. You are also holding the key. But you’re still there. Why is that?

   “When you finally realize you’re the one holding yourself back, and you’re actually so free to do the things you want…Dahyun, what are you going to do about it?”

   She smiled. “I don’t really know, Namjoon. But, what about you? What are you going to do about it?”

   “Me?” I looked up momentarily, and my chest stung. Nonetheless, I continued, “I already did something. I locked the door, and threw away the key.”

   “When did you do that, Namjoon?”

-::-

   Who knew being honest could hurt so much? I wasn’t used to the way my body would ease up, as if a weight had just been lifted. Being vulnerable felt uncomfortable. I wasn’t conditioned for human connection.

   And so, the moment I entered my room after my talk with Dahyun, I locked the door behind me, and bawled. With every sob and heave, a piece of me I’ve suppressed for so long boldly emerged. I kept on running, but with a single conversation, my past effortlessly caught up with me. I realized, then, just how much of a fake I was. I talked big in front of Dahyun, telling things about shame and being free, when I, myself, felt trapped.

   When did you do that, Namjoon?

   My phone ringing was a blessing in disguise. Suji needed me to accompany Haneul, and I accepted with no hesitation whatsoever. I needed to escape, and she provided a leeway. But what was I trying to escape from? Why was I so afraid of opening up?

   “What’s your favorite season, Namjoon?”

   “Probably autumn. What about you?”

   “Spring. Most definitely spring. It’s the best season to go.”

   “Go? Go where?”

   I opened my eyes, already raw and swollen. I still had time to freshen up, and so I took a long and warm shower.

   I threw away the key when what that person said finally made sense. But of course, I couldn’t tell Dahyun that. It would lead to opening more doors, and I understood where Suji was coming from.

   Those who fear real connection do not tell their name right away, or unravel their past readily.