Warning(s): some cursing
Length: 13.3k words (sorry ‘bout it)

  01: attention  

[ 1 ]

 

 

He was too beautiful to ignore.

 

It would have been better if he was ugly, or if he didn’t have that goddamned smile.

 

(She pictures him leaning against his favorite reading chair, the lazy sunshine as slow as honey when it drips across his features. Trickling down his temples, crisscrossing over perfectly curved cheeks, quick meandering to his lips, right to—voilà!—two shining rows of teeth that always held an invitation for her to smile too.)

 

Good god, she always mumbles, always pronounced breathily with a sigh at the very end.

 

That smile.

 

 

[ 2 ]

 

 

(It started on the first day of the last year of high school.)

 

Miyoung—like always—was one of the first to arrive on campus. It was a habit of hers, something that she had integrated so deeply within her life that it just didn’t make sense to show up an hour early before the first class started. Her parents worried about her being alone before other students show up, her brother always jokingly said she had no life outside of school, but she loved it. When it was early, it was quiet.

 

Today was the first day of the last year, however, and Miyoung absolutely needed to find a tutor to replace the one that had gone.

 

Miyoung had trudged up the steps leading to the cafeteria, her mind someplace far. At the hour of 6 and the minute of 51, her headspace was still filled with last night’s dreams. Even the sun had yet to drag its feet out of its bed. But when Miyoung opened the door to the cafeteria, there was already a small congregation of her fellow classmates already inside, just as early as her.

 

“Miyoung!” One of them called out. It was Song Yuqi: a Chinese student from Beijing who more eloquently spoke Korean than a native. And she was one of Miyoung’s closest friends. “Come over here!” Yuqi waves. When Miyoung approached, Yuqi motioned over to a boy with a bright red cap. “Meet Lee Jeno.”

 

The boy immediately stood to extend his hand. Miyoung took it to shake it firmly.

 

“I’m Lee Jeno,” he said in a quiet, whimsical tone, “what’s your name?”

 

“Kim Miyoung.” She smiled tenderly since she had never met him before. “Did you just transfer here?”

 

“Yes.” They both sat down, and Jeno took his cap off. “I was originally studying in Busan, but my mom moved here after her divorce.” He glanced around, seemingly unsure of his new surroundings. Miyoung recognized that look; she was the same when she first moved to Seoul. “I’ve only lived in Seoul for three months.”

 

“You’ll love it here,” Yuqi reassured him. “Seoul and our school are both fantastic places to be. The teachers are nice, and you’ll find tutors just around the block. I mean it,” Yuqi deadpanned. “There are literally tutors nearby. The address is…”

 

Jeno nodded and took out a notepad.

 

“Speaking of which,” Miyoung started as she looked at the way Jeno was taking notes, “I need to find another tutor.”

 

“What happened to Mrs. Kwon, your English teacher?” Yuqi leaned her chin against her palm as if bored. “I thought you loved her.”

 

“I do, but she had to go to the States because of some family problem.” Miyoung scoffed just thinking about it. Some family problem. As a student, she never really allowed her own personal life get in the way of her studies. She always had to get things done—even if that meant cancelling plans or not attending functions. “So, I need a new one,” she announced, “and they have to be amazing at English and English literature.”

 

“Ooh,” Yuqi winced, “that’s going to be hard. All of the English tutors I know already have so many students to help.”

 

“I know, but Mrs. Kwon said that one of her colleagues will be my English teacher for the year—or semester. She didn’t really expand, but,” Miyoung sighed, “I’m hoping to ask them.”

 

“Is it Mr. Byun?” Jeno piped in. When the two girls turned to look at him, he cheeks positively turned to a cherry blossom pink. “You guys don’t know Mr. Byun?”

 

“Mrs. Kwon didn’t give me a name.” Miyoung, intrigued, turned her head to get a better look of Jeno. “Mr. Byun? Where did you hear that?”

 

Jeno shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I-I-I heard some of the teachers talking about him when I took a tour yesterday.”

 

“Did you see him?” Miyoung questioned. “What did he look like? Is he old? Did you hear what the teachers had to say—”

 

“Miyoung,” Yuqi interrupted, pulling the girl back from the reddened Jeno. “No need to get so neurotic. You’ll meet him later.”

 

“Yeah, but—”

 

“I didn’t see him,” Jeno said, “but I think they were impressed.” At that, Miyoung leaned forward to catch every softly spoken word. “One of them said he was a successful lawyer. They were really surprised that he was considering his age. He’s young, I’m assuming.”

 

“Okay, good.” Miyoung nodded to herself, pleased that at least a potential new tutor wouldn’t be one of those old ones who were strict and mean. “Anything else,” Miyoung tilted her head and looked into Jeno’s eyes as she batted her lashes once, twice, “that you’d like to tell me, Jeno?”

 

“N-No.” Jeno averted his gaze and went back to taking notes—or rather, doodling—in his notepad.

 

Beside them, Yuqi punched Miyoung in the arm and rolled her eyes.

 

Miyoung always had the type of irresistible charm about her that lured in her fellow classmates along with a plethora of idol scouts. Yes, she was a pretty girl by standards, but it was her way of moving about that induced the ability in everyone to turn their head. Everywhere she went like that. Graceful and beautiful and vanilla. Sweet, sugary, vanilla. She almost didn’t walk; she floated, her steps quick and light. No one was safe, and Miyoung knew that.

 

(Unfortunately.)

 

“So, it’s the last year before we head to university,” Yuqi started, “do you have any expectations for this year?”

 

“No,” was Miyoung’s flat answer, and at Yuqi’s glare, she expanded. “Well, yes, I do, but it’s the same expectations as last year’s, and you already know that.” Miyoung narrowed her eyes. “What about you? You always ask me.”

 

Yuqi shook her head almost too quickly. “N-No, no new expectations here either.”

 

It was now Miyoung’s turn to roll her eyes, but she laughed a little too. “This is about that one boy isn’t it?” When Yuqi didn’t answer, her cheeks did by turning into a soft shade of red. “I knew it!” Miyoung chuckled her breath. “I keep telling you. You won’t get anywhere with him.”

 

“Shut up,” Yuqi mumbled, already looking around the cafeteria if the boy in question was around to hear. “Let’s not talk about that.”

 

“Then what do you want to talk about, hm? How my brother slipped on a banana peel when he said that stuff like that only happens in movies?” As Miyoung said it, she and Jeno started to chuckled at the fantastic imaginary picture that created in their heads. “What, Yuqi? What do you want to talk about? Don’t say his name, please.”

 

“I’m not going to,” Yuqi huffed, “but,” she tugged at Miyoung’s sleeve, and whining, asked, “I can think about it, can’t I?”

 

“Yes,” Miyoung replied, pushing the girl away, “think about it, but don’t do anything about it. I—”

 

“—love tragedies but would hate to see me involved in one,” Yuqi finished for her. “Yeah, I know. No need to remind me.”

 

“Then we’re on the same page.” Miyoung beamed.

 

(Looking back, they really weren’t.)

 

 

[ 3 ]

 

 

Miyoung always sat in the front. At the front of the classroom, she would be able to take the most notes and ask the most questions. If she sat by the windows, she wouldn’t be able to focus, and what a disaster that would be. Of course, all the colorfully-tongued people sat by the windows and at the back, meaning she’d miss out on their lively conversations, but sitting at the front meant that she’d be an insider when it came to well-prepared study guides.

 

She had been doodling in her notebook waiting for the teacher to arrive as the rowdier section of the class erupted in laughter when she saw approaching footsteps. Hurriedly, she closed her notebook as the students around her also began to compose themselves.

 

“Good afternoon,” this new teacher said in perfect English, “my name is Mr. Byun.”

 

Miyoung, who had turned away to put her notebook in her bag, now quickly look towards the front of the room. slightly fell when she caught her first sight of him. She didn’t know what to expect, so it made no sense that she felt shocked, but she did. Prior to this point, all her teachers had been plain-looking people who belonged in the background of a movie. Moreover, they were usually much, much older than the population they taught. They weren’t this young or good-looking.

 

This certain bespectacled Mr. Byun was handsome and orderly—dressed in a soft brown suit, a briefcase in one hand and small stack of papers in the other. His entire look screamed I am a teacher, but something about his demeanor didn’t exactly say the same thing.

 

“I know it’s the first day back,” Mr. Byun continued, “and most of you already have tutors and after-school academies to go to, so I’ll make this last hour as painless as possible.” His affable words reeled all of them to lean closer. “I’m filling in for Mrs. Kwon—she was your last year’s lit teacher, correct?”

 

A student—the infamous, asks-way-too-many-questions Song Mingi—raised his hand. Mr. Byun immediately nodded for him to speak.

 

“What does ‘lit’ mean?”

 

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Byun seemed to laugh at himself. “Sorry, it’s a short term for literature.” He paused. “I’m guessing Mrs. Kwon didn’t teach you guys any short abbreviations or English slang?”

 

Voices from the back of the class form a chorus of no’s and not really’s.

 

“Then we have some catching up to do.” Mr. Byun grinned and looked down at his desk—at the class attendance sheet. “There’s only 17 of you listed here,” he glanced upward, “so everyone is present.” He frowned. “Are classes usually this small?”

 

Miyoung was about to jump in and answer, but Mingi was also infamous for saying answers out loud instead of waiting for his turn.

 

“Some students attending are from abroad,” Mingi explained, “so it’s not rare for them to leave before graduating.”

 

“And,” Miyoung quickly added, causing Mr. Byun to turn towards her, “our school focuses on certain academics, and we’re English Department, so we study English on the highest level—”

 

“Other departments include—” Mingi was in the middle of interrupting Miyoung when Mr. Byun held up a hand for him to stop.

 

“I understand,” Mr. Byun said with a smile, “thank you.” Miyoung beamed up at him but gave Mingi a stink-eye from the corner of her eyes. “So, I’d like to get back to introducing myself, as we might be seeing each other for the rest of the year.” His English was seemingly too perfect, so Miyoung tuned her ear to listen for where he might trip on frequently mispronounced words. “My name is Byun Baekhyun,” the transition from English to Korean was seamless, “and I am a lawyer.” The class was audibly in awe, and Mr. Byun smiled at that. “I was born here—in Korea—but I moved away at 21 to go to a university in the United States.”

 

Mingi raised his hand, but before Mr. Byun could allow him to speak, the boy was already speaking. “What did you study in university?”

 

“Law,” Mr. Byun replied without missing a beat, “English Literature, and later, education.”

 

The class made sounds of amazement once more, Miyoung included.

 

“I’ve been living there since then, and I only come back to Korea once in a while during holidays.” At this point, Mr. Byun took off his tweed jacket and tossed it onto the chair behind him. It was a simple motion that set off not-so-simple emotion to beat in Miyoung’s chest. “Mrs. Kwon is actually a good friend of mine which is why I’m here.”

 

Miyoung tilted her head to the side in wonder. Mr. Byun was much better at speaking English than Mrs. Kwon. The distinction between his Ls and Rs was impeccable to say at the least.

 

“Now,” Mr. Byun opened a folder on his desk, “since everyone knows a little about me, I’d like to know a little about you.” The class must have visibly shifted in their seats because Mr. Byun looked at them with a sly, barely-there smile. “You guys haven’t done anything like this before, haven’t you?”

 

A chorus of no’s and not really’s later…

 

“Diplomat.”

 

“Bilingual lawyer.”

 

Mingi’s choice of career never failed to make anyone look at him with awe, and Mr. Byun was no exception. But Miyoung’s choice was also an eye-catcher, and being her, she knew that.

 

“Spokesperson for my father’s company.” Miyoung had to bite the inside of her lip to contain herself from smiling. It always made her proud to say that.

 

“Very interesting,” Mr. Byun commented for the first time. The majority of the class were interested in job of high-level diplomacy that required the knowledge and usage of at least a few languages, and only a few others like Mingi wanted common careers with an added skill of being bilingual. In that sense, Miyoung was an outlier. “What’s your father’s company?”

 

“He owns a civil engineering company,” Miyoung pronounced carefully as to not misplace a vowel, “called Civi-Kim. He has been expanding it go overseas—especially in the United States.”

 

“That’s really cool.” Mr. Byun nodded. “Joining the family business, huh?”

 

Miyoung beamed, happy for the attention. As the youngest child in her family, she often got the least credit for anything, but whenever anyone mentioned joining the “family business” around her, it made her feel like she was still good for something—like she was able to contribute despite her age.

 

“Alright, good.” Mr. Byun pointed towards the next student.

 

“Diplomat…”

 

The rest of their class time should have consisted of reviewing the lesson plan for the year or reviewing last year’s materials in preparation for what would be ahead of them, but Mr. Byun wasn’t far from the typical instructor. He was a lawyer. A lawyer! Mrs. Kwon was merely a Korean-English translator with a few degrees in English this and English that—definitely not anything like law. Mr. Byun was simply the best possible choice of a tutor.

 

(He was also very easy on the eyes, and Miyoung leaned her chin on her palm just looking at how soft his hair looked.)

 

“Tomorrow, we start a lesson on poetry,” Mr. Byun announced when the class period was over. “Do some research on poets and give an example of one of their works. Analyze it, and tell me what you think.”

 

The class barely wrote the assignment in their notes before shuffling outside. Everyone had their tutors and cram schools, so none of them stayed too long. But there was Miyoung.

 

“Mr. Byun,” she confidently said as she approached him, “may I ask you something?”

 

“You didn’t use ‘can,’” he remarked, a beam in his eyes. “Did Mrs. Kwon teach you that?”

 

Miyoung suddenly felt nervous. Had Mrs. Kwon taught her improper manners… “It’s the proper way to ask for something in English, correct?”

 

“It’s more than the proper way.” Mr. Byun laughed having noticed Miyoung’s shift in demeanor. “A lot of people use ‘can’ instead of ‘may,’ but it’s seen as the same thing. Anyways,” he closed the folder he had open, “what can do I for you?”

 

“Well,” Miyoung looked away from Mr. Byun’s eyes for a second only to cautiously look back into them, “Mrs. Kwon has been my tutor for nearly six years now. Now that she left for the US, I need a new one, and she referred me to you.”

 

“Oh, that’s right. She told me that there would be a student that’d ask me. Miyoung, right?”

 

“Yes,” she beamed happily, “that’s me. Will it be alright for you to be my new tutor? My father will pay a generous amount, and he already knows that I’m looking for a new one, so we can see him right away and arrange—”

 

“One thing at a time.” Mr. Byun grinned at Miyoung’s swiftness. “What’s your father’s number? I’ll contact him myself.”

 

“Yes, here it is.” Miyoung shuffled into her bag for her phone. “I will give you mine too so you can let me know when possible meeting times are.”

 

“Already getting a head start, hm?” Mr. Byun glanced at her through the tops of his glasses. They had now exchanged phones to input each other’s contact numbers.

 

“Are you available now or in a few hours?” Miyoung returned his phone back to him. “I would like to get started on poetry as soon as possible because—”

 

“Listen, Miyoung,” Mr. Byun interjected, “I know how stressed you are considering it is your last year of high school. But take it easy.” Miyoung smiled rather sheepishly at his flawless transition into perfect Korean. “I don’t intend to make it extremely difficult for you and your peers,” he continues in Korean, “because there are other ways to challenge you that don’t involve arbitrary memorization of things you don’t understand.” This took Miyoung aback, and she opened to speak but quickly shut it. “For now, I want you discover and learn for your own—which is why I gave that assignment.”

 

“I-I-I don’t understand,” Miyuong stammered, “but how would I know—”

 

“Just do the assignment, and the rest will fall in place,” Mr. Byun asserted but with a smile. “But if it makes you feel better, we can start on any tutoring tomorrow. How does that sound?”

 

“It sounds like a plan.” Miyoung nodded, too surprised and too curious for what would be in store for her to ask any further. “I will see you tomorrow then, Mr. Byun.”

 

“Until then.”

 

 

[ 4 ]

 

 

“How was school?” Doyoung, Miyoung’s older brother, asked her as he picked her up at the front. “Didn’t you say you were looking for a tutor?”

 

“Yeah, it was alright, and I did find a new one!” Miyoung exclaimed. “You won’t believe it, but he’s a lawyer too.”

 

“A lawyer? Sounds fun.” Doyoung wrinkled his nose. Unlike Miyoung, he had never been keen on the English language or its literature. In fact, it was supposed to be him with the spokesperson title, but he opted to be an engineer instead when it was clear that he wasn’t particularly inclined on focusing his life towards communications. “I thought I wanted to be one, but they’re all so boring, and I don’t want to be a boring person either.”

 

“This one isn’t boring,” Miyoung immediately replied. “You should meet him. He’ll be a better teacher than Mrs. Kwon ever was.”

 

“That’s a strong statement considering why Mrs. Kwon is the reason people think you’re from America.”

 

Miyoung beamed. “Is my English really that fluent now?”

 

“Yeah, actually.” Doyoung looked over at her when they’ve stopped at a light. “Sometimes you talk too fast—like one of my New York friends.”

 

“That’s right. How was New York?”

 

Doyoung, since he never studied English as rigorously as Miyoung, was sent to study abroad by their father to enrich his language skills as he would be needing it too. They were the fourth generation of the Civi-Kim Company and the first to expand it abroad into the United States, so they had to be at their very best. But English wasn’t the only reason why Doyoung studied abroad; their father wanted him to make connections, and that was where Doyoung excelled in—making new friends.

 

“It was great. I had a lot fun.”

 

The subtlety in Doyoung’s words was enough for Miyoung.

 

“You remember what dad said,” she warned him, “no fooling around.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Doyoung playfully side-eyed his sister. “Don’t talk to me about this kind of stuff. I should be the one telling you to stay in line.”

 

“Whatever.” Miyoung laughed off her brother’s antics. “Is mom home yet?”

 

“Yes, and she made you lunch.”

 

“Thank goodness. I’m starving.”

 

 

[ 5 ]

 

 

That evening, Miyoung’s father called her into his private study. He had his phone in hand and the other was holding a pen. In the lighting of his office, it was hard to miss how well-kept he was despite being back home for the day; it was like his work-day continued well into home. Not even his tie was slightly loosened.

 

“Your teacher called,” he said when Miyoung had sat down in front of his desk. “A certain Mr. Byun?”

 

“Yes, he’s replacing Mrs. Kwon position for the time being, so I asked him to be my tutor.” Miyoung peered up at her father in curiosity. “Did you get to know him? Did you know he’s a lawyer in the United States? And he also specialized in English and teaching.”

 

Her father smiled at her. “Yes, I know, he told me about himself, and I’m impressed. I already informed him about payments and the details regarding your schedule—which is why I wanted to see you.” He handed her a document like how she liked it. “Mondays thru Wednesdays, 4:30PM to 9:30PM here, in the study room so your mother or brother are present. I’ve arranged for Thursdays and Fridays to take place at the same time at the nearby library.” Her father pointed to the Saturdays and Sundays. “The weekend, I’d like to give Mr. Byun a break, so he won’t come, but you’ll be free to call if you have any questions. Otherwise, you will study with your friends or by yourself.”

 

“Understood,” Miyoung said before her father could ask. “He said we could start tomorrow.”

 

“Perfect. Your brother will be here at that time.”

 

“Okay, thank you, father.” Miyoung bowed to him and exited the office, making sure to close the door. When she did, she squealed in glee to herself. Tomorrow, she’d have the handsome Mr. Byun all to herself, and she would even have the chance to introduce him to her mother, surely impressing her.

 

 

[ 6 ]

 

 

The next day went by fairly quickly. Miyoung was mostly interested in her last class of the day because it meant seeing Mr. Byun and hearing him speak in his lovely, soft-toned voice. (She also had to admit that just the first day with him made her realize how interesting he was. Something about him wasn’t the classic version of a Korean English teacher.)

 

“Did everyone find an example of a poem?” Mr. Byun asked the class, and everyone nodded. “Good, so who’d like to go first?”

 

Mingi, of course, raised his hand. Mr. Byun only had to nod once before Mingi stood up and walked to the front of the class. Everyone hated how Mingi did this since it set a precedent, and everyone after him would have to stand at the front as well, but Mr. Byun seemed pleased by this, so for the first time, Miyoung didn’t care. In fact, she was excited for her turn.

 

“The Rose Family,” recited Mingi in near-perfect, slightly accented English, “by Robert Frost.” He cleared his throat. “The rose is a rose, and was always a rose. But the theory now goes that the apple’s a rose. And the pear is, and so’s the plum, I suppose. The dear only knows what will next prove a rose.” He paused, indicating a stanza. “You, of course, are a rose—but you were always a rose.”

 

The room was silent for a short bit before Mr. Byun spoke up.

 

“Good. Robert Frost is a classic poet. You may take a seat.” Mingi does as told. “So,” Mr. Byun leaned his palms onto his desk, “what does everyone think of that poem?”

 

“That man,” a slow voice—Lee Chan, relatively terrible at pronunciation compared to the rest of his peers, but excelled in the semantics more so than anyone—“used several words ending in the same sound to create a rhyme.”

 

“That’s true, but what did you think of it?” Mr. Byun’s eyes scanned the room for any eager students but found none. “No one? No one has any thoughts? Okay, so what do you guys think this poem is about?”

 

“A rose,” Miyoung replied before anyone could. This time, Mingi side-eyed her. “I think the poem is about nature.”

 

Mr. Byun smiled at her but shook his head. “You’re scratching at the surface.” He paused. “How about this? Why don’t you tell me about the subjects mentioned in the poem?”

 

“Ahh,” Mingi seemed to struggle. “There is a rose, apple, plum, pear, and someone the narrator is speaking directly towards.”

 

“Good, so what can you tell me about these things?” When Mr. Byun asked this, no one spoke—not even Miyoung. “These are symbols,” Mr. Byun finally explained, “which is the primary literary device used in poetry. Poetry, as you may have noticed in your researching, is usually quite short, right?” The class nodded. “That’s because poetry uses symbols that shorten broad ideas into small figures—like a rose.”

 

Mr. Byun turned to the board behind him and uncapped a black marker. He wrote all the subjects found in the poem. His writing was faster yet neater than Mrs. Kwon’s. “This poem is not about a mere rose, plum, or,” he made eye-contact with Miyoung that caused her pulse to quicken, “a person. It is about something broader.” He looked back towards the class. “What could these subjects possibly symbolize? Any ideas?”

 

“Nature.” That was Naeun.

 

“Not quite.” Mr. Byun took a sharp intake of breath. “What does nature symbolize?” No one in the class knew what to say. “It symbolizes, in this case,” Mr. Byun turned back to the board to write the word, “beauty.” He turned back to the class and found that everyone was staring at the written word. “Frost is suggesting that beauty is subjective. The rose and its beauty is equal to that of a plum, a pear, and so forth.” He smiled at the expressions on their faces. Miyoung was smiling too; it always felt good to understand something. “And he’s suggesting that your,” he motioned towards the room, “beauty is something that has always existed despite the standard of what beauty is perceived to be.”

 

The entire class was silent at this newfound revelation. Only the whir of the air-conditioning could be heard as Mr. Byun stood at the front of the room with a happy smile.

 

“That’s enough analysis for today,” he said after a moment, “but keep your examples of poetry with you. We’ll be referring to it later. Meanwhile, we’ll focus on the use of symbolism in poetry.”

 

As they transitioned into the preferred, traditional teacher-says-things, everyone-writes-it-down, Miyoung heard a few mumbles here and there about how they had wasted too much time talking about things instead of “actually” learning about it. If Mr. Byun heard, he didn’t say anything about it, but he did shoot the back of the class a quick glance; the mumbles stopped immediately.

 

“This is an English class. Therefore, we only speak in English here,” he said loudly. “If you want to go back to speaking in Korean, you are free to do so—outside.”

 

Miyoung smiled and turned around to spot a red-faced Naeun. She never liked Naeun anyways.

 

When Mr. Byun’s quite humorous lecture on symbolism was over, class had ended as well.

 

“There are 10 examples in the first ten pages of your poetry textbook,” Mr. Byun held up the relative thin book, “that I want you to read and point out all the symbolism.”

 

Everyone filed out soon after, but Miyoung stayed. “Mr. Byun,” she said, catching his attention, “may I ask you a question?”

 

“You don’t even have to ask,” he replied with a chuckle. His attention was directed towards some paperwork on his desk, but he looked up at her for a second. “What can I help you with?”

 

“Well, I’m not very fond of symbolism,” Miyoung explained in her native tongue. “I don’t like it when things present themselves as one thing but mean another.” She paused, thinking of a way to better explain it. “I struggle with it a lot, and was wondering if we could go over that in more detail in today’s tutoring session.”

 

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Byun finally shifted his attention to her. “Your father was very pressing in the phone call we had, by the way.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

Mr. Byun chuckled. “Nothing. It’s just bureaucracy. Nothing you need to worry about.”

 

“Byoo-what?”

 

“So, we’re supposed to be meeting at your house at 4:30PM.” Mr. Byun checked his wristwatch. “I’ll meet you there, okay? I have some business to take care of.”

 

Miyoung smiled. “Okay, I will see you then, Mr. Byun.”

 

 

[ 7 ]

 

 

“Mom’s not home?” Miyoung asked Doyoung when they arrived. Usually, their mother was chatting away with one of her many friends on the phone, thus filling the empty house with some sound, but today it was quiet except for the soft whirring of a fan.

 

“She went to go see a friend going through a divorce or something.” Doyoung tossed his keys onto a center table in the foyer. “When’s your tutor going to get here?”

 

Miyoung looked at the clock. It was 4:28. “Soon. You should meet him.”

 

“I have to. Dad wants to make sure you do some actual work.” Doyoung smirked. He already knew what his sister was like; she had a tendency to get distracted, and because she started learning English at a young age, she always had an excuse—that whatever strange thing she did was for the language. In fact, Doyoung was the first one to know about how she was buying several American streaming services to supposedly “learn English faster.”

 

“I always do my work,” Miyoung claimed anyways. “Besides, I really want to impress this teacher.”

 

“Do you think he’d mind if I spoke in English too?” Doyoung’s accent had grown slightly different from the last time Miyoung heard it. She couldn’t place what was different, but there was something there that was…off. “Honestly, honorifics are too annoying. It’s amazing how I can call anyone ‘guy’ in the States and it not be weird.”

 

Miyoung looked up at her brother with a frown. His grammar was off too. “You’re weird.”

 

“You’re weirder,” Doyoung rebutted. “Anyways, what are we waiting for? When is he going to get here?”

 

“Any moment now…”

 

But speak of the devil, and he would appear. Someone knocked on the door within a minute, and Doyoung was the one to open.

 

“Hey,” he said casually in English, “you must be Mr. Byun.” Doyoung reached his hand out as Miyoung waited for him to invite their guest inside. “My name is Kim Doyoung. I’m Miyoung’s older brother. Please, come in.”

 

“Yes, thank you.” Mr. Byun stepped into the foyer and smiled once he saw that Miyoung was there. “Miyoung, you didn’t tell me that you had a brother—and,” he turned back to Doyoung, “your English is impeccable.”

 

“Impeccable,” Doyoung repeated, slowly smiling. “Thank you. I could say the same. Miyoung mentioned that you’re a lawyer?”

 

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. I’ve been one for the past two-three years in the United States.”

 

Miyoung motionlessly stood by as she looked at the “adults” speak. She admired her brother, of course, but she already held a deep admiration for Mr. Byun too.

 

“Really? How old are you?” Doyoung asked. “Most established lawyers I know are well into their 30s. Maybe much older.”

 

“I’m 30, but don’t think I’m anywhere near established.” Mr. Byun chuckled under his breath. “I’m not as impressive as anyone thinks of me. I’m still young and inexperienced.”

 

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