Warning(s): some cursing
Length: 17.6k words (sorry!!)

  02: compulsion  

[ 1 ]

 

 

“Why do you keep tapping your foot like that?” Doyoung, who was sitting across from Miyoung, had looked underneath the table in disgust. “What are you so nervous about?”

 

“I’m not nervous,” she responded. “I’m just thinking.”

 

“Uh-huh,” he said incredulously. “Stop thinking and eat your dinner.”

 

“I can do what I want.” So Miyoung went back to her scheming.

 

She called it scheming because that’s what it really was. It was a good-for-nothing plan to get at her teacher. A beautiful, bespectacled Byun Baekhyun. The first part of this plan included memorizing more poetry, and that in itself was delirious. Poetry? Reciting poetry was about as romantic as giving someone flowers; it was hardly a gesture and could be perceived in too many ways. Was it the worst that she could have done? No, but it wasn’t the best thing either. If only Baek—Mr. Byun—wasn’t 12 years older than her.

 

Miyoung was still fazed that such a difference existed between them. She always believed that people in their 30s were all old and teetering into irrelevance. Funny how that worked out for her. But 12 years, and good god, that scene was playing in her head again.

 

12 years. How much more mature could a person be if they were 12 years older than her? Surely, a lot, and that wasn’t too bad. In fact, maybe that was what Miyoung liked about Mr. Byun. He was smart, eloquently-spoken, easygoing, and so handsome. Where else would she get that? Lee Mark, the immature transfer student from Canada? Song Mingi, the boy who sat next to her during English class and was perpetually aroused by having his hand in the air before anyone else? There was only Mr. Byun. No one else could even come close.

 

What about 12 years? It was only 12…

 

“Do you think age matters?” Miyoung asked her brother.

 

“In a relationship?” he asked, and she nodded. “No,” he said with a scoff. “Not at all.”

 

“Really?” Miyoung felt instantly better when he said this. “You wouldn’t care if someone was a decade older than you?”

 

“No,” Doyoung replied with a shrug. “I’ve had a few professors on the younger side but still a lot older than me that were just,” he whistled, “really good-looking.” So, she wasn’t alone! “10 years isn’t that big of a gap.” He looked up from his phone and into her eyes. “Why are you asking?”

 

“Just wondering,” Miyoung replied hastily, “because I was thinking of this American movie where—”

 

“Don’t tell me about it.” Thankfully Doyoung was aware of how she liked to consume things that were maybe just a little controversial or eyebrow-raising at the least. “But, you know, age differences can be bad too—especially if someone isn’t of age.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Miyoung said, rolling her eyes, “I’m not stupid.”

 

Silently, she was already doing the math in her head.

 

She was going to turn 19 in a few months, and because she was currently 18, it was as good as a legal age in countries such as the United States and Canada. A 12-year difference was still quite a lot, but Miyoung had seen billionaires marry women that two or three decades younger than them. The difference between her and Mr. Byun wasn’t made of the same caliber.

 

 

[ 2 ]

 

 

11:17PM.

 

Miyoung wondered why she thought it was actually a good idea to stay at the 24-hour café until that hour. Sure, it was a 24-hour café, it wasn’t like they were busy, and it surely wasn’t because she was tired, but she wanted to go home and lie down on her bed. Her mind was filled with too much information already, and if she tried to study any more, it would drive her to insanity.

 

So, she called for a taxi.

 

When the driver had just taken her past the neighborhood where the 24-hour café was, Miyoung noticed that the car stopped besides hers at the stoplight was familiar. It wasn’t Mr. Byun’s car—he drove a white Hyundai—but it was her brother’s.

 

Peering out of the tinted windows, Miyoung squinted to get a better view. It was definitely her Doyoung’s car. One of his windows had a light scratch from when he bumped his watch against it. Moreover, she could see the distinctive rings he liked to wear as he placed his hands on the steering wheel. There was no way that wasn’t her brother, but…

 

There was someone in the car with him, and it wasn’t anyone Miyoung knew. Peering even closer, until her forehead touched the taxi’s windows, Miyoung vaguely saw the side profile of a woman with light brown hair. The woman seemed to be talking, laughing even, and when Miyoung’s driver pulled the car forward slightly, Miyoung could see that her brother was laughing too. That went on for a few more seconds before Doyoung leaned in at the same time the woman did.

 

At that point, the taxi driver took his foot off the breaks and the car moved forward. It gave Miyoung enough time to glance through the windows of her brother’s car.

 

The woman’s eyes were closed, half of her face obscured by Doyoung, their lips undoubtedly touching.

 

It all made sense. Doyoung had a girlfriend.

 

Miyoung shuddered, recalling perfectly how their father opposed the idea of his son having relationships. As the “black sheep” who rebelled at a young age, Doyoung was forbidden from certain things until a certain age, yet here he was breaking a prohibition.

 

At the bottom of her heart, though, Miyoung was silently disappointed. It made sense that her brother wanted to conceal his relationship from everyone, but why did it have to include her? Though Miyoung wanted to go to bed, she waited for her brother to come home shortly after her. She tried to look at his face or body language as if she could find something within those things that held the possibility of giving him away, but she found none.

 

Strict parents only created good liars.

 

 

[ 3 ]

 

 

It was another Saturday morning, and Miyoung knew she had to study, but she simply could not resist the idea of seeing Mr. Byun again. The thought of seeing him in a better time where he would not have to leave so soon made her giddy. In addition, she had memorized another bout of poems, and he was sure to be impressed with every single one of them.

 

Today, it was just her luck that he was there. He was there! He was there! And her heart was god-knows-where, because he was right there. Miyoung swore that she had unintentionally started speaking in rhymes and poetry due to her relentless memorizing.

 

“Mr. Byun,” she said gleefully as she approached her lone teacher. He seemed to be eating a bowl of noodles, and he was dressed casually—buttoned shirt, black pants, no jacket—so he surely didn’t have plans of going anywhere too important. “Good morning!”

 

“Good morning, Miyoung.” He wiped his mouth and looked up at her with a frown that leaned towards curiosity more than confusion. “Why did I have a feeling that I’d be seeing you here again?”

 

“You thought you’d see me here again?” Miyoung raised a brow. Inside she was elated that he even thought about her. “You know, I actually wanted to see you here again too. May I have a seat?”

 

“Of course,” Mr. Byun said, moving away some of his plates. “Why’d you want to see me?” He looked at her with a glint in his eye and a smile on his lips. “I’m guessing you have more questions regarding an assignment?”

 

Miyoung pinched her thigh for a short burst of strength. “Actually, I just wanted to talk to you again.”

 

This seemed to take Mr. Byun by surprise. “Really? About what?”

 

“Well,” Miyoung started with confidence (she had prepared her reply days ago when she imagined this exact scenario), “I think you’re a really interesting person to talk to. Unlike Mrs. Kwon, you’re actually really funny and more laidback.”

 

Mr. Byun smiled at the compliment, but his eyes were on his bowl of soup. “Thank you, Miyoung. I’m glad to know that you don’t think I’m a boring person.”

 

“You could never be boring,” Miyoung gushed. He really couldn’t, not in her eyes at least.

 

“Hey,” Mr. Byun said, his voice slightly lowered, “don’t put me on a pedestal.”

 

Miyoung only blinked. Perhaps that was an English idiom because the words didn’t make much sense to her. After all, pe-des-tal? Why would she put him one? When it came to idioms, Mrs. Kwon often told her that she had to think of them almost metaphorically, but even after doing so, Miyoung couldn’t understand what Mr. Byun had just said. So she left it at that.

 

“Mr. Byun, may I ask you something?” Miyoung asked, though she didn’t wait for him to answer to that. “What do you think about taking high-risk, low-chance type of situations? Would you take one?”

 

Mr. Byun drank only a bit of his water before setting the glass down. “What?” he asked, seemingly bewildered. Perhaps he was confused by her wording. “That’s a very interesting question. Uh, well, I suppose it depends on what the yield is. Emotional yields are generally more favored than physical ones.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Let me give you an example.” Mr. Byun set down his chopsticks and placed his forearms down on the table, leaning forward just slightly. “Imagine your mother is dying and the only way to save her is with a risky surgery. You’d do it, wouldn’t you? Even if the chance of her survival is low, right?” Miyoung nodded. “That’s an example of taking a big risk with a low chance of success. The emotional factor of her being your mother weighs a lot. But,” he paused, “if you were betting on a horse race, you wouldn’t bet your life’s savings on one horse winning before the others, would you?”

 

“No, I really wouldn’t.” Miyoung smiled as if to seemed sheepish, but Mr. Byun had unknowingly fed into her courage. If she wanted him, even there was a low chance of the two of them ever happening, then she was willing to take the risk of trying. “Thank you for the insight.”

 

“No problem. Why’d you ask? Are you planning on starting a wager?”

 

“No.” Miyoung shook her head though she wasn’t perfectly sure as to what a wager was. “I was just wondering. I’m in a situation of sorts,” she said delicately, “wherein there is a high risk with only a low chance of success.”

 

“Wherein,” Mr. Byun repeated, once more smiling. “You speak very formally, you know that?”

 

“I’m sure it’ll change.” Miyoung was beaming. “My brother came back from New York, and he talks very strangely. Almost as if he didn’t study English.”

 

“Makes sense considering actual Americans don’t study English themselves.” Mr. Byun leaned back in his seat as a server retrieved his empty plates. “It’s very impressive that you know how to talk like that. You almost don’t need me to help you.”

 

“Oh no,” Miyoung said, laughing nervously, “I really need a tutor, Mr. Byun. You don’t understand.”

 

“No, I do,” he insisted. “I’ve been there. School is tough.” He paused for a second, and the two of them looked at each other with faint smiles playing on their lips. Miyoung wondered if their hearts were on the same beat. “So, what’s this high-risk, low-chance scenario you’re talking about?” he asked. “Are you sure you’re not betting on anything?”

 

“To be honest, I’m not sure since it feels like a bet,” Miyoung confessed. She fought the urge to look away despite the fact that her entire face felt warm. “There’s this guy I like, correct?” Mr. Byun nodded, and under the table, Miyoung pinched herself in the thigh. “The problem is, I don’t know if pursuing,” she smiled at her own voice of vocabulary, “him is worth it. He’s so…out there.” Miyoung kept smiling. She was really doing this; she was really indirectly telling her teacher about himself. “There’s no chance of a relationship ever happening, and I’m not sure if he even reciprocates the feeling.”

 

Her rather formal words or her embarrassed body language or whatever it was, something made Mr. Byun smile so wide that he had to look away for a second.

 

“Thank you for telling me this, Miyoung.” Mr. Byun was still smiling, but his words had a serious undertone to them. “I knew something was on your mind.” Miyoung froze. “The past few weeks, you were always zoning out when I tried talking to you.”

 

“Really…” Miyoung was absolutely stunned. Had she made it that obvious? She could have sworn that she made her feelings the opposite of obvious. “You noticed?”

 

“It’s my job to notice little things like that.” Mr. Byun winked. “Whether I’m in a court room or a classroom. It helps me gauge situations better.”

 

“Oh.” Miyoung looked away from his gaze. Of course, she oversaw the fact that he wasn’t an ordinary teacher. Stupid, silly her. Without a doubt, she thought, Mr. Byun had seen her staring at him! The realization was awful, and she almost wanted to take it back. “I’m sorry I haven’t been paying as much as I should have been.”

 

“No, it’s alright. It’s a part of life to get distracted.”

 

“Right,” Miyoung mumbled. “So, uh, I should go. You must be busy.”

 

“Busy?” Mr. Byun looked at his wristwatch. “Quite the opposite actually. You can stay longer if you want. It won’t be like you’re bothering me or anything.”

 

Miyoung hummed. It was tempting. Much, much too tempting. “No,” she finally said after a moment of indecision, “I should go. I really need to study anyways, and it’s Saturday. You should have some free time.”

 

“And I’m more than willing to spend my free time with you.”

 

Miyoung smiled at that. It was a sweet thing to say—even if it wasn’t particular in any sense. Like poetry or a bouquet of flowers, it could have a romantic meaning as well as a platonic one. But it was still sweet, and she could choose to interpret it in whichever way she pleased.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Byun, but I should get going. I’ll see you on Monday.”

 

Monday could not come fast enough.

 

 

[ 4 ]

 

 

“You should meet him soon,” Miyoung said to her mother as they ate their lunch together. They had set a place for Doyoung, but he was too busy with a phone call (Miyoung pretended to not care, but she was deeply vested in who he was calling—was it his girlfriend?). “Mr. Byun is such a great teacher. Did you know that he’s a lawyer in the United States?”

 

“Really?” Her mother raised her brows. “That’s very useful. You should keep close contact with him.”

 

“Mhm.” Miyoung continued to eat, but she all wanted to do was gush about her favorite teacher. “He’s taught me so much. Like…” She paused. English poems wouldn’t sound the same if she translated them into Korean. “He just taught me a lot,” she said instead, “and I’m really enjoying it.”

 

“What did you learn?”

 

Miyoung grinned. “All sorts of things, mom.”

 

Soon, Doyoung came back downstairs, but Miyoung didn’t stop gushing. She couldn’t.

 

 

[ 5 ]

 

 

When it was finally that dreaded day of Monday, Miyoung tapped her leg throughout her classes all too impatiently. She was too high-strung to fully participate—even when it came to Mr. Byun’s class. It didn’t help that he—good god—was always dressed so handsomely. He made buttoned-up shirts so lovely, and though she never held a particular fondness for tweed, she loved it when he wore them. The way he sat on his desk to recite a poem—even that, good god, that—was attractive.

 

Her heart was made of gum, too stuck on a teacher who knew nothing of how she adhered to him after he had stepped on her.

 

 

[ 6 ]

 

 

“You weren’t paying in class today,” Mr. Byun told Miyoung as they settled in their study room.

 

“I wasn’t, I’m sorry,” confessed Miyoung. There was no point in hiding it. After all, it was highly unlikely Mr. Byun suspected himself as the subject of her designs since—even she admitted this fact—it was a bit absurd. “I haven’t been able to focus as well I could.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Miyoung scrunched her nose. She had once told Mrs. Kwon about her crush on Na Jaemin, the future aerospace engineer, and was abruptly told that she should save her emotions for when she was older. Even Doyoung told her that she should focus on the more important things in life—like bringing pride to their family by graduating as the top student of the school. So, no, Miyoung didn’t want to talk about it. But then again, she would be talking about it with Mr. Byun.

 

“Yes.” Miyoung sighed, dropped her pencil and put her face in her hands. “This guy. I want to make him go away. He’s not good for me.”

 

Inwardly, Miyoung was cringing. What on earth was she thinking? What level of insane was she on for her to think that there was a universe in which she and Mr. Byun would be together? In fact, why was she still dwelling on the impossible? She was starting to regret everything.

 

“Have you considered telling him how you feel?”

 

Miyoung looked up, confused. “Of course not. That would be suicide.”

 

“What makes that so?”

 

“Because,” she stammered, “I’m just me, and he’s…him! The circumstances are strange, Mr. Byun, and I can’t just tell him how I feel. That’s ridiculous!” She shook her head in despair. No matter how much she told Mr. Byun, he wouldn’t understand the full gravity of the situation unless she explicitly told him that she was infatuated with him, a teacher. “It’s very complicated,” she went on in a ramble, “and I’m not sure how to explain it in words. You—You wouldn’t understand, I’m sorry.”

 

Surprisingly, this seemed to further intrigue Mr. Byun, and he tilted his head to the side. “It’s okay, Miyoung, sometimes it’s okay to just vent even if it’s incoherent. I’m not only your teacher, but I’m also,” he paused to smile wholesomely, “your friend.”

 

Miyoung smiled too, but there was a tinge of sadness in how she did it. “Thank you, Mr. Byun, but it’s too complicated. Can we talk about it in a later time?”

 

“Of course.” He nodded and turned his attention back to the numerous papers before them. “There are some people I know whose beauty is a crime.” Miyoung, who had already started flicking through textbook pages, stopped. “Who make you so crazy you don’t know whether to throw yourself at them.” Mr. Byun paused, and his gaze intersected with hers. “Or kill them. Which makes for permanent madness. Which could be bad for you. You better be on the lookout for such circumstances.”

 

“Who wrote that?” Miyoung blurted out.

 

“Jessica Hadgehorn,” Mr. Byun said the American name with such ease that he found the time to smile. “It’s a poem called ‘Sorcery.’ Did you like it?”

 

Good god. The scene was already playing in Miyoung’s head.

 

“I loved it. It-It-It—” Miyoung cut herself off when she realized just how silly she sounded. “It’s everything I feel.”

 

Mr. Byun let his brows dance. “Poetry is a way to communicate when words seem more like obstacles than tools. If you were paying attention today,” he gave her a pointed look, “you’d have heard me say that. Perhaps you would have even written it down.”

 

Miyoung was restless. How was it possible that a perfect person became even more perfect? It was simply unfair. Surely there was a law of the universe being broken at that moment.

 

“How did you know how to quote that?” Miyoung asked, now all too caught up in Mr. Byun’s magic. “It’s exactly how I feel! Do you just go around memorizing things?” She paused and gasped. “Could you spend your life quoting things instead of actually speaking?”

 

Mr. Byun laughed loudly at the sheer childishness of the question—even Miyoung knew it was a silly thing to ask, but she had to—but shook his head. “No, no,” he claimed, “I can’t go around quoting things all the time. I appreciate you thinking I can, but no, I can’t. I just…” He paused. “I know how you feel. Sometimes other people have said the things you want to say but in a better way, so it’s easier to quote them than,” he pointed to his heart, “speak for yourself.”

 

“Wow,” Miyoung breathed. Indeed, it was true. He was just so beautiful that developing feelings for him was inevitable. Good god. “That was perfect, though. That quote about beauty being a crime—wow.”

 

“I’m glad you liked it.” Mr. Byun nudged a shoulder back to their papers. “Now, we should get back to working.”

 

“I’m not sure if I want to anymore.” Miyoung giggled to herself. Poetry and Mr. Byun. That’s all she wanted. It was a terrible thing to want, but… It was Mr. Byun. How could she not want that? “I’d rather talk to you about poetry and discuss romances.”

 

Mr. Byun peeked up at her over the tops of his glasses. “You’re very interested in romances, aren’t you?”

 

“How could I not be?”

 

“Alright.” Mr. Byun nodded, seeming to have understood. “I understand. Don’t let it consume you, though. Romance isn’t everything.”

 

Miyoung nodded back, pretending to have understood.

 

The rest of their tutoring session was uneventful, but Miyoung watched very carefully as Mr. Byun ed just the first set of buttons on his shirt. It was a warm day, after all, but after he did that, Miyoung crossed her legs and sighed. A warm day could always turn warmer, and it just did.

 

 

[ 7 ]

 

 

Miyoung’s mother was finally home for an afternoon. It was then that Miyoung took it as the opportunity to impress her with Mr. Byun.

 

“Hello,” Mr. Byun said to Miyoung’s mother in a polite tone. It was beautiful to hear him speak in Korean like that. When he was tutoring Miyoung, he always spoke in English, and therefore he never gave her the opportunity to listen to how he pronounced certain words. “My name is Byun Baekhyun. I’m Miyoung’s English teacher and tutor.”

 

“I’m very glad to have finally met you,” her mother replied, smiling and delighted. There was just something naturally charming about Mr. Byun and his gleaming smile. “You’re very handsome.”

 

While Mr. Byun laughed good-naturedly, Miyoung held back a snicker. She agreed with her mother deeply, but she would have never guessed that her mother would say something like that so quickly.

 

“Mom,” Miyoung feigned a whine.

 

“It’s true.” Her mother waved off Miyoung’s concern. “So,” she turned her attention back to Mr. Byun, “my daughter mentioned that you were a lawyer. Is that really so? How long have you been working as one?”

 

“I’ve been officially working as a lawyer for only about two or three years,” Mr. Byun replied. “I started right after I earned my degree.”

 

Earned, not received because saying something was received made it seem like it was gifted when in fact, it was not. University degrees were nowhere near being gifts. Gifts implied that they weren’t paid for by the recipient. But earned was different. Earned implied work. Work implied invested time. Invested time implied sacrifice.

 

Miyoung grinned. She loved Mr. Byun’s choice of careful words.

 

“Where did you study?” Miyoung’s mother asked.

 

“I studied for four years at a University of California,” Mr. Byun began, “in LA. Then I went upstate to Stanford.”

 

Miyoung’s mother looked absolutely delighted. Of course, she was. Miyoung strictly remembered the hours her mother spent researching prestigious American universities so that she could send Doyoung and Miyoung there.

 

“You must be very proud of yourself,” Miyoung’s mother said. “It’s a big deal to go to schools like those.”

 

“Well, I’m proud of my parents who did everything they could to allow me to pursue higher education,” Mr. Byun replied. He was even humble. Good god. “I didn’t grow up like your daughter,” he smiled at Miyoung, “or anyone else who could afford the best English tutors.” The subtle self-praise of his statement was gorgeous. “I didn’t have much wealth, I didn’t live in Hannamdong, and I only dreamed of going to the United States.”

 

“Why did you choose to go to the US?” Miyoung’s mother questioned. “Why not stay here?”

 

“Staying here was never an option for me,” Mr. Byun said, shaking his head. “I always knew I wanted to go to the US. It just seemed like I could have more options there.” Mr. Byun’s arms were relaxed as he said this, his voice sobering and thoughtful.  “My parents taught me to take any available opportunity and that having several opportunities already made me wealthier than the average person no matter how much money I had in my pocket.”

 

The humbleness of Mr. Byun was piercingly attractive, and while Miyoung was deeply engrossed by it, she could not say the same for her mother.

 

“How did you get to the US if you didn’t have much?” Miyoung’s mother said this carefully. But Miyoung knew the truth; her mother really wanted to say poor.

 

“After I finished my military service, I worked as a translator and assistant English tutor since,” Mr. Byun shrugged as he smiled, “I didn’t have much yet to go to university, and I spent most of my life learning English to increase job opportunities anyways. But soon enough, I made my friends with American teachers who helped me get to UCLA, and my parents helped with finances.”

 

Miyoung, who had never heard much of Mr. Byun’s educational past, was surprised at his experience. He had said that he didn’t grow up with much wealth—hence the fact that he couldn’t afford tutors or a residence like Miyoung’s—yet he still managed to learn enough English to excel in American universities that required a significant, almost native, understanding of the language. How he did that was a mystery, but Miyoung had found videos online of “polyglots” who learned languages quickly through books and free online resources, so it was not entirely impossible.

 

Moreover, he learned English as a way to increase his chances of finding jobs! How hardworking was he? It was also a genius way to get jobs that held significant importance. Employers always coveted bilinguals.

 

“You’ve had a very impressive past,” Miyoung’s mother noted with a smile. “It’s amazing to me that you accomplished as much as you did despite your upbringing’s conditions. I’m glad you’re the one teaching my daughter English.”

 

Mr. Byun looked over at Miyoung. God, he was so beautiful, smiling like that. “I’m glad too,” he said. “She’s very intelligent, and I see her succeeding in whatever she invests her time.”

 

“So do I.” Miyoung’s mother placed a hand on Miyoung’s shoulder. “I’ll let you two get to work.”

 

When Mr. Byun and Miyoung were finally alone in their study room, Miyoung had to compliment him on his achievements.

 

“You’re really impressive,” Miyoung said, taking her books out of her bag. “My mom thinks so too.”

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Mr. Byun replied with a smile, but he shook his head. “But the schools you go to never define you as a person. I want you remember that.”

 

“But you went to—”

 

“What if I didn’t?” Mr. Byun interrupted. He set his pen down, so Miyoung knew it was time to pay more careful attention. “If I didn’t go Stanford or some fancy American university, would you still think I was impressive?”

 

Taken aback, Miyoung stared into Mr. Byun’s eyes. Would she? The answer was simple: of course, she would. While she truthfully thought that going to prestigious universities made him all the more attractive, she also didn’t like him because of that. She liked him because he was intelligent and well-spoken—that he could recite poetry from the top of his head. Moreover, the most impressive thing about Mr. Byun was the fact that he worked his way from an unfortunate place to a more fortunate one.

 

“Yes,” Miyoung announced. “That’s a silly question.”

 

Now it seemed that it was Mr. Byun who was taken aback. He smiled, but incredulously. “Okay,” he said, “I like that answer.” He then nudged his head to the side, towards their textbooks. “Open to page 234. We’ll be going over color symbolism…”

 

 

[ 8 ]

 

 

Miyoung knew better than to get envious of the people Mr. Byun interacted with, but unintentionally grew too interested in everyone that exchanged words with him. She tried, but always failed, when it came to overthinking—or rather, not overthinking. But when she saw Naeun arrive earlier than the rest of their peers to ask Mr. Byun a question about yesterday’s lecture, she didn’t feel comfortable. Did Naeun like Mr. Byun too? What were they laughing about? Was there a chance Mr. Byun liked Naeun more than her? Mr. Byun wasn’t anyone’s—or was he?—and he certainly wasn’t hers, but why did she feel so restless all the time?

 

It drove her crazy thinking about it, and she had no right to be.

 

 

[ 9 ]

 

 

The following Friday, Miyoung was supposed to be studying, but of course, in the past week, everything was made of that word. Supposed. Supposed to be studying. Supposed to be paying attention in class. Supposed to have a crush on a normal boy. Supposed to be at home. Definitely not supposed to be walking around in Mr. Byun’s neighborhood in incognito.

 

It was a little later than her allotted time to be outside; it was 10PM, so in actuality, it was much, much later. But Doyoung wasn’t home, her father was at work, and mother was busy chatting away with multiple friends on a large group video chat. All Miyoung had to do was tell her mother that she was going to the 24-hour café, and that was that, and now she was in a Seoul neighborhood she had never visited, wearing a cap even if the sun had long since set.

 

She wasn’t stalking her teacher, of course. That was actually insane! And (probably) illegal! All she wanted to do was see what his neighborhood like. She thought that maybe that would let her feel closer to him. It wasn’t stalking if she wasn’t actively chasing him on foot either.

 

Still, she had to admit that it made her feel all sorts of adventurous. After all, she wasn’t supposed to be there.

 

When it was 10:30PM, Miyoung decided that it was time to go home. Her mother hadn’t texted her, and although Doyoung had, his text message was only a picture of the jajangmyeon he had made.

 

As Miyoung waited for her taxi to arrive at the front of a still busy restaurant, she noticed a familiar head of hair across the street in the convenience store. The past two months had conditioned her to recognize him even from afar, even in the dark, even through windows. It was Mr. Byun, alright, and he had purchased only a single item from the looks of it. Miyoung unfortunately couldn’t tell what it was since it was small and boxed.

 

Miyoung continued to watch as Mr. Byun exited the convenience store and entered his car—

 

From across the street, Miyoung’s jaw dropped. She also knew what Mr. Byun’s white Hyundai looked like, and it was right there, and a woman was sitting in the passenger seat.

 

Mr. Byun and the woman talked for a few minutes, and it was obvious that they were both smiling and enjoying themselves. Mr. Byun said something, and the woman reacted positively, laughing and playfully pushing at him. It only took another minute before the woman leaned in and kissed Mr. Byun.

 

At that, Miyoung looked away and gasped. As shocking as the scene was, she immediately looked back at the car across the street, thankful that she had a cap to cover her face.

 

The woman was still kissing Mr. Byun, and he seemed to be reciprocating it. His hands were even in her hair! All the while, the woman’s hands had started to get adventurous, and they trailed downward from his face and lowered to his neck and chest. Soon, they reached to some part of his lap (Miyoung couldn’t tell for sure), and Mr. Byun abruptly pulled away. They exchanged a few words only to lean back in for another kiss. This time, with scrunched brows, the woman tilted her head backward, open as Mr. Byun kissed her neck. Once more, they pulled away and exchanged a few words, the woman ing the top buttons of Mr. Byun’s shirt. She didn’t get far with that, however, because he pulled her hands away from his chest with a smile, and after that, he then started driving away.  

 

Meanwhile, Miyoung stood numbly at the street. Her heart was relentless in its cruel beats, but he wasn’t worried that they had seen her; she had disguised herself too well, it was dark, and they obviously were more focused in each other than they were at their surroundings. No, it wasn’t the thought of being seen that made her heart palpitate, it was the thought of what she had seen.

 

Miyoung wasn’t proud of this, but she had seen some explicit scenes from American and Korean movies and shows alike. They weren’t anything beyond shots of a male actor’s as he pressed himself onto an actress who sighed heavily, but the implication was still there. She wasn’t stupid; she knew what was.

 

In one unnamable movie, she remembered seeing the female lead dance against the male lead in a crowded club, cue shots of messy stumbling through dark hallways, hands haphazardly ing shirts, with the next shot being the two of them in a bed, seemingly , only covered thinly by white sheets.

 

So no, she wasn’t stupid. She knew how these things worked.

 

So, she had come to this conclusion: Mr. Byun was presumably in a relationship, and he was presumably enjoying its benefits no matter how crass they were.

 

She wasn’t stupid. No, no, no she was not stupid! She knew what Mr. Byun was doing with that woman or some vague idea of it. She didn’t understand why, but she was smart enough to assume it was cultural differences coming into play because good god, why would anyone do that?

 

It still broke her heart, of course, and she sat in the backseat of the taxi, whimpering to herself about how it hurt. She didn’t understand why she was even upset; it wasn’t like they were dating, but it hurt the same, and she couldn’t forget about it. About Mr. Byun kissing that woman, and how he touched her. About how it wasn’t her, Kim Miyoung, in that position. Was it foolish? Yes, undoubtedly. But admitting to foolishness only made it hurt worse.

 

When she got home, she was still sobbing.

 

Doyoung, who opened the door, gasped when he took in her shaking form.

 

“What the ?” he exclaimed in English. “Why are you crying?”

 

“I-I-I-I don’t understand i-i-infinitive ph-ph-phras-es,” she said through hiccupping sobs. “They don’t make sense to me, Doyoung.”

 

“What?” Her brother hugged her as he led her inside. Their mother had probably gone to bed since she was out of sight. “What are you talking about? Jesus Christ, Miyoung! Talk to me. Did something happen?”

 

Yes, something happened, but Miyoung was never going to admit to that. How could she? What would be her excuse? She was walking in some random neighborhood and saw her teacher get in a car with a woman? How awful that would sound!

 

“I don’t understand infinitive phrases,” Miyoung said through sobs, voice still trembling. “I-I-I’m not going out of my room u-u-until I do.”

 

Doyoung had finally caught on, and he pulled away from his sister with a sigh. It wasn’t the first time she did something like this. When they were younger, Miyoung often cried when she was introduced to a concept that she couldn’t understand but everyone else could. It drove her into madness because if she didn’t understand things as everyone else did, she felt stupid. And there was nothing as terrible as feeling stupid to her.

 

Obviously, things were changing because that was no longer the most terrible feeling.

 

“Are you serious?” Doyoung sighed to himself again. “You’re something else, Miyoung. I’ll be here if you need anything, but geez, get it together.”

 

Miyoung nodded, still hiccupping. She would spend the rest of the evening crying in her room. Of course, at some point, she would stop, and she would start devising a plan—one that involved being oh-so-whiny about everything. If she wanted something, she would have to work for it, and working for something would always have to be a little gritty.

 

 

[ 10 ]

 

 

On the Monday after that eventful Friday, Miyoung carefully watched her seemingly perfect teacher. He was dressed the same, and his hair was the same color, but he wasn’t so perfect now. After witnessing him in such a provocative situation, Miyoung had begun to wonder what other immoral things he had possibly done besides premarital . She wasn’t even sure anymore if he had really done what she thought him to have done, but the imagination was a dangerous thing, and hers roamed in all sorts of places.

 

Was Mr. Byun even in a relationship? He showed no signs of it, but then again, teachers were there to teach, not to tell anyone about their personal lives. But he couldn’t be in a relationship, Miyoung decided. He was her tutor for several hours during the day, and she had never seen him call or text anyone to say that he would be home soon. So, no, he couldn’t be in a relationship. Or could he?

 

Silently, as Miyoung took notes during a lecture, she cursed at herself. She knew she was wrong to even wonder those things, but good god. It didn’t sit well with her that she didn’t know.

 

 

[ 11 ]

 

 

“I need help,” Miyoung said to Yuqi and Somi while they were eating lunch. “How does one flirt but in a good way?”

 

The two girls weren’t even suspicious at this point. Miyoung was always writing memorized poetry in her journals, and sometimes her Facebook posts were just random texts of romantic poetry. It was no secret that Miyoung harbored affection for someone; the only secret was who, and Miyoung already made it clear that she wasn’t going to tell anyone.

 

“There are two ways to flirt,” Somi started without even batting an eye. “One way is to do it subtly.”

 

“Subtly?” Miyoung pondered. If one felt such massive emotion, how could do they deal with it subtly? “How?”

 

“Oh,” Yuqi piped up. “You have to do little things. If they like a certain candy, buy them a few packs. It could work for anything, to be honest. Albums, movie tickets, whatever.”

 

“You don’t have to always buy things either.” Somi nudged Yuqi in the shoulder. “You could also listen to their music so you could talk to them about it. You could give them a copy of a book they always wanted to read.”

 

(The next day, Miyoung was all smiles when she and Mr. Byun sat down for another tutoring session.

“Is there something funny?” Mr. Byun asked curiously. He looked around him as if to make sure there wasn’t a surprise waiting for him. “Care to delight me?”

“It’s nothing.” Though Miyoung said that, she did have something to show him. She took out a copy of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? from her bag and pushed it towards Mr. Byun. “I wanted to let you borrow my copy so you could read it.”

Mr. Byun in awe looked at the book. “Oh my, god, Miyoung. Thank you! I’ve wanted to read this for a while.”

“No problem,” Miyoung beamed.

Throughout that entire session, she watched Mr. Byun carefully. He truly did seem happy of what she had just did. And just before he left, he didn’t put her copy in his bag like he did with his other books. He carried it in one arm.)

 

“Okay, what else?” Miyoung asked her two friends.

 

“Honestly, I don’t think subtly flirting is the way to go.” Somi seemed to ponder it. Surely, she was thinking of all the way she had tried to “subtly” flirt with Doyoung. “I think being obvious is a better way. That way, no one gets confused. They’d have to be willingly ignorant for them to claim that they never noticed you being so obvious.”

 

“I agree,” Yuqi said slowly, “but you have to be careful. They might think you’re creepy or weird if you don’t pull it off right.”

 

“That’s true,” Somi agreed. “You can’t just do stupid things in front of them and consider it flirting. You have to…” She paused, unable to explain it. “I don’t know actually. I’ve never been that upfront with anyone. Maybe being subtle is the way to go…”

 

“Just be confident in what you feel.” Yuqi waved her hands as if to dismiss what Somi had just said. “That’s what all my friends in China did. They just said things like ‘I want to hang out with you because I think you’re funny’ but they did it confidently, and they ended up dating the guy.” Yuqi nodded as if she was recalling knowledge from a Bible. “Being confident does so much.”

 

“No, it doesn’t,” Somi rebutted. “Sometimes, guys like shy girls.”

 

“Well, forget being shy!” Yuqi flicked Somi in the arm. Something told Miyoung that Yuqi was personally talking about herself. In the few years Miyoung had known her, Yuqi was never known as shy. She was always taking deep breaths before talking to new people, and Miyoung had the feeling that there was a reason why. “Sometimes you have to be assertive.”

 

(The following Wednesday afternoon, Miyoung was shameless.

She openly stared at Mr. Byun as he reviewed the passages she annotated. It was quiet now; the white-noise-whir of the fan was the only thing filling their small studying room with sound. For a few minutes, Mr. Byun didn’t seem to notice that she was staring, but at some point, he had to look up, and when he did, he slightly tilted his head sideways.

“Is there something you want to ask me, Miyoung?”

“No,” she said with a smile, “looking at you just made me think of