Jungkook sat up in his seat as the bus rolled into the narrow lanes of the quiet seaside town. He removed the earphones and partially stuck his head out of the window. Salty air hit him as a rush of nostalgia collided with the familiar horizon rising in the distance.

His uncle was waiting for him at the station. Jungkook remembered him as younger, but his smile had not changed.

“I swear you look like your father every day,” his uncle told him as they walked to his parked mini-truck outside.

Jungkook chuckled. He liked hearing that he resembled his father.

They drove through the sleepy, sloping streets from his memories. In the distance, the cries of seagulls rented the air. The last time Jungkook was here, his grandmother had still been alive. At twenty one, he thought the town was smaller than it had been seven years ago.

It was easy to settle into the lull of the place; waking up to the roars of boats taking off, watching the fishermen from the night returning with their catch, helping his aunt clean clams for lunch and digging for crabs in the mudflats by the sea.

But Jungkook began to wish he had something else to do. He wandered the streets, finding the snack stands from his childhood replaced by newer ones, stopping for shrimp ramen at local food shacks and tracing his footsteps to the shore. The ocean sparkled blue in the summer sun, white ripples glimmering like kaleidoscope in the horizon. The endless blue felt like the world had suddenly opened up, like life had suddenly opened a door and he no longer had to worry about petty things like grades and extra credits. But he still needed something more.

Wandering the streets was how he had found the flyer advertising a temporary vacancy at the local library.  

Jungkook was a Fine Arts major and his life revolved around , palettes and lead smudges. Words had never been his strongest niche. But maybe a job at a library might lead him to the something more that he couldn’t place a finger on.

The days were slow at the library. Except for a school teacher who said he was studying the history of the town and arbitrary school students looking for crime novels, Jungkook hardly saw any visitors. When he was not sitting behind the circulation desk, he found himself pottering among the book shelves, arranging and re-arranging, charting out mental maps as to which books were kept where, double-checking the reference numbers and trying to discover books that painted as well as colors and brushes did.

It was between these shelves that he first noticed her: a pale, slender figure with brown tresses that cascaded down her back and a blue, flowy dress that reminded him of the ocean. He watched as she lingered leisurely in the poetry section, running her eyes over the books like an observer of a painting at a museum. Finally, picking a book, she opened to a page, biting her lips sub-consciously as she read and smiled vaguely at whatever words she had chanced upon. Jungkook couldn’t help allowing a small smile himself. The girl in blue then proceeded to sit down on the linoleum, her legs crossed with the book on her lap. The spine was out of his sight but he made sure he remembered which section she had taken it out from and what the cover looked like.

“She’d been reading Neruda,” he told his aunt later that evening as they sat on the front porch, peeling fruits for dessert. “All those love poems sounded pretty dramatic if you ask me.”

She smiled. “Love poems and love songs sounds cheesy until one falls in love.”

“Well then… I don’t look forward to it,” said Jungkook.

His aunt only smirked. “We’ll see.”

The second time Jungkook saw her, she was sitting at a table, reading, as he noticed when he walked past her pushing a cart of books, a collection of Li-Young Lee’s poems. She read it leaning back in her chair, the book held up like a mirror and a corner of twitched in what he thought felt like a sad smile.

He tracked it down again later, feeling slightly guilty but too curious not to.

Checking it out and bringing it home, he wondered what she had been smiling at today. Propped by his window before bed, he read the poems of a writer from a distant land talking of things Jungkook had never seen.

But when he found The City in which I Love you, Jungkook felt something stir within. His eyes traced the words as though his own had been put down on paper, albeit better than he could have:

And when in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent songs goes unanswered,
and I mount the scabbed streets
the long shouts of avenues,
and tunnel sunken night in search of you…  

 He felt a rush through his veins as he read on, blushing when he neared the end:

The vein in my neck
adores you. A sword
stands up between my hips,
my hidden fleece sends forth its scents of human oil.

The lines sent shivers down his spine. He thought of her neck and warmth, and immediately blushed before shutting the book vehemently. 

He did not see her during the weekend. Settling down behind the circulation desk on Monday, he wondered if he would see her that day. With the sultry sun outside, the library saw a few numbers of visitors that morning. He attempted to pursue a book which Mr. Park, the school teacher had recommended for him, but through the second page, he put it down. Picking up Li-Young Lee’s book, he flipped to a random page when someone walked up to the desk. Closing the book, he looked up and his breath caught in his throat. It was the girl wearing the same ocean-blue dress.

She held a book and a borrower’s card at the ready. Without a word, she put down both before him. Jungkook wiped his palms on his jeans and proceeded with the necessary procedures. He noticed her name on the card- Park Chae Young- and an address from the other side of town. As she drummed her fingers lightly on the counter, he noticed her short-clipped nails and the healing calluses on her finger tips; he wondered if it was guitar or the piano that she played. As he handed the book back, he noted that it was another book of poems- Kim Seung Hee’s Love Songs for Incompletion.

She nodded to the book on his desk. “I really like his works.”

“Yeah,” he said in what came out almost like a whisper. “Me too.”

When she walked away, he exhaled. He had survived.

That evening, he stopped at a general store to pick up some art supplies. He was browsing through the colored markers when his eye caught a notebook whose cover was the same shade of blue as the girl’s dress. Without a second thought, he bought it.

Jungkook was not the kind to write but sitting by the window, flipping through the blank pages of the blue notebook, he picked up a pen and wrote in it impulsively: is blue your favorite color?

She was back again the next day, reading poems and smiling as usual. Watching her discreetly, Jungkook couldn’t help the smile tugging at his own lips and felt something funny in his stomach.

He opened the blue notebook and wrote in it, ‘for the girl who loves poetry’. Twirling the pen, he wondered what to write. For the girl who loves poetry, he wrote what was probably his first poem:

Girl in blue
Who carry the ocean in your steps,
As Neruda or Lee, let me be
So I can you make you smile
At my words.

Feeling embarrassed at himself, he stowed the book away.

Sometimes, as she walked out, passing the circulation desk, she’d nod at him. Eventually, they began to exchange polite greetings.
“Good morning.”
“It’s hot today.”
“No books today?”

Her voice had a hint of huskiness and a confident calmness. But more than her voice, Jungkook decided that he liked the way her eyes seemed to give away everything; the way they clouded when she was confused, the way they’d widen when she’d see him with a book she liked, the way she blinked when she hesitated and the way they lit up when she was reading something.

You who wear your heart in your eyes,
As unguarded as let me be
So you may step inside my world
And see your unguarded eyes
Beguile me

On days that he did not see her, he spent his time wondering about her: why did she like poetry, what did she like beside poetry, which college was she in and was it a co-ed institution, what was she majoring in, what did she do to keep herself so pale even in summer, what kind of music did she like, what was her favorite season and did she like coffee or tea?
    
Wondering about the poetries
That make you smile
And wondering why.
Wondering about the music you might play
And wondering which.
Wondering about the place you study
And wondering where.
Wondering about the things you enjoy
And wondering what.
Wondering about your eyes and smile,
Skin and toes,
Wondering how it all
Is going to bring me closer to you.      

But words, as much as he tried, wasn’t Jungkook’s finest. It was in lead, brushes and acrylic that he felt most satisfied. So when she didn’t appear for quite a while, he realized he couldn’t find words to write either. He began with sketches of her silhouettes, sometimes daring to sketch her face. He felt almost guilty sketching her without her consent.

When her absence continued, and he missed the way the sight of her brown tress made his heart jump, he moved to painting in colors. He began tentatively with soft watercolor and then moved on to sharper portraits in felt pen. He wondered when he’d see her again.
 

The days dragged on but she did not turn up. He had toyed with the idea that he would ask her out for a cup of coffee if he saw her again. With her continued absence, he stored the thought away.

On his last working day in the library, fate, as a hopeless romantic would have put it, Park Chae Young came back, lingering as usual in the poetry section, strolling down the length of the shelves and running her eyes over them, without seeming to actually look.

Settling on a Kwak Jae Gu’s collection of poetries, she sat on the window ledge, casually flipping through the book and pausing every time something on the pages seemed to catch her fancy.

Jungkook knew that this would be the last time he saw her. He tried not to stare, but couldn’t help it. He leaned back in his chair and found an angle from which he could watch her inconspicuously. He took out the blue notebook and a pencil and started to sketch her; his fingers deftly captured her eyes, the narrow slope of her nose, her brown, heavy locks, the delicate curve of a smile that did not quite form and the slight tilt of her neck, as if his fingers remembered what his eyes had so often seen.

The whole while, she sat there, almost as if she knew she was being sketched.

After he was done, he got up, picked up the stack of books he was supposed to have been sorting out and went on his way. He could have asked her out but Jungkook was Seoul-bound in just a few days, and he didn’t see the point of it. This reasoning also gave him an excuse for the courage that he couldn’t quite muster now that she was actually in front of him.  

That evening, Jungkook got off work early after collecting his salary. He walked home with a twinge of bittersweet feeling, yet enjoying the early evening’s languorous air. Only upon reaching home, did that serene satisfaction disappear. The blue notebook was missing from his backpack. 

He raced to the library, knowing that that was where he had definitely left it. He hoped if anyone had found it, that they wouldn’t open it, he hoped if one of the staffs had found it, they wouldn’t be nosy about it.

It was not behind the counter. The cleaning lady had not seen it. Jungkook scaled the place, overturning books and shelves, but the notebook was not to be found.

“Maybe you misplaced it at home,” suggested the security fellow.

It was not likely but Jungkook had to accept it. Though it was not supposed to have meant anything to him, he felt as though he had lost a piece of himself. He walked back dejected.

His aunt was busy preparing food for him to take back to Seoul. Seeing her excitement made him forget about the notebook. He followed her in and out of the kitchen, trying to help but mostly being useless at it.

The day before he was to leave, he woke to his aunt calling him for breakfast and telling him that he had a mail. He was confused but figured that it might be something related to the scholarships he had been applying. When he walked into the kitchen, he was surprised to see a package and not a letter as he had thought.

He lifted it up off the table. It was heavy and felt like a book. “Aunt, where did this come from?”

“It came this morning. Seems to be a local delivery.  Must be from the library.”

Jungkook, confused still, undid the brown wrapping. He held back a gasp when he un-wrapped the familiar blue notebook. The package had no return address.

“Oh… it is from the library,” he explained. “I had lost it yesterday.”
 

He was relieved, but a bit anxious. He wondered who could have found it and if they had peeked inside. He didn’t like the thought of someone else reading his attempt at poetry and his sketches.

He forgot about the notebook until later in the evening when he began packing his bags. He picked up the book and paused to look through it. Just then, something fell out of the pages. He picked it up. It was a Polaroid picture of someone silhouetted against a window. He stared curiously at the picture and recognized that it was taken inside the library. Suddenly, with a jolt, he realized it was him. The picture was slightly blurry as though it had been taken hurriedly, and he would not have recognized himself had it not been for the blue striped shirt that he was wearing.

He blinked and wondered what kind of a joke this was. If this was a practical prank on trying to scare him, it was not working.

He flipped through the pages, wondering if there was anything else. After his last sketch of the girl sitting on the window ledge was a poem in someone else’s hand:

Wondering about the boy
whose voice sounds like drizzle
Wondering what he thinks
Of me
Wondering about the way
he averts his eyes
Wondering if he wonders of me.
Wondering if he realizes
The smile I steal from him
And wondering if he will talk
Not to pages, but me.

  
Heart hammering, Jungkook read through it. He wondered who had written it. Was it mocking him, or was it simply an imitation of his poem. He turned the page and there was more in the same handwriting:

Sorry if I creeped you out with the picture. But I saw your sketches of me so I thought that made us even. I sat through the whole time on the window ledge hoping you’d say something to me after you were done sketching, but you didn’t. That was really mean. The ledge was uncomfortable. Anyway, I play at the August Café at seven.

Jungkook nearly dropped the book in shock. He read through it again. If it was someone else pulling his legs, he’d just have to see.

He glanced at his watch. It was fifteen minutes to seven.

“Aunt, where is August Café?” he demanded urgently, bursting out of his room.

“August Café? That’s on the other side of town, near the fish market. Why?”

“I have to see someone,” he called over his shoulder as he ran out. “Can I take the bicycle?”

Without waiting for her response, he was gone, leaving his aunt staring after him, perplexed.

Jungkook had never cycled faster and reached well on time. The café was not difficult to find and music was already drifting out of it.
Heart in his mouth, he pushed the door open. The lights were low and the place was not crowded. There, sitting on the stage was his blue-dress girl now in jeans and a boxy crop tee complete with a black bucket hat. She was tuning the guitar on her lap and had not seen him. Slowly, he walked to the front and sat down at a table still wondering if it could really have been her who had written in his now embarrassing notebook.

Finally, she looked up and their eyes met. They held each other’s gaze for a while before she finally smiled: a shy, knowing smile that confirmed that she indeed had written in his notebook.

“Good evening,” she spoke into the microphone in her familiar husky calmness. “My name is Chae Young and um my favorite color is blue. I am a university student in Suncheon, and I play the guitar. I write songs sometimes and I read poetry to help me with it. When I’m not doing either, I like to cook and eat.”

There was a slight ripple of chuckles among the audience. Jungkook knew her introduction was meant for him. When she finished, she caught his eye again.

Smiling self-consciously, she began singing a song that he recognized: 2U by David Guetta.
 

As her husky, syrupy voice and the light strum of the guitar filled the café, Jungkook’s lips were curling into a smile.

Just as simple as that, he knew he was in love. 
      
He would have to cancel his ticket for Seoul.