There’s a girl who comes in through the door every afternoon at exactly three o’clock, always carrying a worn out book bag and treading carefully across the carpeted flooring, cautiously looking around and gazing in awe at the shelves of musty, faded books and dusty furniture. She doesn’t look like someone who belongs in a bookstore— messy hair and disheveled clothing, headphones resting around her neck—more like a rebellious teenager strikingly out of place against the backdrop of muted sunlight streaming in from the windows and antique tables scattered around the corners.

 

Curiously enough, the girl never reads any of the books either. Sometimes, she reaches for a book and flips through it absentmindedly, eyes looking blankly away from the crinkled pages as her fingers rest momentarily on the printed text. It’s like she’s waiting. Not for someone, but something.

 

Wonyoung observes all of this from behind the counter as she checks the prices of the books and sorts them for customers. It’s not as if she’s watching the girl on purpose— it’s just easy to pay attention when the small brass above the door tinkles to welcome the same person , who slips soundlessly past the counter every time. And as she glances up every once in a while from the stacks of books waiting to be categorized and shelved, Wonyoung wonders.

 

It’s a little game she’s made up over the time she’s been working in the bookstore, to pass the lonely hours standing there with nothing to do. As the girl settles down in a chair in the corner and gazes blankly at a bookshelf, a ray of golden sunlight lighting up the strands of her hair and washing it aglow with fire, Wonyoung pretends that this girl is a gallant princess thrown into a new world, cast astray by a magic spell.

 

 

She really needs to stop reading so many fantasy novels. But what can she do really? When she’s in a place full of numerous worlds waiting to be opened.

 

 

After an hour, the girl will leave the bookstore, never passing by Wonyoung’s counter, always looking emotionlessly ahead of her as if she has been pondering some  impenetrable, elusive mystery— with the answer always tantalizingly out of reach. It mystifies Wonyoung, that someone can seem to be so deep in thought, so deep that sometimes the girl nearly runs into a table on her way out of the shop.

 

 

She notices everything.

 

And for some reasons, she wants to know.

 

 

She wants to know everything about this mystery.

 

 

(However, she never notices the faint flush on the girl’s face and how she looks at Wonyoung in embarrassment.)

 

 

And so every day passes the same way, the bell tied to the frame of the entrance door jingling cheerily at three in the afternoon, but for some strange reason, Wonyoung thinks that whenever the girl leaves, the ringing seems almost sorrowful. Lonely.

 

 

 

 

♡

 

 

 

 

Before she found a job at the bookstore, Wonyoung had never really given much thought to going out of her way to help others. Throughout most of her life, she had been the quiet type of kid, drifting around the corners of hallways, clutching her textbooks tightly to herself and avoiding eye contact with others. She was the shy kid in the back of the classroom who only spoke in a whisper, and only then, when the teacher called on her.

 

And then high school came and college entrances became important and Wonyoung realized that to pay for her college tuition in the future, she had to earn enough money. Perhaps not enough to pay the yearly fee, but enough spare change to live comfortably enough when she did go to university. So she looked around for possible job opportunities and finally found her job as an employee of sorts at a small bookshop tucked away nicely in the corner of a small street, mostly hidden from the rest of the world.

 

Most of her customers are the elderly, pacing slowly among the labyrinth of bookcases and reaching out shakily with wrinkly, knobby hands for aged books, whose pages have long since yellowed with time. They don’t talk much, instead spending most of their time sitting in chairs and looking through books, wistful, nostalgic hints of smiles on their faces as they gaze down at the printed lines of text resting in their trembling hands.

 

Wonyoung has learned to read stories in their expressions, in their silence. She has learned that there are so many unspoken words in the gentle rustle of a finger moving across the page, pointing at faded ink and crinkled paper, set aglow by dust motes drifting in the air caught by shafts of soft rays of light.

 

So that’s why the girl who comes in every afternoon at exactly three o’clock mystifies her so much, drags at her curiosity, because she has no story to be discerned from her eyes. (It’s because she misses the interest in the girl’s expression, the shy curiosity in her gaze, because she never notices the girl watching her.)

 

 

Everyone has a story, a dream.

 

 

The elderly who wander around the bookcases all have a story, a touch of youthfulness and memory resurfacing in their expressions when Wonyoung searches long enough.

 

 

She wishes she could find a dream, a story within the girl’s blank expression.

 

 

 

 

♡

 

 

 

 

“Sorry!”

 

 

The husky, unfamiliar voice along with the sound of books falling jolts Wonyoung out of her daydream (that consisted mostly of staring in the opposite direction of where the girl was sitting, pretending that she wasn’t thinking about her). She turns around, only to see said girl looking back at her, expression stuck somewhere between surprised and nervous, as if the girl hadn’t meant to say anything.

 

They both reach for the pile of books scattered on the floor after the girl had knocked them over, and somehow, their hands accidentally meet, fingers brushing against each other as Wonyoung kneels down. The girl draws her hand back quickly, eyes widening in apology, and Wonyoung is struck by how terrified the girl seems.

 

“I’m not going to bite you,” Wonyoung blurts out before her brain can register her thoughts. She feels her face heating up when she realizes what she had just said. “I mean. You…you look really nervous. Sorry.”

 

The girl bows her head and mumbles something under her breath Wonyoung can’t quite catch, then resumes stacking the books hurriedly, avoiding Wonyoung’s bewildered, questioning gaze. She hands the last book in the pile to Wonyoung, then stands up abruptly, turning around immediately, still staring down at the ground.

 

“Wait!” Wonyoung calls out when the girl begins to walk quickly away. “At least tell me your name so I can thank you for helping!”

 

The girl turns around again, staring at Wonyoung for a slight second, before bolting out of the bookstore and leaving an extremely confused Wonyoung standing there, the words I want to get to know you fading away on her lips.

 

 

(“I’m so stupid,” the girl tells her best friend a few hours later, “She even asked me for my name and I couldn’t even say anything because I was too nervous.”)

 

 

 

 

♡

 

 

 

 

The girl doesn’t come to the bookstore for a week and poor Wonyoung feels strangely disappointed.

 

 

 

 

♡

 

 

 

 

“I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says confidently, sitting down next to the girl when the girl appears again one day at three o’clock in the afternoon, shuffling inside and hiding timidly behind a few bookcases, “It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can be friends. What’s your name?”

 

 

It’s much too bold of an action for Wonyoung— she never goes up to people out of the blue to introduce herself, but it’s been months and months since the girl has come into her library, to her life, and Wonyoung still hasn’t been able to discern the girl’s story, still hasn’t been able to learn who the girl is. And this time, she’s determined to speak up and understand a little more about the mysterious girl who won’t talk to her.

 

 

“A-Ahn Yujin,” the girl mumbles, lowering her gaze and avoiding Wonyoung as she suddenly grabs at a book off a nearby shelf and begins flipping furiously through it. She doesn’t say anything else for the next few minutes, and Wonyoung begins to feel extremely awkward, because now that her momentary surge of courage has faded away, she has absolutely no idea what she’s doing and to be quite honest, she’s starting to feel rather embarrassed too.

 

“Um. Yujin is a nice name,” she begins hesitantly, because wow can you be any more awkward? She pauses and stares at the book in Wonyoung’s hands. “What are you reading?”

 

“I don’t know?” Yujin stares back at her bewilderedly, eyes wide and hurried, and Wonyoung can’t help but burst out laughing because Yujin is actually really adorable—and she shouldn’t laugh, she shouldn’t laugh because it’s so rude but she can’t control the giggles bubbling out—

 

“Let’s be friends, okay?” she finally says, mentally hitting herself because she probably looks like an idiot, laughing like this in the middle of a bookstore in front of a cute girl, and who in their right mind would want to become Wonyoung’s friend like this? But Yujin— Wonyoung has learned her name, finally, listened to her voice. She has begun to unravel the mystery behind the girl’s blank expressions.

 

 

She has begun to find a story.

 

 

(And that’s what matters, because Yujin nods shyly and says “Yes, let’s be friends.”)

 

 

 

 

♡

 

 

 

 

There are a lot of stories to learn from Yujin. There’s one in her gentle smile when she helps Wonyoung work one day and an old woman comes by, stacking worn-out books one by one onto the counter with trembling hands. There’s one in the crinkle of her eyes as she walks over and takes the books for the grandma instead, helping her carry the pile all the way back to the lady’s home.

 

There’s a story in her laugh when work ends and she sits with Wonyoung, bangs falling into her eyes as she leans against Wonyoung and laughs in mirth over funny stories. There’s a story in Yujin’s voice when she stays behind to help Wonyoung shelve the books, solemnly grazing her fingers over the engraved words on their spines, whispering the titles to herself.

 

There’s even a story in the way Yujin says “Nyeong” after she realizes Wonyoung is younger and Wonyoung finds herself wondering if friends aren’t enough for what she feels, if there’s something quite unfriend-like in the way her entire world seems to light up whenever Yujin talks to her. (Maybe she’s starting to fall in love.)

 

“Hey Nyeong?” Conversations are subdued in the bookshop, hushed and quiet as Yujin whispers softly into Wonyoung’s ear.

 

“Yeah?” Wonyoung tries to ignore the shivers running down her back as Yujin leans in closer, breath warm against her neck. It’s a hot day, the sun blazing outside with a vengeance, heating up the usually cool interior of the bookstore.

 

 

“Thanks.”

 

 

“For what?”

 

 

“For being my friend. For asking to be my friend.”

 

 

 

 

♡

 

 

 

 

“Let’s get out of the bookstore,” Yujin suggests one afternoon, “Nyeong-ah, I feel like you never leave this place. Are you free after work?”

 

 

“I guess?” Wonyoung takes yet another book off the stack by her feet and squints at the title, trying to decide if it should belong in the nonfiction or fiction section without having to actually open the book up and read the summary. “Why?”

 

 

“We should go somewhere.” Yujin is adorable when she’s determined, Wonyoung thinks, flipping to the back of the book’s cover, only to be met with a large, black and white picture of the author staring directly up at her with a scowl. The older girl has this glint in her eyes and this lilt in her voice whenever she’s determined. It’s cute, although Wonyoung would rather not admit that out loud.

 

“Like where? I don’t really go around town that much. I don’t know where to go for anything.” The author’s photo doesn’t really reveal much about the genre, and the title doesn’t even make any sense. Wonyoung sighs and opens up the book to read the front jacket.

 

 

“Oh, but we’re not going around town,” and Yujin is suddenly right next to Wonyoung, taking the book away from her hands and inserting it into an empty slot in the bookshelf right next to them. “This belongs in the fiction sections. There are about five other copies of the same exact book in the shelf. You need to pay more attention.” She grins teasingly and nimbly ducks from Wonyoung’s withering stare.

 

“Then where?” Yujin’s presence is affecting Wonyoung a lot more than she lets on.

 

 

It gets hard to breathe when Yujin is so close to her, and Wonyoung can’t help but wonder of the older girl’s full lips are as soft and nice to kiss as they look—

 

 

“We’re going to the city.” Yujin’s grin widens and she skips over to another pile of books, flipping through the pages rapidly until she finds where the book belongs. “We’re going to have some fun.”

 

 

All thoughts of kissing fly out of Wonyoung’s head and she turns to Yujin incredulously.

 

 

“The city? You can’t take me to the city! I rarely go there. The city’s full of shady people and loud noises and if I can’t even navigate this town how am I supposed to survive the city?”

 

 

“Calm down. I’ll protect you, you baby.” A jolt of electricity hits Wonyoung when she hears the words, and she hides her face behind a book, frowning, because damn it, why is Yujin so persuasive?

 

“Fine,” she mutters, “but I’m never trusting you again if this all goes wrong.”

 

 

(Secretly, though, her little heart is thrilled.)

 

 

 

 

♡

 

 

 

 

It takes about five seconds for Wonyoung to realize that the city is absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. The city at night might be frightening, but it seems to glow. This is where the fantasy tales take place, soaring along the skyline, flying free amid glittering buildings and dazzling billboards.

 

 

“It’s alive,” is the first thing Wonyoung breathes out when she steps off the subway with Yujin, gazing out at the skyscrapers surrounding them. “It’s alive. Unnie, it’s alive.”

 

 

Yujin stares at her, amusement flitting across her face as she shakes her head and takes Wonyoung’s arm. “Silly. You really don’t go into the city that much, do you? At least not at night. The city’s a wonderful place.”

 

Wonyoung doesn’t argue, too captivated by the rows of flashing neon lights in the horizon to remember that she’s still wary of the people on the streets at night. “I should come here more,” she mumbles in agreement, and she feels Yujin shake in laughter as they press against each other, stopping outside the subway station to catch a proper view of the sky.

 

“I know,” Yujin says softly, and Wonyoung suddenly realizes that the older girl still has her arm around Wonyoung’s, and that they’re standing next to each other, side by side, so close that they’re nearly resting against each other.

 

 

“So what do you want to do?” she asks hesitantly, trying to not stiffen up against Yujin’s whole presence. She isn’t sure whether to draw away or relax against Yujin, and apparently, an overwhelming part of her brain is telling her to just lean against the girl, but there’s always that little bit of fear keeping her back, that Yujin will reject her and push her away.

 

 

It scares Wonyoung.

 

 

“Didn’t I tell you?” Yujin turns around to face her, eyes alight with excitement as her expression spreads into a wide grin, “We’re going to have some fun.” And she laughs, so brightly that Wonyoung can’t help but join in, even though she’s wondering what exactly Yujin means by fun—

 

 

 

“Unnie! Where exactly are we going—”

 

 

 

Yujin doesn’t even respond, just drags Wonyoung away from the subway station and shouts, “Run, Nyeong, run! Just run and follow me!” And with an exhilarated laugh, she pulls Wonyoung forward, into the night, against the shining headlights of cars rushing past by and twinkling lights of the city above.

 

 

She learns that Yujin is passionate about running—no, Yujin loves running.

 

 

“I didn’t know you could run that fast.” Wonyoung says panting when she finally catches up on the latter.

Yujin smiles, and Wonyoung sees the twinkle in her eyes when she replies, “You’re talking to a future national athlete here.”

 

 

“It’s the air I breathe.” Yujin adds proudly, facing Wonyoung. She clasps their hands together, fingers intertwining with a whisper of we fit perfectly. “Run with me?”

 

 

 

(Wonyoung thinks that she could get used to this burst of adrenaline as she feels the wind catch at her face and she runs.)

 

 

 

 

♡

 

 

 

 

They end up in a small restaurant, in the middle of some street in the city, and Wonyoung doesn’t even care where it is anymore, because she’s realized that she’s never felt so alive and breathless with excitement and joy. Yujin pushes the door open for her, and they walk in, and Wonyoung is immediately hit with the nostalgic scent of the noodles her mother used to make when she was younger.

 

 

She misses her mom.

 

 

Yujin must have noticed the change in her expression, because the older girl moves closer to her and asks, “Is there something wrong? You don’t like it here?”

 

 

“No.” Wonyoung shakes her head and suddenly, the urge to cry hits her, and she bites her lips, feeling her eyes tear up. “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect. Thank you so much, Yujin-ah. Thank you so much.”

 

 

 

“You’re welcome, Wonyoung,” Yujin says quietly, and when Wonyoung looks up again when she’s sure she’s not going to start sobbing out loud, the girl is looking back at her with a sort of gratitude in her eyes. The moment passes, however, and Yujin clears , looking away again. “So. What do you want to eat? I’m paying.”

 

 

“Yuj, I should pay,” Wonyoung protests, as Yujin leads her to a table sitting in the corner, in front of a painting of flowers hanging on the wall. “You already took me here. I should pay.”

 

Yujin chuckles lightly and shakes her head. “I’m paying, Nyeong. I’m the older one, remember? I’m supposed to do everything for you.”

 

“But I’m younger. I should be taking you out and paying for the food.”

 

They stare at each other for a full minute before Yujin smiles mischievously and Wonyoung becomes suspicious. “Unnie, what did you do?”

 

 

“I took your wallet,” Yujin sing-songs as she skips to the counter to order, leaving Wonyoung spluttering in indignation behind her. “You can’t pay even if you wanted to…”

 

 

“Yah Ahn Yujin!”

 

 

The food arrives quickly, and the first thing Wonyoung does when the large bowl of noodle soup is placed before her is to lower her head and just inhale the scent of the soup while closing her eyes. It’s exactly as she remembers it—hot, with the hint of kimchi and lamb and cilantro, exactly how her mother made it. She opens her eyes again to see Yujin staring at her in amusement yet again.

 

“What?” she asks defensively, taking out a pair of chopsticks and setting them on the bowl, “Am I not allowed to smell the soup?”

 

 

Yujin seems rather quiet all at once, as she takes out a pair of chopsticks and also sets them on her bowl. Her expression becomes distant for a moment, before she shakes her head and grins at Wonyoung, taking her chopsticks up again and posing them over the bowl. “I challenge you to an eating contest, Nyeong. Winner gets to have the other confess something.”

 

 

“There is no way I can eat as quickly as you. You’re like a dog!” Wonyoung stares down at the bowl and then back at Yujin. “Anyways, aren’t eating contests a display of bad manners? We’re in a restaurant—”

 

 

“Wonyoungie,” Yujin wheedles, and Wonyoung gives up, because really, it should be illegal for someone to look so adorable, “We’ve done eating contests before. It’s not that much of a deal. Please?”

 

 

“I’m going to lose.” Nevertheless, Wonyoung feels the hint of a grin on her face, and she laughs despite herself.

 

 

“Okay. On your mark. Get set. Go.” They begin eating, Wonyoung trying his best to shovel as much food as possible into without looking like a wild animal.

 

Me