Summary: Yujin grows ever more distressed as she keeps on receiving love letters from a secret admirer. Meanwhile, Minfrog is kept awake by strange, romantic dreams. The rest of IZ*ONE are oblivious that the two’s struggles can have only one outcome.

Word Count: 3217

Hashtag: #JinjooFiesta_TheBeautyInside

 

The Beauty Inside

 

          As she sat on the bench gingerly re-tying her shoe, a stray newspaper lay next to her--the leaves of it faintly rose and fluttered to the rhythm of the early morning wind, haphazardly close to being lifted off. The finishing pull on her shoelace had a hint of frustration in it. She looked up at the pale blue sky, mouth agape; cold air stung the way that spearmint did, and from it she saw her breath swirl up into the wind. Why now? She thought, glancing at her knee. It was red, and hurt badly. Why did it have to be like this? What’s the meaning of all this? The newspaper was tossed up high without a sound, and it scraped the ground with the wind. Suddenly, a set of white running shoes blazed past it. She took off with yesterday’s news behind her heels--if only she could do the same with her heart.

          Ahn Yu-jin pouted while she ran--a mixture of embarrassment and anger trailing her. While jogging earlier, her thoughts had drifted back to yesterday morning, and she had distractedly fell and scraped her knee.

          Yesterday morning, it seemed cold enough to freeze someone’s blood. Letting out a yawn and stretch, she rubbed her eyes behind her glasses. These were thickly rimmed black, as she was one of the more nearsighted ones in her group. The sound of a dog’s bark from a distant house, a car silently passing by, the smell of a bakery, the flip-flop of her sandals, and the roughness of the mailbox handle all seemed virtually the same when she closed her eyes. When she opened them, a folded piece of paper lay atop the daily mail. The heat of embarrassment engrossed her like wildfire, as it suddenly was too hot for a heavy jacket when she read the folded paper’s print:

 

The reason the stars shine in the sky is likely because of the darkness of the night. But maybe it’s because the tears that quietly dropped have become points of light.

 

          Standing between Mongchontoseong station and the walking trails that follow past-era relics, there were green fields that were splendid, but vastly bare; save for a large and lavish evergreen, which stood at a light slope. It was still early enough in the morning that no one was around to do any activities, so the grass looked more empty than usual. This she jogged by on a wide, paven path. From there, she took the subway line back to her neighbourhood, and walked the rest of the way.

          Why me, why now, she thought.

          Spring was replete in Seoul, and it was past the season where moths would go to lay their eggs, therefore it was safe to hang clothes out to dry overnight. Colourful garments were strewn about like pennants on apartment block balconies--the biggest being blankets. It was a telltale sign where summer’s heat was just advancing, and soon the nights would be cool enough for just a light jacket, or an open window.

          She stopped at the window of a convenience store and caught a glance at her reflection: flat eyebrows framed her doe-like eyes, and her lips were naturally pointy; her nose wasn’t small, but it was a shapely face for someone at seventeen.

          It was easier to let her body go on autopilot, and without thinking she immediately went upstairs and flopped on her bed. Her knee stung in contact with her cotton sheets, but she felt as if she couldn’t do anything all the same.

          “Yu-jin!”

          “Mom!” She calls from upstairs.

          “Yu-jin, is this paper in the mail yours?”

          Hearing those words sent a jolt down her spine. She affixed her glasses on again, and scurried down muttering thank-you’s. The letter’s paper felt like lead. It’s another one, she thought:

 

Please remember us in this moment, this moment that I’ve been waiting for. I want to fill it with our voices, gazed upon by twinkling stars of aurore. If this is a dream, I never want to wake from it.

 

          A love letter?!

          And just like that, Ahn Yu-jin’s heart was stricken again, and as the letter fell to the ground like a leaf from a tree, so too fell she, like a wooden plank, onto her bedroom floor.

          A hand waved over her glazed eyes, alarming her into consciousness. She was suddenly looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling, with someone hunched over trying to get her attention.

          “Oh, Chae-yeon-unnie.” I’m at practice, thought Yu-jin.

          “Yu-jin,” she jokingly sighed. “can you not use honorifics so early in the morning, please?”

          “Oh. . .Sorry. I spaced out again.”

          “Are you okay? You seem out of it.”

          “Yeah, I’m fine.”

          “Did something happen to your knee?”

          “It’s nothing. I’ll be okay.”

          “Well, as long as you say you are,” Chae-yeon helped her up, and asked her if she was ready to join them.

 

          Kim Min-joo was at a party for the umpteenth time.

          Walking through an ornate banquet hall, she saw the orderly masses of people walk towards rows of chairs, where a tet was playing chamber music on the side. High above, crystal chandeliers seemed to refract and reflect the moonlight spilling in from tall windows. Min-joo sat down, and eavesdropped on the conversation and laughter surrounding her, but could not make out anything. She sighed, and looked around the banquet hall with disinterested eyes. She began to get up and move around a few times, but when she decided to move back, she was surprised to find a stranger occupying her chair; with no seat left and the program starting, she hastily sat on the end of one row to her discomfort. Instinctively, she knew her elegant dress got in the way of a lot of things, the most of which was her visibility. She felt unseen. Two other girls were in front of and beside her--the one beside Min-joo elbowing and jabbing her as she talked excitedly to her friend in front. Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the stage curtain opened as a play opened in front of the banquet. The play asked for two volunteers from the audience, and Min-joo quietly raised her hand. The play called to her--a relief that she was real. The people surrounding her, however, did not turn around to look at her: they were looking at the girl next to Min-joo, who had raised her hand as well.

          As instructed, she and her lay on the floor on gym mats with their heads elevated by towels. They sat on a frog-themed swing that bounced up and down like a bungee. It was a sensitive swing--just a slight shift in weight and it moved senselessly--so sensitive, that Min-joo had to put her legs down on the ground. It was on this swing that a screen was rolled out in front of them, and they watched an informative news segment about a wealthy but unattractive man’s scandals.

          “Are you okay?” Min-joo whispered.

          The girl didn't respond.

          The news segment finished and it went onto a children's show. A frog appeared on screen and was hopping to the rhythm of a song. Min-joo too made the swing hop--so vigorously that the swing flinged both of them up in the air.

          The roof of the banquet hall caved away, and the two were launched high up into the night sky, where for a moment they were able to float in an aquarium of brilliant stars within arm’s reach. Down below, they could see sprawling pines and grass; a shimmering ocean bay, too, wherein three whales cut through like a knife through water, sending long, long spouts illuminated by moonlight. The whale spouts produced a light melody of classical guitars--a melody that strangely felt breathable, high above. The two start to fall, and Min-joo’s gut clenches as the wind blows past her. They fall with a light thud, and roll to a stop on a grass hill.

          “I apologize,” Min-joo whispered, half embarrassed and half out of breath.