Rain drops spattered on the roof, making a rhythm of their own. Her eyes were gently shut, fingers lightly resting on top of the piano keys, waiting for the right amount of pressure to make a sound. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the earthy smell caused by the relentless downpour, her ears listened to each dribble, blocking out the white noise that the television on the other room provided. Slowly, she released the breath she’s been holding, her eyes delicately opened—Minjoo was done creating her own world, a barrier from all things not connected to music has been shut out, as if a glass wall enveloped her entire existence.

            Her fingers began to move, gliding and pressing and dancing to the melody, her body followed the flow gracefully despite being seated. Einaudi’s Nuvole Bianche dominated the place, she played lightly over the piano tiles, and as the notes progressed, so did the rhythm and movement of her hands through the space, Minjoo closed her eyes like reflex as she felt each tug of the hammer to the string, every vibration a glimpse at a world that only exists for her— every rise and fall in the measure, each stress on the key takes her back a memory further. She felt herself slipping away, going somewhere far from the piano room of her house, away from the year 4027. Suddenly, the stool she’s sitting on became a piano bench, the small room transformed into an auditorium, and above all else— she wasn’t playing alone anymore.

            The girl’s voice echoed clear in her ears, lively and refreshing, it was as if the sun followed wherever she went. Laughter followed, her almond eyes formed into a line, the smile made her dimples deepen, and her perfectly lined teeth seemed like they shined as she beamed at Minjoo.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her fingers still playing continuously. She was transported back at the auditorium where she practiced for hours on end, her gaze settles at the far end of the stage as the music entered its ; and in that moment, Minjoo swore she could almost see Yujin standing there with a comforting smile, cheering her on. Her eyes wavered with tears but she couldn’t stop staring, afraid that the vision of her lover would be gone too soon, it was an imagination she wasn’t ready to let go of, at least, not just yet.

            When the piece came to a brief rest, her eyes were still glued to the girl at the side, hidden from everyone else, visible only to her. Right then and there, Minjoo and the girl had a realm of their own, just like the old times—just like how it was a year ago, and all the years that preceded that point in time. She picks up pace and in a matter of a few seconds; she’s back on the rhythmic pattern, not thinking of breaking eye contact anytime soon. Her heart beated to the tune of the piece, and as it neared its end, the beaming smile of the girl gently turned into a poignant one, her lips were curled upwards but there was sadness in her eyes. A tear rolls on Minjoo’s cheek and she released a ragged sigh, an ominous feeling dawns on her, and she knew that the moment was passing through her fingers like water, Minjoo couldn’t hold on to the daydream much longer, and eventually, the magic started to wear off.

            She was still in her own world, but as soon as she heard the faint voice of the man on the television mention Yujin’s name, Minjoo came back to her senses like a person who jumped from an airplane without a parachute— sudden and jolting, prompting her to halt in between notes. And just like that, the barrier has been broken, the piano bench is just a stool, she’s back in that small piano room instead of the spacious auditorium, and she’s alone once more.

            Minjoo stood up and made her way out, the sound of the television increased as she got closer to the living room where her father sat down on the couch drinking his morning coffee. He turned to see his daughter emerging from the hallway; her eyes were glued immediately to the screen where a man in suits talked with such solemnity in his face. Without saying anything, Reverend Park observed her daughter who sat on the other side of the living room couch, her eyes on the verge of tears and her body was visibly tensed, as if she’d break all over the floor if she moved an inch.

“It has been a year since the timer of sixteen-year-old tech prodigy Ahn Yujin came to a halt, and a month after her memoriam has been lined up with the greatest innovators of our time in the Legacy Wall designated at the Technology and Energy Resource building.”

The man spoke sympathetically but Minjoo could see past the act, she knew he was just reading a pre-written script, programmed to appear like he understands even an ounce of pain like those who were left behind, but the man was plainly doing his job, and he wasn’t exactly good at it, which only made Minjoo more furious rather than appeased.

“Today, we remember the genius who shook the nation with her revelations and innovations, a true believer of her craft and of justice.”

            A montage of Yujin’s photos flashed on the television and Minjoo felt her chest tighten and burned as she held back the tears, a resounding voice in her head kept saying that she can’t cry for someone who’s still living, because for Minjoo, Yujin is still very much alive—she always had been even after she disappeared without a trace.

When the series of photos were done, a clip followed right after. In that video, Yujin could be seen by her previous workroom while she toured the camera around, it was an old interview; she was young and full of hope, exactly how Minjoo remembers her.

            Reverend Park reached for her daughters hand and firmly grasped it, silently offering the girl a form of support albeit unnoticed. Soon after, the melancholic rhythm coming from the television came to a stop and a different man with a deeper voice and graying hair came onto the screen. He was wearing the same expression as the newscaster who spoke before him but he was more relaxed, better at doing his job than the previous man, and as if he had done speeches like this a thousand times.

            “Hello, citizens of Gleidor, I am Jang Soo Geun, the head of Technology and Energy Resource Department. It is with deep regret that I am speaking to you today in commemoration of a life that’s gone too soon.”

            She thought that the hardest part was over, yet her heart only grew heavier by the second. All these words sound so foreign to Minjoo even if it has been a year since she last saw Yujin, she just couldn’t get used to hearing people describe her with words in past tense. Perhaps, she thought, it was the repercussion of her actions not to let go of her lover, because deep down she wasn’t done looking for clues to prove that everyone was wrong for thinking that Yujin had already passed away.

 “Ahn Yujin was a revolutionary, she was brave and bold, and definitely didn’t deserve such a short life. I used to work with her and there’s no denying that she was special. She may have gone at a young age of sixteen, but the legacy she left outlives her timer. May we always keep in our hearts, the girl who propelled the development of technology in our nation, may we honor the young genius that is Ahn Yujin.”

The segment ended with a brief picture of Yujin smiling widely which slowly transitioned into a black screen and in a matter of seconds it was back into the daily news. Minjoo stared absent-mindedly into the void, thinking of the inconsistencies that the media played throughout the course of Yujin’s disappearance. The citizens are being kept in the dark, it was a gut feeling that Minjoo always had, but she knew that in order for her to convince everyone, she needed to gather enough evidence to support her claim, and for her to do that, she has to be very careful in her ways of obtaining proof. It was what Yujin always told her, assumptions are just assumptions until you cite a credible source.

            Finally, Minjoo looked over her father once she snapped out of her train of thought. He had a comforting expression on his face that borderlines a look of regret, not because his daughter was pining over something he thought was a lost cause but because he can’t do anything to make it hurt less for her. Minjoo on the other hand, willed herself to plaster a brief smile for her father which she knew wouldn’t suffice, but trying at it was better than letting the best of her emotions get to her.

            “It’s hard, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet and calm, something Minjoo certainly needed at the moment. She smiled at him again, wider this time, but Reverend Park only tightened his hand around her daughters. Minjoo could feel an impending cry sneak up again, making burn even more, preventing her to speak.

            “You were playing a relatively light piece, but your keys sound so heavy.” Minjoo’s eyebrows drew together but the rest of her features softened at what her father said. She never knew that he