“Seungwan?”

Seungwan looked up, the frown lingering on her lips when her name was called, replaced with a curious draw of her eyebrows, attention from the two books she was contemplating on buying lost when she turned to the source of the voice.

“Seungwan-ah! It is you!”

A girl with almost the same stature as her came over her, tucking shiny ebony locks behind a cute perky ear, eyes crinkling in soft crescents, a full beaming smile directed at her showing just how happy – glad that she saw her. She felt small petite hands hold her arm, touchy yet un-intrusive (though, she wonders why so, when she clearly couldn’t quite recall this girl in front of her), Seungwan’s eyebrows now about to join her hairline with how confused she is – confused, Yes, but curious, as well, as said girl clearly knows her. 

‘She’s very pretty,’ Seungwan thought, maybe her confusion was more on the fact that a very pretty girl approached her – and a teeny, just a teeny tiny bit panicky.

Her silence must’ve been very blatant to the other girl, ‘cause said girl moved away a bit, hands wrapped on her arm now holding the strap of her bag, fidgeting and timid (too bad, Seungwan weirdly missed the touch on her arm), and looking just a shy away from being too adorable in front of Seungwan – she’s die of a heart attack if she could right then and there.

“Uhmm, do you remember me?” said girl, shyly asked, voice would have been lost if the bookstore had been crowded – thank God for weekday hubbub, less people to deal with.

The girl knows her alright. 

They’re probably pretty close too, if the touchy greeting was any indication.

If only she remembers …

Seungwan should get used to people coming up to her every now and then. Suddenly getting all touchy, most times very intrusive of her personal space, she ought to be used to it. Yeah, she ought to.

But when you’re someone who suffers from a head trauma that suffers from more serious yet not very life-threatening aftereffects such as amnesia – well, let’s just say, its nothing short of uncomfortable and a total bother. Not after her family unknowingly took her abroad when the local doctors can’t seem to find any cure or solution as to why she remained in coma. 

to be her – Seungwan’s life restarting again when she woke up.

Not that she remembers if she hated or loved her life before, she thought wistfully.

“I-I’m really sorry, bu-“

“Ah, no!” the girl cut her off just when she was about to explain her situation, Seungwan blinking her eyes in confusion, “I should be apologizing,” the girl continued, hands locking and unlocking her bag, anxiety clear from actions, eyes downcast, “You must’ve suffered a lot, Seungwan-ah,” she looked up to meet Seungwan’s own confused orbs.

Seungwan wonders, does this girl knew her before the accident.

When the only memory you have of your life restarted from when you were a kid, the moment she opened her eyes the first word she said was ‘Mom’, she remembers her hobbies and the friends she made before she went to high school. It was a sad turn to her life, especially when the friends she used to have didn’t even visit or send her letters, the only constant in her life from the moment her eyes opened: her mom, dad, and her older sister.

Whenever she asked her mom about who she was before the accident, she would always get the same answer: ‘You’re very smart, a good and kind daughter, and have always loved singing.’ 

Seungwan knows she’s smart.

When they went back to South Korea after the doctor deemed her okay to go home, the awards and trophies and certificates lining up their wall and table greeted her when they arrived to their old house. She helped her mom clean them up, listening to the proud stories of how she acquired all those, her mom’s voice warm and happy to tell her of how much her old self has achieved.

But she can’t relate.

Or even remember – 

 – no matter how happy and proud those moments are.

So she focused instead on the way her mom sounds, and gulped down the lump on from her lack of recollection to all these supposed important events in her life. As long as she’s alive, to want what she can’t have, her past memory is irrelevant. She vowed to make her family proud and happy, even when she feels a huge hole in her mind where beautiful memories should have been.

She vowed to create new ones, instead.

But when her parents talked about how she loved singing so much, even to the extent of showing her old clips of her singing in competitions, the lump in comes back – in full force. Sometimes she’d find herself watching those videos and falls asleep to the sound of her voice, so strange and unfamiliar to her ears.

When she found a box of microphone stashed in her closet, she picked it up to test if it’s still working. She tried to come up with a sound or a note or even just a noise

– but she can’t. Voice lost to the shaking and trembling and quaking as she tried to open and close for even – even just a word. At least to remind her if she still has it

– still has that talent that her parents showed her in that video of herself.

But the voice her parents proudly praised, the videos of her singing, and the compositions they said she used to write—

She can’t hear it.

Heart breaking once more to the sound of microphone falling from her trembling hands, that clattering noise made as it met ground.

Her dad found her curled up in her bed then, face hidden on her pillows as she felt her dad’s strong and warm embrace envelope her entire being.

But Seungwan is confused why her name rolling off this stranger-not-stranger’s voice sounded so awfully familiar and right. The way the girl looked at her – not with pity that she’s used to seeing from others – so open and vulnerable, making her heart clench at the fragility reflecting behind those big brown eyes. An open book that she can’t read, much less understand.

“When I went to the hospital to visit you,” the girl—stranger shook her head, memories attacking her at Seungwan’s confused stare.

“When I visited you,” she tried once again, “your room was cleared an—and I found out that your family moved you to States,” voice breaking off towards the middle of the sentence, sadness coating each word, and angry at the situation clear at the white knuckl