Why is light given to those in misery, and life to the bitter of soul, to those who long for death that does not come, who search for it more than for hidden treasure, who are filled with gladness and rejoice when they reach the grave? Why is life given to a man whose way is hidden, whom God has hedged in? For sighing has become my daily food; my groans pour out like water. What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil.

Job 3:20-26

It was obvious that Naeun felt no joy. She swung the racket tiredly and without interest.

Just like the last few weeks, her tennis instructor approached Minho today.

"Good afternoon Mr. Choi."

With a slight nod of his head, Minho greeted him. Why couldn't he just leave him alone?

"Mr. Choi, have you thought about what I said?" he asked him. Minho sighed slightly. His stale gaze slid to his daughter.

"She will come around." He replied wearily.

The tennis coach nodded in understanding. For the past few weeks, he had been trying to gently break it to Minho that while Naeun was talented in sports, her passion was not in tennis. He had talked to her and found out that she would like to go horseback riding again. But every time he tried to bring out this suggestion, the man next to him would block it.

One more letter and he would stop.

Desperately, her big dark eyes looked at him. Why could he only cause suffering to people he loved? Naeun's gaze grew bleaker with each passing day.

"I'll stick to tennis, I'll play the violin. But please, let me ride again." She pleaded with her father anew.

She did not understand all this. All of a sudden they had stopped going to the farm. Had she done something wrong? She had done so well after all, even her father had seen that.

And he was happy there, too. He got on well with her riding instructor.

She wanted to be that happy and carefree again.

"Naeun sweetheart, we can't. I'm sorry." Minho tried to suppress the tremor in his voice.

Every day he tried not to think about him. To no avail.

If a warm breeze didn't remind him of his laughter, the cigarette in his hand reminded him of his sensua