Meaning: Sweet life; life that is filled with pleasure and indulgence.

Seulgi is the sweetest girlfriend, Irene thinks. She’s got that attention to detail, one that drives girls wild with endearment, and she gazes at you with the most adoring eyes. Irene wonders if Seulgi knows how her eyes fold into the most beautiful crescents, always. She wonders if Seulgi sees that Irene loves her back just as much, always.

There had been a time when Irene was skeptical. Her parents have always been dysfunctional. They bore each other down with frowning faces and angrily whispered at the dinner table. That’s what Irene grew up with. That’s what she thought was love.

When Seulgi first met Irene, Irene thought she was a good friend. She was a sweet friend. And that was that.

Because how could it be? How could a person be so caring: look at you like you’re the sleep that brings pleasant dreams at night? How could a person remember every single one of your favourite quotes, when all you had known were the stubborn grievances brought up time and time again between two people who had fallen out of love before you even knew what love was? How could someone show you that love as you deserved it?

But Seulgi did just that. She waited patiently by the doors of Irene’s morning classes, eyelids sleepy but eyes bright, waited for Irene to approach her first. She may have found Irene first, back in the biology class the two took together, but she always took a step back to let Irene come to her. And Irene did.

How could Irene not fall in love? How could she not realize that the not unpleasant ache in her chest everytime the taller girl smiled at her was because those sweet words, those sweet gestures promised something more than late night fights and splits from a lukewarm relationship? How could she not want to reach out and see if Seulgi’s slender hands, her lean body were as warm as her actions? How could Irene not want to love her back?

And to think Seulgi is hers. Hers to hold, hers to kiss, hers to love back. Irene knows she’s blessed.

A text brings Irene out of her reverie. Seulgi texts Irene every morning, a sweet text, of course. The contents are always different:

‘The sky is grey today, Irene. We always think grey is just black and white, but grey can be cyan, magenta, and yellow, or it can be the warm grey of yellow, orange, and red, the cool grey of green, blue, and violent. We perceive these differences, subconsciously, it seems. There is colour in even the most drab things. Have you seen the sky yet today? I am reminded of you. Even when the things around me are dull, I find moments of the woman I most love, and my world is full of colour again.’

‘Good morning, baby. I hope you slept well. I once learned of a man who did not sleep for eleven days. We start to shut down around the second day by undergoing short periods of unconsciousness called microsleep. Randy Gardner, the man who stayed up for eleven days, went straight into REM after his experiment. I don’t think I could even think about doing what he did. When I’m not with you in my waking moments, my brain seeks you in my dreams. Without you by my side, sleep is the most beautiful existence, because there in my unconscious, I see your face again.’

‘Irene, have you ever seen a twinned rainbow? They’re a rare phenomenon, even more so than a double rainbow. The latter happens when light reflects twice in a single drop of water; the former happens when two rainbows share the same base. I saw a twinned rainbow once, back when I was in Germany for that workshop. My peers were excited, but all I could think of was how that scene wasn’t rare at all, not when it wasn’t a view with you. Because for me, your presence is what makes each moment like no other, and seeing the way your smile gets just a bit brighter every day is already the best phenomenon to exist in my world.’

But at the end of all these messages, there is always the same conclusion, one that engraves deeply into Irene’s chest:

‘I love you, baby. Right now in this moment and more in those to come. Thank you for loving me and letting me love you.’

And at the end of all of those messages, Irene—Irene who has always been just a little bit afraid of expressing affection, Irene who hopes to never be her parents—replies the same thing back everyday:

‘Thank you, Seulgi. Thank you for making my life sweet.’