“Do you believe in God?”

Minjeong clasped the rosary tight in between her fingers, the beads etching marks around the gaps like holding it taut closer to her skin would somehow manifest an answer. It never did. However, it was still a question Minjeong liked to ask every now and then. See, it was no longer about the response, which never came, but the reaction it guaranteed; a gentle hum, a dismissive nod, the crinkle on the corner of Jimin’s eyes when she threw her head back in disbelief.

“I’m hungry,” Jimin mumbled, “how about tteokbokki?”

Minjeong would shrug the dismissal by then, carefully pinning Jimin’s ambiguity as part of her charm, “Sounds good.”

(They spent their weekends at the church. A recurring phenomenon that began when she was twelve when the girl wearing a yellow summer dress near the altar gave her little waves, making preposterous faces in between sermons.

Minjeong did not know her name at the time, but somehow, she knew she’ll take a huge space in her heart. She wasn’t wrong.)

The afternoon light seeped through the church’s stained-glass windows, painting Jimin in colors that constantly left Minjeong a little warm on the cheeks. They always walked side by side amidst pews. Jimin’s hands brushing against her every time, so subtle, with a smile that sounded like the gates of heavens had been opened, a unique experience only catered towards Minjeong. It left her prideful, privileged of everything Jimin was, which was nothing short of divine.

Jimin was, in all senses of the word, heavenly , and for Minjeong’s sixteen-year-old brain, she was everything. They were everything.

Minjeong’s house has never been a place of peace, but Jimin took it upon herself to make Minjeong a home out of her presence. When everything gets loud and unbearable, and when the bottles of alcohol start piling up on the kitchen counter instead of a proper dinner, Jimin comes by carrying new-found purpose.

“Sir, Minjeong and I share chemistry together, and our homework – ”

“All right, all right. Whatever, go.”

It was these moments when Minjeong thought life could be beautiful. That there are endless possibilities waiting for her out there. That amidst bad memories and broken promises, despite the loveless marriage that had her bound to a place she could barely call home, the yelling, the repeated half-baked apologies from her parents Minjeong knew better than to believe – there could be more.

Jimin offered her a world where she didn’t have to tiptoe over shattered plates and broken appliances. Where her room didn’t have a fist-shaped hole and her heart didn’t feel as empty, and everything was all about bicycle lessons at midnight and tteokbokki trips after classes, praying over weekends and lazing around at the park with a book in hand.

“Do you believe in God, Jimin?”

There was no response, but Jimin chuckled, pulling Minjeong closer , closer , and closer . Her hands found hers under her blue blanket. She squeezed it, one , two , three . Her face burying in the crook of Minjeong’s neck.

“I’m always here for you.”

She held Minjeong every night.

Minjeong thought of heaven and the existence of God, and how it falls short in comparison to what it feels being cradled inside Jimin’s arms. She whispered an apology for thinking that way, and then she prayed. Clenched her eyes shut, knuckles white in between Jimin’s fingers, she asks for everything Jimin.

Jimin’s dreams, her health, her parents, her education, her cat. Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.

Please, please, take care of her.

“You’re in love, Minjeong,” Yizhuo murmured.

“What? No! That’s ridiculous, Yizhuo.”

Aeri pushed her shoulder a little too hard, “Jimin this, Jimin that – you are ridiculous.”

Minjeong wiped the sweat on her brows with the back of her hand. From a distance, she observed Jimin’s figure, a blur of sheepish grin and white uniform stained with tteokbokki sauce, running after her. Her backpack bounced with each step. Minjeong couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that came right after, all from a place of affection.

Aeri slapped the back of her head, “Oh, you’re so totally in love.”

“Shut up.”

At sixteen, Minjeong denied her feelings with inherent abhorrence, we’re just friends!

At eighteen, Minjeong kneeled, her hands in a tight grasp, a prayer at the tip of her tongue, I love you, I love you, I love you…

“Please don’t go Jimin, we have universities here, and stuff, and… can you convince them?” Minjeong said weakly, “ please? ”

I love you, I love you, I love you…

Jimin was silent, but she held Minjeong in place. It was tighter this time, her hands clutched on Minjeong's shirt, her fingernails digging at the fabric and onto Minjeong’s skin. Afraid of shattering all over the place, she allowed Jimin to claw at her like a toy about to be placed back on the shelf.

“Jimin,” it sounded like a plea, desperate, “do you believe in God?”

I love you, I love you, I love you…

Jimin stilled, snuggling closer, like she needed Minjeong deep in her bones, and then she cried.

She left the next day.

Jimin was reduced to nothing but letters with barely readable sentences. The words smudged in all the wrong places and the little hearts at the margins didn’t feel as lively nor as warm as Jimin’s lopsided smile and the way she used to hold her hand on nights when Minjeong has nowhere else to go.

But, Minjeong tried. She wrote back, no matter how delayed the response was, she did her best, and in her own way, Jimin reciprocated. She sent Minjeong pictures, post-cards of places she had been to, the French riviera, a vineyard in Tuscany, the Vatican City . To compensate, Minjeong asked Aeri to borrow her aunt’s camera and developed the pictures herself. One at the playground they used to frequent, jimin, i miss you the swings miss your presence, the other one at the tteokbokki place they love so much, halmeoni asked where you are , i didn’t have the heart to tell her you’re never coming back, you know how much she adores you , please come back.

The last one was a picture of herself Aeri took on the day she was moving to the university dormitory.

I love you.

Jimin, do you believe in God?

Jimin sent a picture of her at a church, the Sistine Chapel, Aeri guessed. She was smiling so wide with her hands held tied in a prayer by a yellow rosary Minjeong knew belonged to her, a gift , the sunlight glimmering a halo on top of her head. Minjeong felt her heart tightened, yearning for what was. And then she grasped the picture closer to her chest, just like how Jimin held her on all those nights.

She ran her fingers smoothly over the sentence written impeccably at the back of the photo, I’m here for you, Minjeong.

The letters stopped after that.

Minjeong waited every single day for the whole year. Spent a half of her meager allowance calling home when she promised never to look back, ma, did you check the mail ? Her mother’s voice was always laced with longing and anticipation, like she had been waiting for Minjeong to call every now and then, even if it was for a reason far from what she’s expecting, no letters, Minjeong, have you eaten?

Minjeong would sigh, oh, okay, entertain her mother’s tirade for a while before making an excuse to hang up the phone, take care of yourself, ma, she would hear her mother’s words, broken and somewhat apologetic. That was usually her cue to cut the line, but the guilt had a tendency to override her indifference, so she allowed her mother a few more seconds every time, you, too, Minjeong.

“Maybe, she got confused with the address?”

Aeri looked at her softly, and Minjeong h