“The probability of a certain set of circumstances coming together in a meaningful (or tragic) way is so low that it simply cannot be considered mere coincidence. ” 
― V.C. King

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Jieun’s POV

I watched painfully as my grandpa shakily rose up to hug me before sinking back onto his soft, white mattress. His entire bed blended in with the dull and uninspiring white walls of his square room, and the only source of excitement came from the small, steel barred window opposite of his bed. Just to get up to look out into the world would be too much of a hassle for him to try. Immediately I felt pity for him, but we had no other choice but to bring him here. It was just a few weeks ago when my grandpa complained about a small tremor in his hands when he tried to grab objects or write, and no sooner than a late night hospital visit after he fell down a plight of four stairs did he become clinically diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.

After the short time that had passed, it was disappointing that the rest of the family had seemed to forget about him in this high security facility. Just watching my grandpa struggle to feed himself spoonfuls of soup reminded me that this was where he would be confined for the rest of his life—Freeview Care Centre for the Physically and Mentally Disabled. The building had an ironic name, for after being in here for less than fifteen minutes, even without being a patient, I could feel anything but freedom. Wall to wall, ceiling to floor, everything was painted the same shade of white.

“Ah!” My grandpa startled, dropping his spoon onto the floor. The yellow-brown soup dripped, staining blotches of the ground. He looked up at me apologetically, and I weakly smiled back at him to assure him it was fine. In a few more weeks I knew that his symptoms would get worse—far worse than small tremors causing him to drop things. Sooner or later he’d lose his ability to walk. In a few months or years, he’d lose more than his motor skills—he’d lose his memory.

I picked up the metal spoon with ease and then grabbed the bowl of soup with my free hand. My grandpa sat close beside me, watching me scoop up a new spoonful of soup and blow at it gently, directing the visible steam his way. When I was little, my grandpa would always feed me at his house, cooling the soup the same way I did. I felt even more disappointed to know that our roles were now reversed. My beloved grandpa was being robbed of too much, I felt, and for a moment I wished that my grandpa could re-experience his glory days again.

As an adult healthy in his mid twenties, he fought alongside his comrades as part of South Korea’s military during the Korean War. He was an admirable war veteran who saw respect from everyone he met, and he always took pride in fighting alongside the American forces accompanied by the United Nations in the name of democracy—in the name of freedom. No one was more proud of his life than our family. When the pressures of the Korean War subsided and it was decided that Korea would be split North and South along the 38^th parallel, he used all the money he had to start a hotel chain that my father was destined to take over. My heroic and loving grandfather paved the way for our family to live practically as chaebols as he rotted away silently in his little depressing excuse for a bedroom without a word of complaint. Looking at how pitiful he was now compared to the photos of him in camouflage standing in front of the Korean flag was too heartbreaking. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.

My grandpa slurped as quietly as he could each time I fed him some more soup. It had chilled to the point where I no longer needed to blow at it, so I just fed him quietly, watching his hands twitch every now and then as he leaned in towards the spoon. Did he realize how pitiful his life had become? How much regret could he be holding in right now? And yet he didn’t cry. The first day we left him here, he didn’t shed even one single tear. Instead, he was able to wave us goodbye with a forced smile. I began to wonder whether the military had conditioned him to harden his heart to tears.

“That’s enough,” He thanked, raising his hands in opposition when I tried to feed him another spoon. This was probably all he ever got to eat. Bland soup and rice porridge three times a day was far from what I’d consider an appetizing meal, but he never complained, so what right did I have?

“Are you sure?” I asked, noticing how much skinnier he had gotten. I didn’t want to watch him wither away in here, but I knew that the moment I left, the next day he’d be looking forward to would be the day I come back for another visit. The problem with that is, my father sent me to overlook all the international hotels that were part of our chain, especially in Canada. I’d be everywhere else but here, and I felt guilty for that.

“Thank you, Jieun.” He smiled weakly, and then tried to lay himself down on his bed. I helped him, and then pulled his blanket up to his shoulders. His eyes gleamed, focused on the small window covered by the translucent drapes. How much did he want to see the outside world again? How much did he want a breath of fresh air? I got up from my stool and walked to the window, pulling the drapes apart so that at least, he could see the beautiful, clear sky that was beyond the glass that was confining him. After that, he stared, as if his soul was being absorbed into the blueness of the sky, and then closed his eyes. At least in his dreams, he’d be free to do whatever he wished. Only in his dreams would he ever escape this clinical prison. I shuddered.

“Harabeoji, I’m going to go now, okay?” I informed with a voice a little louder than a whisper. With his eyes closed and head resting on his fluffed pillow he nodded and coughed. His right hand began to tremble, and I grabbed it and squeezed. Immediately his trembling stopped.

“Annyeonghigyeseyo,” I coughed, holding back my tears. He nodded again, and then I let go of his hand. My head turned before I could see if it began trembling again, and I opened the door to leave without looking back. The hallway was clear except for a yellow broomstick that leaned against the wall. They probably cleaned it six times a day to maintain how evenly white everything always was. Holding tightly onto my purse, I headed back to the lobby where I would have to sign out.

A friendly receptionist waved at me as I entered the lobby and I headed straight to her direction. I took one glance at my watch before picking up a pen. She remembered me from earlier and handed me a white form, the same one I signed before coming in and then pointed to a line at the bottom.

“Thanks,” I mumbled quickly and then scribbled my signature messily over the line. The longer I was in the building, the more anxious I became. Even though I had no more appointments for today, I just wanted to leave. The receptionist slid the forms back towards her and scanned them quickly, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she did.

“Everything seems to be in check. I hope you enjoyed your visit with your grandfather.” She smiled that same smile, and I had to really think about whether she was being sarcastic or not. Every patient in this building was dying both physically and mentally. Being enlisted in here implied that everyone had given up on them in society, and they would just silently wait here until it was their turn to leave the world. How could someone in their right mind enjoy being in such a dark and depressing place? Rather than answering her with a rude comment, I turned quickly to leave—a little too quickly.

Yongguk’s POV

                I stood behind a woman at the receptionist’s desk as I waited for my turn. I paid little attention to her as I turned to look out the glass doors from inside the lobby. In just a few more minutes, I would be able to be out there, with the trees, the cement sidewalks, and the welcoming blue sky. For some reason it felt almost like a dream, but I assumed this was the kind of affect a place like this had on people. When I turned my head back, the woman in front of me pivoted suddenly and stepped forward, bumping right into my left shoulder. She then stumbled back a little and eyed me apolitically before bowing almost 90 degrees.

                “Choesonghamnida!” She immediately apologized, cheeks blushing red as she looked at me. Her straightened hair fell perfectly back on her shoulders and her eyes were moist, as if she had been holding back tears.

                “It’s alright,” I smiled, and then watched as she smiled back before leaving out the spinning glass doors. She had the sweetest smile I had ever seen in a long time. Suddenly I wished that I would be able to see her again, but I knew those chances were unlikely. I didn’t believe in fate or destiny. I always knew that if I wanted something, I’d have to make it happen myself.

                “Bang Yongguk-sshi,” The receptionist called my name though I was only three feet away. Perhaps I had been in a daze but I moved towards the desk and received the papers she extended towards me. I then reached for a pen, the same pen that the woman had used just before, and signed my name at the bottom where a line indicated me to. Just beside my form was hers. The receptionist had not put it away yet. Just out of curiosity, I glanced over and saw her name; Song Jieun, in her petite but professional printing, and a number just beside. 4021, I read the number over and over in my head until I felt that I couldn’t forget it, and then passed my forms back to the receptionist.

                “Everything’s in check, I hope you enjoyed your time here.” The receptionist smiled her all too obvious fake smile and bowed politely towards me. There was no sincerity in any word she breathed, and I had known that since the beginning, but today was a big day so I didn’t want to misbehave in any way.

                “Thank you.” I retorted as politely as I could. 4021, I repeated again in my head. It was the room number of the person Jieun had just visited. Today, it seemed that this lucky fellow would see another visitor pretty soon. Without looking back, I made my way back down the depressing white hallway that seemed to know no ends, reading each number on the doors as they increased by 2, looking for 4021.

A/N: Haha hey readers! Sorry for taking extremely long to post the first chapter. Actually I wanted to write it 2 days ago but this story is very psychological and I had to do a lot of research to build the plot up while keeping true to the psychology in it. The research I did actually spooked me out because I do get scared easily, and since this fanfic is going to be a thriller, let's just say I got too scared to write chapter 1 those few days ago ^^! (The same thing happened with Roses are Red). I know this chapter isn't scary at all, but I like to plan, plot, and brainstorm as I go so my plot kind of frightened myself... Sounds lame, I know haha! I'm going to try really hard to keep all the psychology and history in this story true to life ^^ 

Anyway I hope chapter 1 is enough to keep you guys happy for a while ^^ I have exams until JUNE 22 so I may not be able to update until after that date! Thanks for your early support, everyone (: