1942

He never thought of what he would be when he grew up.

Probably a pianist he thought, his thin lips slivered into a weak smile at the thought of it.

Staring at the grand piano over the counter in his parents’ piano shop, his inked pen hovered above the dog-eared pages of hand written music sheets in front of him between his fingers. The young ambitious teen did not realize that the blot of ink from the tip of his felted pen had drip onto the pieces of paper that he treasured more than anything else.

The music pieces that he composed—the hand written music scores that held his dream of being the best pianist some day.
But something caught his attention across the shop.

He was a young man clothed in an old patched cotton sweat shirt; his flawless face was smeared with dirt and his perspiration. The boy over the counter watched intently as the handsome stranger-- a pauper, stood in front of the grand piano.
The young man fished out from his trouser’s pocket a white handkerchief and started wiping his hands carefully, making sure that there’s no dirt on his fingers. Sitting down on the wooden bench in front of the piano, he pressed his long fingers on the piano keys as the boy observed over the counter with fascination.

Etude Op.25 No.11  

The boy could recognize the melody that filled the room. However, he had caught himself staring at the young man instead—at this moment, the stranger was everything that he could see and hear.

Do we have the same dream? The boy wondered.
 
The music was interrupted by a screech of a banshee; the annoying screams of Mrs Lee, the owner of the piano shop.
“Keep your filthy hands off my piano!” The lady yelled at him, as the young man stood up frantically and bowed a couple of times.
“I’m sorry, Madam.” Then, he dug his hands into his pocket and unwillingly, he shoved a few coins into her hand, “I… I hope this is enough.”
“Don’t let me see you in the shop again, do you hear me?” She hissed at the stranger as he walked down the street.
When the stranger turned his head and set his gaze on the younger boy sitting across the counter, he curled his lips gently mouthed the words,

Thank you

The young boy was convinced that he had found someone that held the same dreams he did.
… … … …
“Taemin.”

“Yes mother.” The boy grumbled as his mother walked down from the steps of their shop house.

“Haven’t I told you not to let people like him into our shop?”

“What’s wrong with that boy, Mother?” Taemin questioned her, even though he knew exactly what her answer would be.

The answer that he detest           

“Because he is a pauper, he is powerless and penniless.”

“So? That doesn’t make us any richer, mother.”

“Your father is the mayor of the town and the owner of a piano shop, son. We are of a higher social standing than a servant like him.”

Taemin had heard enough. He shifted his gaze away from his mother and stared at the piano in front of him.

“The nanny has cooked dinner, Taemin.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Behave like an adult, Taemin. You are 18 this year.”

“Hmph…” Taemin nodded his head curtly and rested his head on the counter.

“I’ll close the shop, Mother.” Letting out a sigh, the lady walked up the steps and disappeared into the living room of their apartment.
If father isn’t a mayor, if mother could just act like father and be less realistic. Maybe things would change. He pouted his lips and walked towards the front door of the piano shop with the keys in his hand.
Just as he was about the draw the metal gates, he spotted the same stranger, strolling down across the street chewing on a French loaf in his hands.

“Hey…” Taemin called out to him and waved his hands at the young man, whom walked towards him eagerly.

“I… I’m really sorry about what happened, sir. I should have known that my mother would react like that.” The young man shook his head and lit up his face with a smile.
“No, it’s okay.”
He could not help but look at the cold and stale loaf in his hands that seemed impossible to masticate. The young man hid the loaf away from Taemin’s sight shamefully.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“I’m Choi Minho.” There was awkward silence once again before Minho continued, “I’m 19, so stop calling me Sir, okay?”
“Yes… Minho. I’m Lee Taemin.” Taemin reached out his hand eagerly, waiting for Minho to reply with a handshake. Instead, Minho stared at his hands and shook his head.
“Never mind, Taemin.” His reaction made Taemin’s heart ached.
His heart ached badly when he realized how the stupid, meaningless social standing had interfered people’s life. They interfere with the way people think of each other, the way they speak, the way they act and the way the love.
Taemin put down his hand feeling rejected. Leaning towards Minho a little, he whispered into his ear,
“At 3am tonight, or every night, if you wish to—you can come over here and I’ll let you in.”
Minho’s face lit up when he understood what Taemin meant.
“Really?”
“Yes, I’ll see you later, then.” Taemin drew the gates and waved at Minho, his heart fluttering with excitement and anxiety at the same time~
The anxiety that he may be caught for feeling that way towards Minho, someone that he should never like
… … …
Minho turned up on time, just as Taemin had expected. Letting him into the shop in the middle of the night, Taemin could see under the moonlight that he looked really young and less haggard now. Slowly, Taemin lit up a white candle with a matchstick that smiled at the stranger sitting beside him.
“Someone like you shouldn’t be allowed to tend a shop, Taemin.” Minho whispered in the pin drop silence under the small glowing flame in front of him.
“Why?”
“You shouldn’t let strangers in. Especially… someone like me.”
Taemin knitted his eyebrows after hearing what he had said; the cruel truth that someone like him was never respected.
“Stop it before I get angry, Minho.”
“It’s the truth, Taemin.”
“Then, don’t stop me from dreaming, Minho. I don’t want to know about the truth.”
Pressing the tip of his index finger on the piano key, Taemin tilted his head to look at Minho,
“I want to be a pianist one day.” He said quietly and waited for Minho to respond. All he got as a reply was a gentle smile and a pair of charismatic eyes staring at him in the darkness.

How I wish I could dream, just like you. 

Reaching out his hand, Taemin held the large and coarser hands in his, much to Minho’s surprise. Placing his hand on the piano, he muttered under his breath,

“You are in my dream now, Choi Minho.”
… … … …
--Autumn, 1942--

If this is a dream, I would never want to wake up. Minho wished, as he played the piano along with Taemin sitting by his side.
He could not remember when was the first time he met Taemin. 

Was it yesterday?

Or the day before?

But as he counted the days in his mind while their fingers danced across the piano keys, Minho realized how much he had grew to love Taemin across the summer.

As Taemin struck the last note of the piano piece, he leaned his head gently on the Minho’s broad shoulder.
“If… if I am not rich. If…if we are not born here, but somewhere else. Maybe things would be different, wouldn’t it?” Taemin asked.
Minho ran his fingers down Taemin’s hair before replying,
“Things would still be the same, Taemin.”
“The same?” Taemin doubted Minho.
“Yes… I’ll still love you as much as I do now. I’ll still hold you in my arms and play the piano with you. I’ll still be in your dreams just like how you are in mine.”
Shifting his head away from Minho’s shoulder, Taemin cupped his hands around his cheeks. Minho could see the tears streaming down from the corner of his eyes when Taemin tried to let out a forceful smile.
“But…but why do you have to go?”
“I have to, Lee Taemin.”
“Why… why…” Minho shifted himself closer to Taemin and gave him a kiss on his forehead.
“It’s not like I’m not coming back, Taemin. I’ll be back from war in one piece.”
“I don’t want you to go, Minho. I want you to stay here with me. I’ll ask father to get you out of the enlistment list, just like how he did for me.” The older boy shook his head and kissed the tears away from Taemin’s face.
“No… I’ll be back, Taemin.” Minho pressed his lips against Taemin’s, trying his best to hold back the tears that welled in his eyes, “Have faith in me.”
Taemin nodded weakly while he leaned forward to kiss Minho, his hands crawling beneath Minho’s shirt.
“Then… hold me tightly tonight. Hold on to me till you’re gone.” Deepening the kiss between them, Taemin could feel Minho wrapping his arms more tightly around his waist.
He knew that Minho was just as afraid of losing him and the dream that they had.
… … …

--Spring, 1943—
Taemin curled up on his as tears streaming down his face continuously.

Liar… Liar…Liar… 
He repeated under his breath as the words repeated in his head continuously.

Liar…You said you would be back. But now, you’re gone. You left me to face the world by myself. 
He read through the cursive handwriting once again, hoping that he had made a mistake when he read it for the past dozen times.

“I can’t live without you, Choi Minho…” Taemin closed his eyes, allowing the crimson red liquid to flow out of the slit on his right wrist. Before the darkness engulfed him, he hugged the letter closely to his chest, just like how he hugged Minho.
… … …

2011
A young photographer strolled down the pathway along a row of old shop houses. With a Canon Camera in his hands, he walked down the street, snapping a few pictures of the vintage road signs and buildings that were left behind after the Japanese occupation.
It was then when his footsteps came to a halt in front of a particular store that caught his attention. Peeping through the glass panes, he could see a boy sitting in front of an old grand piano, playing a soothing and melodious piece that filled the streets which would be crowded a few hours later in the night.
Walking into the shop out of curiosity, the boy stood up and smiled at him,
“Hi.”
“You’re pretty good.” Said the photographer as the pianist smiled shyly.
“Thanks. You’re a photographer?” The younger who looked a few years younger than him pointed towards his camera.
“You can say that if you want to.”
The pianist reached out his hand and said,
“I’m Lee Taemin.”
“I’m Choi Minho.”
When Minho held his hand, he bit his lips and stared intently at Taemin.
“Have I… seen you before?”
“No, why?”
“I think I know you from somewhere.”
“Maybe…” Taemin smiled, “Maybe in our past lives.”