It felt only yesterday when she last met him. Dong Bang Shin Ki’s chaos had still been a hot topic at that moment, not only low traffic forum post like sad reality happened in 2012. She still remembered his face when they had bidden farewell once she had stepped into the train that would bring her to the heart of Gangwon, a province in northern part of South Korea. From its capital, Chunceon, she would travel for some more distance to reach the secluded and far corner of Goseong County, where she would build her career as a Chemistry teacher in rural area, right before the borderline of northern and southern countries in Korean peninsula.

He looked sad that day. The flame of his eyes seemed demure and somehow his smile never reached his eyes. No, that pair of dark orbs of her beloved man looked empty. She knew he was sad although he had tried his best to cover it from her thorough sight.

“Take care of yourself,” he whispered as he gave her the last hug. She felt strange when he released her. It was so very unusual of a man like him to bid goodbye with just one line, when she knew very well how cheerful and talkative he had always been. Ami knew he must feel what she felt, like the other half of her being snatched away from her grip.

“I’ll be missing you, so much,” she cupped his cheeks with her palms, trying not to burst into tears as she kissed him goodbye on each side of his face. He held out his hand to touch hers, the one on his face, but she softly waived it. She knew the longer they held the other, the harder it would be to let go. And she had made up her mind. She had always dreamed of teaching, dedicating her four years of Chemistry major in university for students who didn’t get access to a better educational facility.

He took one step back, pressing all his sadness to produce a sincere smile. He knew what a wonderful woman she was, how strong her will could be, and he had supported her decision. He couldn’t help but feel proud at every sight of the girl who was about to be his ex-girlfriend. He was proud at her philanthropic side, proud of her mature thoughts in such a young age, proud that she had once brightened his days with her presence. Proud of the endless love she had always given him. Proud of her.

Tears had been threatening to stream down his cheeks those days but he didn’t let even one drop to pool on his eyes. They were the winners of the battle of love. There was an unspoken promise between them not to let grief win over their strong bond.

“Bye,” she waved simply, giving him one last sad smile before climbing up to the train.

“Goodbye,” he replied.

The last call to the passengers had been announced and within minutes all doors had been closed. But in that mere second before the door in front of her made a barrier between her and her lover, she swore she could hear him stating very clearly, overcoming the noise of locomotive and crowd around them. “Goodbye, for now.”

Suddenly, the thoughts of their separation stopped burdening her.

The memory at his last line before she departed brought a smile to her face. Her eyes wandered to the sky, over the top of Pinus koreaiensis that spreaded like grass on her horizon. On normal days, she usually watered down the pots of mini Rhododendron schlippenbachii with her students. But that time she was having her last week of summer break.

People passing by in front of the small lodge she shared with fellow teachers greeted her good morning. The place might be a bit cold and breezy but the people were warm. Ami’s thoughts drifted back to that one person that was just as friendly. She held her laughter upon imagining his face when he found out the place she had chosen to live in. He would be very excited seeing her surrounding, so many fields for him to play football. Yes, football was his favorite sport. He always said he would’ve been a professional footbal player if he hadn’t been singer.

‘It’s been two years already, oppa, but still I love you like crazy,’ she thought.

Ami’s heart leaped up to the base of once she heard one familiar sound, the tinkling bell of Mr. Postman. She turned her head to her left and right repeatedly, attempting to find the source. There the postman was, riding his bicycle toward her direction, the top of his ride reflecting the bright morning sun.

He leaped down from the bike and fished an envelope from his bag. “A letter for Shim Eunmi,” said the postman.

“Thank you very much,” said Ami, failing to contain the explosion inside her. She had been unable to count how many letters she had sent him, how many days she had hoped for his replies, and how many times she had stood pretty patiently in front of the lodge, waiting for the postman. Every night in two years she prayed for a chance to get news from him, although morning didn’t bring it for her.

‘This will be,’ she told herself, reaching for the envelope the postman was still holding. Giving her last bow, she walked back to her lodge, deciding to open the letter once she got inside her room.

How very disappointed she was when she read the sender name.

‘Xia?’

She held the brown envelope tightly, re-reading the name on it over and over again. There, written on the soft, brown surface, was three letters in beautiful longhand, followed by the address from where the letter had been sent. She didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t the place she always addressed her letters to. But the letter was for her, undoubtfully.

‘Xia, Xia, Xia,’ she studied the words over and over again, until it was like a litany in her heart. And suddenly, she understood. Her eyes enlarged, her hands shaking, and her heart thumping wildly.

Three thick papers fell down onto her lap, followed by another thin one. She checked. There were a ticket destination Seoul via train with her name on it, departure date two days later and two more tickets which had her eyes widened even more to their maximum size. The rest two were airplane ones, destination New York, with her own name and Kim Junsu’s engraved on them.

Ready to faint, she reached excitedly to the small note written on the thinnest paper. There was no mistake; she recognized the handwritting.

Be the most special guest in my New York solo concert this August 30, 2012. Happy advance birthday, sweetheart. I love you.

P.S.: If you don’t come, I don’t either.

The thin paper suddenly became dampened as Ami’s tears dropped down onto it.

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