After what seemed like a long vista of years, I finally meet Zelo again on the 13th of October, in oblivion of everything.

For the first time, I don’t see him standing there in his usual post. For a moment my nightmare of a few nights ago creeps into me, but I literally shake my head from side to side to ward it off. Though a little disheartened, I do well in concealing my disappointment and do as the standard operating procedure goes on—dispose of the dead flowers, replace it with fresh ones, and say a word or two to my parents, though of course I know they couldn’t hear. I wait and wait, but still no Zelo comes. I look around, but no. I would see him immediately if he were coming. But he says he comes here every day without fail. I say to myself, finally doubting the credibility of his statement.

“Guess his not coming here, then,” I mumble, forcing out a chuckle as if that would fool me into believing I wasn’t disappointed in any way. I sit on the grass and face the tombstone of my parents. “Eomma, Appa, I have a confession to make,”

I imagine them responding with, Yes what is it, sweetie?

A smile breaks out of my face. “You haven’t really been the sole reason why I keep coming here.” I giggle. “But I guess you know that, since you see me almost every day here. But please don’t think your daughter is a terrible flirt; no, you raised me way better than that.”

How old was I when they died? I was 11 back then. I couldn’t open up to my mother about romances; I haven’t even known of that at that age. How I wish she were right here, right now.

I’m pretty sure I’m not in-love…but close enough. “Eomma, Appa, didn’t you tell me that I should really tell you, no matter what, if ever I’d have a boyfriend?” I tilt my head to one side, hoping they’re somehow panicking now. picturing their panicked faces, I crack up. “Ani, ani,” I wave my hand at them. “I still don’t have one. I’m not in a hurry. Although…I might have this…uh…boy whom I think I like.” I grimace. “Eomma, the feeling’s disgusting.” My face is starting to heat up.

I could picture them laughing.

“Well, don’t laugh! I do  have reasons for liking him, you know. He’s a little…naughty, but he’s smart. And…he’s a really good friend. He’s just a little too secretive. So what do you think, eomma? Appa?” I wait. “What do you think about me having a boyfriend?”

“That would depend upon who it is, Heebin,” that voice is over my shoulder, somehow hovering, and my biggest mistake is to turn. Of course, of course. There he is, with his torso slightly tilted toward the tombstones, his hands clasped at his back with this happy smile on his face. I jerk away from him and exclaim as if he’d just stabbed me. He laughs, and as he does, my face reddens in growing embarrassment.

“YOU PUNK!!!” I yell at him at the top of my lungs. He enjoys my being startled so much he even falls on the grass and chortles while holding his stomach. I hiss at him and stand up, now seriously going to leave him. But for the umpteenth time, of course, I don’t succeed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ahn, I think your daughter hates me,” he says with a smile, to my parents.

“One more word and I am going to punch you in the face,” I growl.

He stops, and manages to pull off a more serious mien. His eyes dart from me to the tombstones, several times, and finally his gaze stops on the latter. “Mr. and Mrs. Ahn, did I do well?”

I stand, watching him.

“I know I could never do half as much the excellent job you’ve done, but…this is all I can do. I wish I had more time. But I think it’s time,”

I scowl. “What—“

“Heebin.” He doesn’t look at me. “Come and sit beside me.”

The fear starts to creep into my stomach, along with that familiar cramp in my gut. Nonetheless, I oblige. Not close, not far, either.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine.” I scrunch my brows. I want to ask a lot of questions, tons and tons of them, but I don’t know how to put them into words.

“Heebin,”

“Ne?” my voice sounds shakier than I intended it not to be.

“What is one thing that makes you hate a person?”

“This doesn’t—“

“—just answer me.”

I gulp. Where are all these coming from? Why can he not just directly tell to my face whatever he wants to say? “W