A week. Seven days. A little over a hundred and sixty-eight hours. It was summer solstice yesterday. And Jinki’s still gone.

But who’s keeping count, right?

Minho groaned at his physics textbook on the table in front of him, willing it to close by itself magically and act as a cushion for him to fall into a peaceful slumber where there were no teachers in front of him, talking in a language called jibberish. Unfortunately, magic was not on his agenda for today. The reason being the absence of the one who usually carried out said magical acts. (Not that Jinki would ever approve of Minho taking his studies so lightly anyway.)

“Would you like to share with the rest of the class about your day dream this time, Mr. Choi?” Mr. Soo Man said, calling Minho’s attention to the front again. Shifting in his seat, Minho put on an act as though he was really going to begin paying attention when he knew that once the teacher’s back was turned again, he would instantly fall back into his own world.

Jinki, Jinki, Jinki. That is all that Minho has been thinking about the whole time over the past week. The way the angel had decided to disappear that evening after whatever it was that had happened between them had been on Minho’s mind constantly. What could be the possible meaning behind Jinki’s unusual reaction?

What on earth has Minho done to scare away an angel, a noble being that was here to protect him?

Minho tried researching online to find out things beyond fairytales that he knew about angels. He realized that it was kind of odd that he did not do this much earlier. But then again, it wouldn’t have done much difference anyway. Minho found out everything from the origins of the folklore about angels to depictions of angels in all the different religions in the world. None of it was helpful for Minho in figuring out what happened with Jinki the other day, which only left Minho more frustrated than before.

It was pathetic really, that Minho was feeling lost without the angel when just a few months ago, he would have been jumping in joy. He had somewhat gotten accustomed to waking up to a warmer than usual room, spending every waking moment with the knowledge that there was someone with him, having playful but still intellectual (most of the times) banters with him. But the thing Minho missed the most was describing everything he felt to the angel.

In a way, trying to put into words whatever it was that he was feeling with his senses had taught Minho how to appreciate every little thing he had in his life. Minho realized this one morning when he had noticed dew drops on the blades of the grass in front of his house and how they rolled perfectly along the veins of the blade until they reached the tip, clinging onto it for so long before finally falling onto the ground. Minho had gotten so inspired to describe the way it felt when water flowed in that same manner on one’s skin.

But alas, there had been no one to listen to his description. So he wrote it down instead.

Needless to say, his daily routine of expressing his senses in words had sharpened Minho’s ability in his writing as well. He was now able to write descriptions that he himself felt very proud of.

With Jinki gone, it felt like a very important part of his life was missing and Minho wasn’t sure what to make of the way he felt about this.

Minho came home later in the evening to a lot of shouting coming from the direction of the kitchen. He heard things being thrown around and glass getting shattered. Minho knew immediately that his father had returned. Normally, Minho would leave his parents to whatever it was that they were fighting over. But the louder than usual shrieking and just the too-noisy commotion, lured Minho into the kitchen. His parents usually had the decency to keep it down so that the neighbours wouldn’t hear. If they were suddenly disregarding all of that now, then there must be something really wrong, right?

“You ing bastard! That money was not yours to touch! And definitely not for you to burn it all over some tramp!” his mother was shrieking at the top of her lungs between loud cries.

Minho flinched at the sound of it, hiding behind the wall that separated the kitchen form the connecting corridor to the living room to peep inside. Minho’s father looked murderous, his tie hanging loosely around his neck and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. He looked like a drunk, mad man out on a rampage- a sight Minho has seen often enough in his life. He was holding some documents in his hand that seemed all crumpled up right now from the way he was gripping it so tightly.

“Shut the up and just sign this! You owe me this much for putting up with your crap over all these years…”

“The I would sign that! That is not your money. It’s Minho’s and that’s how it will remain!” she shouted back at him. Minho was surprised. Was his mother actually standing up for him? Usually she would just remain neutral about him and only care to defend herself.

“Again with that crap! How many times have I told you that I don’t give a damn about that brat?! He’s probably gonna end up like his mother anyway so why waste the money on him,” his father said and Minho’s brain stopped registering anything after his mother.

His mother was standing right there in the kitchen. What the hell was Minho’s father going on about?

“SO? YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE NEAR THAT MONEY! It is rightfully mine since Minho is still underage and I’m not about to pay you to go get wasted with some out there.”

“You will sign this now! Or I will march right up to the boy and tell him everything!”

Tell Minho what?

“Are you threatening me? I’m not that ! I’m not afraid of you!” Minho’s mother said, turning to leave the kitchen. Minho was going to move behind the wall again to hide himself when he saw his father grab her by her wrist and pull her back with a violent jerk. Minho saw red in fury.

Minho’s father leaned in close to her face and spat out the next words in a vicious manner.

“I should’ve known that you’d turn out just like that addict sister of yours. I should’ve abandoned that boy in a dumpster somewhere that very night you brought him home. I would have if I had known that he’d turn out to be such a pest now…”

“He did nothing to you, you bastard! Don’t pretend like you’re some saint! I know that you only took him in for my sister’s money!”

Minho’s mind reeled from absorbing all of the things he was listening to now. Could it be that they were talking about what Minho thought they were?

“What are you two talking about?” Minho asked, coming out from behind the wall. It was hard to stay this calm when all he wanted to do is shake the life out of someone, demanding for an explanation for why they were speaking of Minho like he was not their own son. Perhaps, Minho will do exactly that. Maybe he should start with his father. Grab him by his collars and shake him till someone gave him some answers.

“Minho, go to your room!” his mother shouted at him just