“Excuse me, Ms. Park?”

I groan, not moving an inch away from the microscope in front of me.

“I’m busy,” I reply.

“It’s important, Ms. Park.”

I slam my fists onto the table, prying my eyes off the subject on the microscope, and turning around to face my colleague, Baekhyun.

He stands many metres behind me, his face set into a grim expression. He observes the annoyance etched across my facial features and runs his hand through his hazelnut brown hair.

I notice that the edges of his metal-framed glasses are starting to rust. And the hem of his T-shirt is beginning to fade.

I should get him new ones– maybe for Christmas.

His fingers fumble with the item in his hands, scraping the material with his long, sharp nails.

“What is it?” I snap.

“I-I… uhh…. I was told to… erm… pass this to you,” he stutters as he walks towards me.

I can see him hesitate for a moment before handing me the object.

I stare at it in my hands.

It’s a book.

A very beautiful old book.

The cover is torn and faded– almost as if it had been buried under piles of debris for decades… well, maybe it has.

My fingers instinctively skim across its surface, feeling the yellowed paper cover. Blotches of ink dot the front, practically covering the words written neatly in the middle, with an impressive cursive handwriting:

Do Kyungsoo’s Journal

It states simply.

I know that the book had just been excavated, because the stains of mud, dirt and debris still stick to the surface.

Someone has touched it; cleaned it. And he has most likely snooped inside the privacies of this Do Kyungsoo’s life as well.

I scan the side of the book, looking for any recent creases or folds. Nothing.

“No one has opened it yet, Ms. Park,” Baekhyun mutters, breaking my reverie.

“How old?” I ask simply, staring up at him. I would say this book is at least 50 years of age, judging by how tattered it appears to be.

“I examined it yesterday. Found it to be around the 1950s. Dr. Lee, from Department Unit 5, unearthed this last week– at the Incheon site. He shipped it here almost immediately; said it was crucial that you read through it first, seeing as you are the head.”

My eyes widen for a brief millisecond. “This… this is regarding the Battle of Inchon?” I whisper.

Baekhyun smiles, satisfied that he has managed to dig up some sort of reaction from me. “Both Dr. Lee and I assume that this book could have entries dating from the beginnings of the Korean War as well, Ms. Park,” he speaks.

I almost fall off my chair– almost. “The entire Korean War? Not only the Battle of Inchon?”

Baekhyun nods.

I immediately set the book down, not daring to touch it and ruin this piece of treasure.

This precious book.

It could mean so much to my research if I examined the daily lives of citizens living during the Korean War.

I wave my hand, dismissing Baekhyun. But before he can turn around to leave, I call him back.

“Do not touch this book with your bare hands ever again. Do you understand?” I question.

Baekhyun bites his lips and bows down.

“Good. You may leave.”

As soon as I hear the door to my office shut, I shove everything off my table and snap on my pair of latex gloves.

And for extra precautions, I use my trusted tweezers and fiddle with them to get a good grip on the cover page.

With more than necessary care, I gently flip the cover, revealing a mass of perfectly written Korean characters. The pages crackle under my movements– and I almost think they might break under my intrusive touch, crumbling into tiny dust particles and floating away.

But they do not.

I strain against my terrible short-sightedness and hold the book close to my eyes, attempting to make out the words, which have been smudged rather harshly from decades of being buried under wreckage.

~~~

1948.07.13

Dear Diary,

It is nice to finally use this book.

I’ll be writing to you from now on.

And I’m sorry, but I have to burden you with my troubles.

You see, the doctor once told me that I had to express my emotions. And only then, would I be able to feel better.

But after that… he packed off and left, so I never really got to tell him how I felt.

I don’t trust anyone else over here, so I have decided to write to you instead.

I believe that by writing down my thoughts– somehow– I might be able lighten this heavy load I feel in my chest.

I promise, though, that I will not write here unless it is absolutely necessary.

So don’t count on any constant appearances and regular entries from me.

I might let you down.

Love always,
Kyungsoo.

~~~

This was written in 1948.

During the division of Korea.

Good. This diary is of important use to my research.

I make a mental note to thank Dr. Lee for handing me this amazing discovery.

~~~

1948.08.07

Dear Diary,

It has been almost a month since my first entry.

Surprisingly, I have found nothing important enough to write about.

But today, the strangest thing happened.

And I just have to share it with someone:

I was walking home from work this evening. And as usual, I took the long path home to pass by the beautiful park that nobody ever visits.

It really is amazing. You can smell the fresh grass and the salty scent– of the nearby sea– still lingering in the air. And when you sit down, you just feel… at peace.

I can close my eyes and just sit there for hours. I swear, the serenity of it all just comforts me in some strange, unknown way.

If you could feel or respond, I would certainly bring you there– just to see your reaction.

So anyway, I sat by the bench, writing my lyrics and poems; continuing where I had left off from yesterday.

I honestly didn’t know what had possessed me to close my eyes and start singing– but I did it anyway.

And suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me. They sounded rather soft as they landed on the grass– almost like a graceful dance.

I stopped singing almost immediately.

“Hey, don’t stop singing,” he whispered.

And I stilled, restricting my movements to only breathing and blinking.

I can remember exactly how hard my heart had beat under the constraints of my ribcage. I could feel it pounding mercilessly, as this person slowly approached me.

He placed his hand on my shoulder and I gasped. For a moment, I thought that he was going to hit me, or punch my face until I was disfigured.

Of course, anyone who spotted Do Kyungsoo– voluntarily appearing in public– would have definitely beaten me to a pulp.

But this man only squeezed my shoulder tightly.

“Don’t stop singing,” he repeated.

And I felt rather compelled to sing for this person who was standing behind me.

So, I opened my mouth to sing once again.

But nothing came out.

I knew I couldn’t sing for a stranger. As selfish as this sounded, my voice was reserved only for me to hear.

So I just sat there, staring blankly at the park around me. I observed the trees for a long while, attempting to count the number of green, yellow and red leaves.

10 217 green ones– and then I gave up.

I looked for anything that I could possibly focus on, just so time would pass quickly and this man would leave.

But the flowers were all withering in preparation for autumn and the sky was cloudy.

They made me feel sad; I couldn’t look at them.

I think hours had passed since the man spoke to me. Deciding that it was safe enough for me to head home, I got up from the bench.

The wooden boards creaked underneath me and I sincerely prayed that this too-friendly man had already left.

And just as I turned around, I spotted him. Again.

He was lying down on the grass, behind the bench that I had been sitting on.

He smiled as he saw me and continued to stare at the sky above him.

I looked up at the sky as well.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find anything beautiful in that grey sky that he seemed to like so very much.

He looked almost hypnotized by it.

Taking this rare chance, I quickly gathered up the pieces of paper with my writings on them, turned around and snuck away, hoping he wouldn’t follow me.

And thank God, he didn’t.

So, I went back home and here I am, writing this for you to dwell on.

I hope I never have to see that strange man again.

Love always,
Kyungsoo.

~~~

1948.08.29

Dear Diary,

Autumn has finally arrived at its fullest.

The leaves are all orange, red and brown. They are falling to the ground as I write here, on this very same bench at the park.

Needless to say, I am very happy.

No one has pelted me with eggs, or taunted me with harsh words, for these past few days.

But for every good thing that happens, a bad thing must definitely follow.

I ran into that weird stranger again this evening when I had arrived at the park.

He was at his same position, staring at the sky. And I noticed that he didn’t move at all. He just laid down on the grass and smiled to himself.

I hid behind a huge tree and waited for him to leave, before I headed for the bench and started to write once again.

And after hours of composing, I had finally finished my first song. To my amazement, I could remember the tune perfectly.

In the past, I kept forgetting all the good melodies that I had composed.

And I could never ever recall them; no matter how hard I tried.

It’s a shame I never learnt how to write music.

Love always,
Kyungsoo.

~~~

1948.09.24

Dear Diary,

The taunting has resumed once again.

This morning, as I was walking to the factory to start my work, someone threw something at the back of my head.

“!” he yelled and ran away before I could turn around and see who he was.

That word stung just as much as the first time I heard somebody call me that.

I didn’t cry, though; neither did I get angry. It was no use.

Letting all these useless emotions build up inside of me, it was pointless and a waste of time.

So, instead of running after the perpetrator, I decided to head back home and wash the gunk off my head.

I didn’t know what it was. It smelt horrible, like cow’s dung. And it made my hair all wet and sticky.

No matter how much I scrubbed my scalp, the stench still remained. And it was starting to irk me.

Giving up shortly after, I headed for the park.

I was already late for work; it wouldn’t matter if I skipped a day.

Besides, no one would notice.

I decided to bring my papers and start writing again. And maybe– if I could remember– I would sing the song that I composed.

And surprisingly, I could still recall the tune.

It’s a miracle.

The sticky substance is still stuck between the hairs on my head, like a pest.

Ugh.

Love always,
Kyungsoo.

~~~

1948.10.03

Dear Diary,

I realised that my entries here have been mostly about that strange person that I met at the park a few months ago.

And he seems to invade yet another page, as I write about him once again.

I ran into that man this evening. Needless to say, it was at the park near that very same bench that I always sat on.

He seems to appear at the most random of times, and all he does is lie down and stare at the sky.

I tried to hide from him again, but somehow, he caught me and started to get up.

He laughed as he headed towards me, and I started to panic.

I tried to walk away but something about his gaze held me in place.

I never really noticed his intense stare until he was inches away from me. His dark pupils blazed like a spark of fire and his lips curved upwards in a little smirk.

I gulped.

The man looked crazy– like he was about to murder me, or worse, mock me.

For surely, he must have known who I am.

I am Do Kyungsoo.

Nobody ever talks to me.

Nobody ever comes so close to me.

His proximity was intimidating me and it took all my strength to tear away from his piercing eyes.

But then, the man swiftly stepped back.

In an instant, his smirk was replaced with a goofy grin. And his dusky orbs morphed into a bright, hazelnut brown.

“I thought you’d never come back,” he said– much too loudly– breaking the soothing silence of the park around us.

I was confused. And I think my expression must have shown rather obviously, because the man continued, “You looked so traumatized the first time we met. I thought you were so frightened, you decided not to return to this park,” the man paused to gesture to the place around him, “and I thought I might never see you again.”

Something about the innocence, etched within the man’s voice, made me smile a little– a little.

I remember exactly how brilliantly the man’s features had lit up, when he saw me smile.

Or maybe, I was just imagining things.

But he told me that he liked my smile.

And that was definitely the sweetest thing someone had said to me.

So he ushered me to my usual bench and sat right next to me.

And the moment I faced him, he started to engulf me in a flood of questions.

“What’s your name?”

“How old are you?”

And thousands of other questions that I forgot.

I couldn’t respond, though. The overwhelming use of words was hurting my brain.

Which was rather ironic, for a writer like me.

However, the man didn’t seem to mind. He simply carried on inquiring me; question after question, without any answers.

I tried my best to speak, to respond to this wonderful man who made me feel so special.

But I couldn’t.

Words were forming in my head, and I was constructing sentences to reply to him.

But I simply couldn’t.

I didn’t know this man. Hell, I didn’t even know his name. And he expected me to tell him so much about myself?

My thoughts were racing so fast, I didn’t manage to catch what the man was saying.

“Hello? Hello? Hello?” The man waved his hand in front of me.

I jerked my head suddenly, snapping back into reality.

“It was nice talking to you–” he stopped his sentence mid-way to look down at the pile of papers that I had left on my lap, “–Do Kyungsoo.”

I was shocked. And when I looked down, I realised that I had you– my diary– placed right on the top of my stack of writing materials.

And my name was written ever so clearly.

“That’s a nice name.”

I smiled for the second time that day.

“I’m Jongin. Kim Jongin. But you can call me Kai.” He grinned. “What do I call you? Kyungsoo?”

I managed a nod.

“Alright then, Kyungsoo. See you around here some other time?” he asked as he got up from the bench.

I nodded again.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” he removed his jacket, hanging it over his shoulders.

I didn’t respond to that.

Moments later, he waved to me and turned around, sauntering away.

Kai.

Kai.

I must remember that name.

Love always,
Kyungsoo.

~~~

I roll my eyes.

I was expecting to read some entries about the current war that was going on around them; or perhaps the tough ways they had struggled through in order to survive.

But this– this emotional wreck known as Do Kyungsoo– he was surely not bothered but the impactful events occurring around him.

I take a deep breath as I flip the page, nevertheless.

It is crucial for me to find out something, anything, from this diary.

~~~

 

 

 AUTHOR'S NOTE 
This didn't turn out to be a oneshot, like I had expected :/
I guess it'll be two or three chapters?
And thank you my dear subbies \(^o^)/
Comment kay? It'll make me feel loved :) 
Because I am a very lonely, lonely person....