(What’s on your mind?)

Winter has its ways to loneliness, and loneliness is what usually kills people. Perhaps, it’s the cold, or those little shivers, where breathless midst escaped, making it a little step harder for one to catch the falling snowflakes.

(Enter) (Click)

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It is the last day of autumn, a day before winter where the vivid colours of lilac and orange blossoms begin to slowly fade away into its gloomy surroundings, welcoming the hollowed grey skies, and crushed snows on streets.

It is the last day of autumn, a day before winter, and exactly a quarter more before eight in the morning. The silence creek unfolds, and Howon finds himself waking up to the clanking sound of metal utensils which somewhat resonates from the outside of his small rented bedroom. Dumbfounded, he then finds himself awake to the reflection of his own self on the black computer’s screen he has on the small desk of his. The light dims, but the plug is switched on. Perhaps, like any other nights, he falls asleep on his desk, while squeezing his brains for inspirations, and his fingers pantingly typing words after words.

347 words. He clicks on the document icon and instantly searches for the exact numbers on the bottom, left corner of the word page and sighs a little in exasperation. He spends a whole night, sitting on his computer, and yet he could even barely write a page of his assigned term papers. So much of trying to think creatively, so much of trying to catch white inspirations, he thinks again.

Never mind, he reassures himself, like every other morning. The paper would only be due by the end of the winter, which seems like forever for some, and he thinks, he’d still have some times to procrastinate.

A few moments later, he hears a little shriek, and another clanking sound, which then puts him back to his thoughts. Howon wonders if the landlord has come to remind him to pay for the monthly rent, considering it is already reaching the end of November (and he has yet to pay). He promises the older guy, he’d pay the exact amount of money, in cash, as soon as he’d receive his part-time payment from the bookshop he currently works at, which is situated three blocks away from the apartment he rents.

He ruffles his hair, rubs his eyes with the back of his palm, as he groggily arches his back to stretch his arms, which slowly awake his resting nerves. Because he feels chilly, he grabs his purple sweater, and puts it on in a swift, while reaching his right hand out to grab the mug besides his computer. He stood up and carries it in his hands as he then makes his way into the living room.

Poof.

Howon rubs his eyes harder this time, when his eye catches an unfamiliar figure, which stands vaguely in the place, he dares to call kitchen, from across his sight. She is wearing a loose grey shirt, with a blue skinny jean, and hair tied in a rather messy bun. A frying pan is tightly grasped in her right hand.

His forehead creases; Howon couldn’t remember having a housemate. In fact, he does not have one.

“Oh hey,” She murmurs, a little startled when she sees him standing numb with perplexed expression plasters all over his face. “Good morning,” She continues with a smile, as she switches the kitchen cook stoves off, and places three layers of pancakes down on the plate.

“Do I know you?” Howon returns, raising his eyebrow quizzically.

She chuckles a bit; shaking her head, "No, you don't." She then smears the dirt off her hands with the napkin she finds on the kitchen counter, “I guess, Mr. Nam forgot to inform you about me,”

He holds his breath for a second.

“I’m Bomi, and I’m your new housemate,”

::::

That very evening, the last day of autumn, before winter, Howon receives a phone call from the landlord during his lecture break to inform him about the fuzzy details in regards of the girl that he meets this morning. Howon voices out his complains, and of how he doesn’t like the idea of sharing that tiny apartment with a stranger.

“I thought we have made an agreement, that I would be the only tenant of the apartment?”

“We did— but you’ve been fallen behind your rental payments lately, and she’s in a need of place to live, and plus, she’s willing to pay in advanced, which is perfectly fine to me, considering of how I’m in need of money too,”

Howon grunts. Of course, he does realize the fact that he isn’t exactly always on time, when it comes to paying the monthly rent. The money he earns from his little part-time work at the book shop is barely enough for the use of his daily basis (after paying the rent), but thanks to the scholarship he has, he is still able to survive his student’s life days.

He sighs a little, and scoffs, “Fine, but for how long would she stay there?”

“That, she didn’t mention.”

With that, Howon meekly agrees and silently wishes that the girl would change her mind or perhaps disappear when he comes back to the apartment later. But of course, his wishes fail on him.

::::

Howon comes back to his tiny apartment that night, only to find his shoes neatly arranged at the shoe racks, as soon as he swings the entrance door open. The scent of the apartment feels different too, in which, it doesn't smell as musty as usual, in fact it smells rather refreshening.

He places his shoes to the side, and takes off the layers of jacket he wears and places it to the only sofa he has in the apartment. He scans through his surroundings, and notices another thing; the place seems a lot tidier than this last morning. He looks at the side table near the sofa, and notes how the newspapers are stacked neatly underneath. He turns his glance to the right; his almost spilled dustbin with crumbles of papers is now cleared, and when he throws his sight to the place he calls his kitchen, he sees brand new plates and mugs, with some groceries bags placed on the kitchen counter.

Just to confirm his thoughts, Howon approaches the small fridge he has (which practically has nothing much in it), and slowly pulls the door open. And poof. He sees a few bottles of milk, a jar of new kimchi, some newly refilled water bottles and notices that his bowl of spicy rice cakes (expired one) is already gone. He shuts the fridge’s door closed; not knowing exactly whether to feel please or annoyed about it.  

“You’re home?” Her voice penetrates his ear, as he whirls around to search for it. He then sees her standing across his sight, exiting from the room next to his, with her hair untied, wearing short pants and a comfortable oversized white shirt. He wonders if she doesn't feel cold. 

“Yeah—” He replies awkwardly, still feels uncomfortable with this stranger he barely knows.

“I’ve made some changes to this apartment,” She beams, “If you don’t mind,”

Howon minds it, but of course, he doesn’t say it out loud.

“It feels very homey, doesn’t it?”

He forces a smile at her remark, but doesn’t reply anymore.

He thinks he freezes a little when he sees her approaching him, but only to walk passes by him in a fleeting second, to reach a mug places on the rack of the kitchen counter. She pours some warm water into it, and takesa sip of it, as she leans herself against the counter, comfortably. The kitchen is small, and so, the distance between them is only a few steps away.

“It’s Howon, right?” She murmurs, as she takes another sip of the warm water.

He nods slightly, and turns to face her. “It’s Bomi, right?”

He hears her chuckle upon that, as she places the mug back on the counter, and stands straighter this time, as she gawks carefully at him. He finds a slight tinge of a fluttering feeling in his heart when he catches her staring at him, but he quickly shrugs it away, as he clears his throat.

“Hey, Howon?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s be friends,” She beams, as she offers a handshake.

He outstretches his right hand, but before he could even reach for a handshake, a thing strikes him. wrist. And it doesn’t take him too long to understand what it means or how it happens.

::::

(What’s on your mind?)

Loneliness is the heaviest kind of sadness.

(Enter)(Click)

She closes her eyes, and opens it for the two-trillion times, but all she sees is darkness.