6 years later.

I've been waiting for Yoona every day for the past six years, and though I want to be able to say that I'm not on the brink of giving up, I am. As much as I miss her, six years is a long time and when you're waiting for the one you love, six years is forever.

She never turns up at the bus stop and I'm seeing less and less of her on TV. She must be busy nowadays. 

I think I love her more, but I can't really tell, because when I think of her, my heart aches. That means I do, right?

At first, it felt strange, because my heart hasn't ever felt this way before. It wasn't used to complex feelings that don't concern family, and it definitely wasn't used to being broken everyday. It's a little more used to it now, though. It's like a dull ache that I can never really push away or ignore. It's just there, like the rain.

Over these years, I've learnt that you never really love someone until you know what it's like to be without them.

I never thought it would hurt this much to love someone.

There's another girl who takes the bus now. Her name is Seohyun, but we don't really talk, and I'm fine with that. I wouldn't even look at her twice if it wasn't for the fact that she reminds me of Yoona.

I think she told me once that she's an accountant, and her office building is somewhere in the city, which is why she takes the bus. Her husband happens to be one of my colleagues.

Seohyun doesn't pry or ask too many questions, but today, she asks me if I have someone, and I answer 'yes' without thinking.

She's really happy for me, and for once, she looks like she has a lot of questions. The first is: Who is she?

Of course.

I hesitate for a moment before deciding that there's no harm in telling her. "Her name is Yoona," I say.

This strange look crosses Seohyun's face and she says, "You don't mean Im Yoona, do you? Kim Jongin's wife?"

I don't say anything for a while, and when I finally speak, I say, "Why?"

A slight frown creases Seohyun's brow. "She died last week," she tells me, in a painfully slow voice. "You didn't know? She's not your Yoona, is she?"

I swear I went deaf for a moment. "No." I'm shaking my head. "It's a different Yoona."

I don't know if I'm talking to myself or Seohyun.

I don't remember the rest of the bus trip, but I remember finding out that Seohyun was right; though how I found out, I don't remember, either.

It was something on the news or the radio maybe, or from the mouth of a stranger passing by, speaking into his phone about it.

Everyone seemed to have known that she'd died except for me.

I know now, though, and nothing has ever hurt more in my life—not even the shattered heart I nursed in my chest while she was still alive.

She died on May 23, a week short of her 30th birthday. Car crash.

If she still took the bus, she wouldn't have died that day. I know, because I took the bus that day, and so did she, seven years ago.

I wish I could remember what we did on that day, what we talked about, but I can't. It seems like so long ago now.

Yoona never even had kids, but I know that she wanted two. A son, and a daughter. I guess it's better that she didn't have them; that way, she isn't leaving any of her kids motherless.

When I get home, I see her camera sitting on my desk, and the photos where I left them, stuck on the walls all over my house. 

You know that feeling when you just can't believe something, but no matter how many times you blink, or how long you think about it, it doesn't go away? And eventually it latches onto you, and grows inside you, this sick sort of denial that eats away at you, and when you finally believe it, it takes away part of your being. Like part of you isn't there anymore. 

That's what my mom said she felt like when the doctors told her she had cancer. She'd cried a lot, I remember.

That's how I feel now.

I don't remember when exactly I started crying, but I know that I did a lot of it.

Somehow, I find myself curled up on my bed, my pillowcase soaked beneath my fingers.

They say that you'll feel it when something bad happens to the person you love. But I felt nothing. All this time, all I've done is miss her and wonder where she is and if she's okay, and the day she died was no different. Does that mean I didn't love her enough?

That thought seems impossible.

I realise that if she died a week ago, on the 23rd, then today is her birthday.

Memories flash behind my closed lids: rain on the bus shelter roof, stained serviettes, the smell of coffee mixed with rain. Coloured sweaters, white gloves, a wedding dress. Her smile, the hand gestures she used when she talked, her laugh. Singing to her on her birthday, seven years ago. Back when we were 23.

And finally, the one memory that sends a cross between a sob and a shiver through my body. It's not an image, or a smell, or even a feeling. It's her voice, saying something I only heard once but will remember forever.

All I need is luck.

I guess luck ran out for her.

***

My boss is unbelievably insensitive. Not that it's really his fault, since he doesn't know, but it hurts anyway when he gives me my latest assignment.

He wants me to write Yoona's obituary.

I think it's a bit late for that and I tell him that, but he says that it isn't too late. 

You're wrong, a part of my mind whispers. It is too late.

My first instinct is to say no, but then he asks if I want him to schedule an interview with Jongin so that I'll know what to write.

And suddenly this spark of rage engulfs me. I want to push him away and break down in tears, and tell him that I know exactly what to write and that I don't need her husband's help.

But on the outside, all I do is nod stiffly, because I realise now that there's no one else in the world who can write her obituary better than I can.

I wonder if my boss knows that.

The obituary takes longer to write than I thought it would. Not because I can't think of what to say, but because there's too much I want to say.

In the end, I just dump all the words in my brain onto the computer, fingers typing furiously without even checking the words I've left behind.

When I'm done, I lean back and survey my work.

It's all a mess; nothing like what an obituary is supposed to look like.

There's a thousand things I've written, and some are more like apologies and last minute things I wish I could have told her. There are a few I love you's and I'm sorry's, and here and there are some of the things she told me seven years ago. I even spot a few lines from In Heaven. It screams heartbreak and emotional instability and years of loneliness and being kept in the dark.

I sigh and delete everything.

Something pops into my mind and I type it out. After that, my fingers hover idly over the keyboard for what seems like hours. Time seems to flit out of existence as I desperately rack my mind for the right words.

My eyelids start to droop and my vision blurs, exhaustion taking over me and slowly, I slip into—

I jolt back to full consciousness, shaking my head. I look around me, but the office is gone. I'm at home, and instead of being faced with pale, washed out office walls, I see a wall covered with photos. Photos of the rain, all bunched close together, like an attempt to imitate the appearance of a wet window. 

My laptop is still in front of me, and my hands are still hovering over the keyboard. I glance back at my screen, at the four words I've got so far.

She likes the rain. 

***

A/N: Fin. 

Technically, this is the end. But if anyone wants an alternate ending/one chapter continuation thing, just let me know. If people want it, I'll put it up tomorrow, along with the link for my new Luyoon story. It''ll be another angst, I'm sorry! 

So, anyway... that's why I won't mark this fic complete yet. 

Why is my author's note in such a small and irritating font, you might ask? 

Well... I thought a normal sized one would be obnoxious. I don't even know, okay. xD Maybe I'm just being weird. 

Thank you all for reading, and to all the people who commented, subscribed and upvoted! ^^