Present.

I see things that remind me of her every day. I notice, for example, that every time I walk into the coffee shop, the employee who always works there lets her eyes linger over me for a second longer than what is polite, and on her face is a look of confusion.

I know she's wondering where Yoona is. To be honest, I wonder the same thing.

I notice that the staff of the coffee shop keep extra serviettes at my usual table, and that they always have spare umbrellas leaning against the wall near the door.

It all reminds me of her.

I see things that remind me that she's not quite here anymore.

Almost like she never existed.

***

March 29

Last year

I meet Yoona at the bus stop again, but this time, I arrive earlier than she does.

She's wearing a pink sweater and faded jeans today, and her hair is out, long and loose and unrestricted by any head accessory.

She maintains her smile when we start our usual small talk, and I think that everything has gone back to normal. If there ever was a 'normal' in the first place. I don't remember meeting and falling in love with a stranger being classified as 'normal'.

She acts as if yesterday never happened, though on closer observation, I can sense a slightly nervous air about her. But I don't ask.

"Off to the seaside again?" I ask instead.

"To the pier, too," she says, nodding. "I want to get some shots of the ocean."

We make our way to the coffee shop and sit at our usual table. She asks me what my dreams are.

My lips curve up slightly as I put the cup down. "Dreams?" I repeat. "Don't dreams fade into oblivion after you're done with college and have to live life as a big, bad adult?"

There's a dry tone to my voice, but underneath it rings my honest opinion.

She looks shocked as she shakes her head. "No, of course not! You're free to dream whatever and whenever you wish." There's a serious look in her eyes as she leans forward and I can't help but compare it to a child trying to convince her parent that Santa is real. In a way, I think, she's not much different to a child. "Is that really what you think?"

Write that down when you get home, Luhan. Everything she said. I give a small shrug. "I guess," I tell her. "I haven't ever really had time to dream."

She hasn't stopped shaking her head. "Why wouldn't you have time?"

"I just... didn't." I think of my dad, who was never in my life, then of my mother, who wasn't in it for long enough, and finally of my brother, who left long before he should have. "Life moved too fast for me."

"Ah." A look crosses her face and the movement of her head changes to a nod. "I understand that."

I shrug again. "But that's just how life is, right?"

"I guess," she says.

"Do you have a dream?" I ask her.

"Lots." She smiles, winking.

I wonder what her dreams are, but something tells me that she wants to keep them a secret.

Both of us look outside the window then, and she says the thought that I'm thinking at the same moment that I think it.

"It's not raining today."

I laugh once. "I was just thinking that."

She lets out a sigh, cupping her face with her hands. Her lips are inflated slightly in a cute, little pout.

"You know," I say, trying not to laugh, "most people like it when there's no rain."

"I don't." She narrows her eyes in thought for a moment. "Oh, well, I do... But it's not as great. Do you get what I'm saying?"

I grin as I shake my head, even though I actually do have an idea of what she means. "That's just you," I tell her. "You like the rain."

"I was born on a rainy day," she says thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why I love it so much. The rain, I mean."

"You know what..." My eyes unfocus for a moment as my mind picks out a specific memory, one of my mother speaking and telling me about my birth. "So was I," I finish. "It was raining when I was born, too."

"That's cool," she says. "We're like twins."

I want to shake my head and say that, no, we aren't twins, because then I can't be in love with you, but I end up opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish instead.

She takes my silence as a sign that she's being too weird. "You think I'm strange, don't you?"

"Nope," I answer honestly. "I've seen much stranger. My little brother−" I break off for a moment and swallow. "My little brother was quite the strange guy," I finish.

As usual, she misses nothing and takes note of the way my sentences choked up when I mentioned my brother. "Your little brother was...?" she trails off, waiting for my answer.

"He's dead."

"Oh." She looks down at her coffee for a moment or two before meeting my eyes again. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head, clearing my throat. "No, I'm okay," I tell her. "It's been a while since he died. He was only 16."

"What was he like?"

I look at her in surprise. "You want to know what he was like?"

She nods. "He was a nice guy, wasn't he?"

I haven't cried over Sehun's death in a while, but her words make my throat thick.

When people find out that my brother died, they usually ask how, why and when. But instead of any of those questions, Yoona is asking me what he was like.

I realise now that I've almost forgotten what Sehun was like. Almost.

"He wasn't like other kids," I say. "He painted pieces of glass, one for every day he felt sad, and hung them in his window. In his spare time, he brought flowers to the patients in the cancer ward and told them stories by their bedsides."

"Did anyone ask him to do those things?"

A wistful smile curves my lips. "No. He just did them."

"What was his name?"

"Sehun."

To my surprise, I look up and see a tear sliding down her cheek. She doesn't bother wiping it away and sniffles a little, clutching her mug tighter.

My eyes widen. "Why are you crying?"

She shakes her head, giving me a smile. "Sehun seemed like a nice guy," she says. "I wish I'd known him."

I wish you had, too. But I don't say the thought aloud. Instead, I just nod, in case I start crying, too.

"How did he die?"

Ah. Here's the question. "Suicide," I tell her, after a moment's hesitation.

I'm usually reluctant to tell people, because the people I've told in the past judged Sehun's character immediately and assumed that he was weak.

He wasn't. He was the strongest person I knew.

But she doesn't make any comment on his character or strength. She just says, "Well, I'm sure he's in a better place now. I'm sorry that he's gone, though."

I am, too, I think. I am, too.

***

A/N: Thank you to everyone so far who has subscribed, voted and commented ^^

Some of you may be wondering why Luhan didn't visit Sehun's grave when he was visiting his mom's. Sehun is buried somewhere else. I don't think I'll be elaborating on it further in the story, so that's why I'm telling you now. :)