Choi Minho. That is my name. An executive for a popular advertising firm in Seoul; the 67th floor of the glass skyrise is where I made my secondary home. Awhile back, I was dubbed "Flaming Charisma" by coworkers who meant well but knew nothing about me. Who mistook my brooding quietness as a product of stern determination and the will to succeed. They find my perfectionism admirable, my melancholy nature intimidating. It doesn't really matter though; what I do, and for whom, really doesn’t matter in this story. And those people, all of them who will never know who I really am, they matter even less. This isn't a story about my life, but hers. This isn't a story about me at all, but of all the things that happened since she left me. All the subsequent events that took place... and with whom. 

            I guess I should start from the beginning. Back when I was in college and got that job at a small raymun shop in order to pay for tuition—that is where I met her "officially." We’d gone to the same junior high, but never talked. She was beautiful, stunning. Funny too. The funniest girl I'd ever met. Totally different than how I remembered her. I couldn’t help but notice her filled-out chest, her porcelain cheeks and soft eyes. I don't know if anyone else noticed her the way that I did, but for me, she was magnetic. Even in her apron and coiled bun she seemed like a princess to me—in the plainest and most ordinary of circumstances, she shone like the angel she was. 

            I knew from the very start that I had to have her. It was as easy as that: her ability to steal my unsuspecting heart. And once she had it, she refused to let it go, no matter who came to try and claim it from her. I was naïve then. Easily swayed by hormones and irrational dreams. My heart was easily accessed, easily moved; I had never been hurt before. Never took a gamble on another person before. But I loved her. Truly, I did. And the day she finally left me? I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to function without her.

            She left with little notice. She left with little warning. One day my life made sense; the next, it became a tormenting hell. A waking nightmare I could not escape. There was only one way out of the bad dream; only one way. In fact, I would have thrown my body on top of that cruel box as it was lowered in the ground, had my mother not pulled me back; would have embraced that earthen envelope happily. But the living and the dead are refused their courtship; they cannot coexist, and I had yet to learn how to snuff the small spark inside that begged me to live.

            To live for her…

            To continue living like the coward that I was.

            After her death, my life spiraled terribly. When sober, I spent my time as a slave to my company. I didn’t mind. I preferred it, actually. It kept my mind busy and my phone unanswerable. I didn’t want anything to do with anyone. How could I talk to the friends we once shared? Besides, I knew they all pitied me—and who wants a friendship built on pity and remorse? Guilt? I cut ties with everyone, even family. I had no interest in the world around me now; all I wanted was to live my life without thinking, without memory. Success was mine, but all happiness had left me. That was just fine with me—without her there could be no happiness. I didn’t want anyone save her; I knew if I waited long enough, she would find a way back to me, my wife. My best friend. All I had to do was wait…

            That’s what I believed for the past twelve months; tried so desperately to believe. But no matter how much I tried, I could not forget her. Which is why, on my thirty-fifth birthday, I would finally end it; I had it all planned. I'd do it in my office; it was too painful to be at home. I didn’t want to soil the place of my best memories with my disgraceful body. Had I decided differently, perhaps the story would have changed. But there was no way to know that now. Not after I had resolutely decided that the place I spent my life away from her would double as the place I would find her again.

            The note I’d written was left in a very obvious place. There would be no question of my intent or last wishes. What to do with my failure of a form once my soul departed it. Short-winded and without emotion. No blame. No sorrow. Just facts. Directions. Figures and codes and disbursement instructions for family to follow. A few apologies for the inconvenience of those who would have to clean up after me.

             I'd already hung the cord from the rafters above my desk, and was silently hoping that it would not give way under my weight. I'm not a heavy man; I'm very fit, but I'm also very tall. Everything had to be calculated carefully—these were the thoughts on my mind as I took my shoes off and left them neatly to the side. I didn't want to die in my shoes; I was tired of running.  

            Slowly I scaled the surface of my desk, where I took the agent of my doom in a shaky hand. Could I do it? Could I really, really do it? This question resounded a thousand times over, no matter how resolved I was. Even as I slipped the noose over my head, tightening it around my neck, I wondered: Can I do this?

            I looked over the edge of the desk, the distance suddenly likened to a plunge in the Grand Canyon. The carpet had never looked so far. Once I made this leap, there would be no reversing the choice I made. Just one step; just one simple step was all it’d take—

            It only takes three seconds to decide to end a life, but a lifetime of torment to lead one to the decision... 

            I held my breath.

            I closed my eyes.

            You can do this, Minho. You've put it off far too long. Just one simple step off the desk, and you’ll see her again…

            I felt my heart racing.

            Racing.

            Racing…

            “This is not a life,” I say as a proclamation of courage.

            I exhale and ready for my final steps...

            She must have heard me. Far beyond the grave—she must have heard. I don’t know how, but it was the only explanation that came to me as the door opened and I saw him standing there, nearly expressionless despite the circumstances.

            “Sir? What are you doing?” he said, this person who I did not know by name but couldn’t help but recognize. I really didn't care who he was, or why he was there. He was completely insignificant to the purpose I set out to complete.

            “No need to report it,” I said, secretly afraid he would run for help. “I’ll be dead before you have the time.”

            He flinched as I took one step forward, but his tone was surprisingly even: “Is it really so bad?”  

            I didn’t have time to care about his feelings. He was unimportant to me, and I was far past therapy time. “You have no idea.”

            I could have sworn he shrugged here, had I been looking straight at him I would have been able to tell for sure. “You’re right. I don’t.”

            “You can’t talk me out of it. Might as well leave. I’ve had my mind made up a long time…”

            Here, he hesitated a moment. “I doubt that’ll bring you back the things you’ve lost.”

            This caught me off guard. More and more, I felt her spirit hovering in this place. Was she waiting for me? Waiting on the other side? I was getting impatient, but I was also scared. 

             “Come down from there, sir.”

            By all rights, he was below me. By all standard of practice, he shouldn’t even be talking to me—but here he was giving me orders. It would be one thing if he were emotional over it, but this kid seemed so unemotional over the matter that it only upset me more. Upset and shocked me at the same time. “You can go ahead and leave, er—”

            I waited for his name.

            “It doesn’t matter who I am if you’re about to die,” was his easy response.

            His voice was smooth and strangely soothing, but I was getting frustrated with him. And that’s when I finally turned to look at him. Really look at him—this stranger, this previous nobody of a nameless intern, and felt my chest tighten. There was something different about him. Something very different.

            “You don’t know anything about me,” I said. I was still fumbling the makeshift noose with my forefinger. Didn't this person even realize? Was he not disturbed by the scene? The irony was not lost on me.

            “You’re right,” he answered. He had yet to come any closer. “You don’t know anything about me, either.”

             And then... he smiled. 

             Smiled. 

             The sensation in my chest only heightened. That look—that aura about him. I recognized it; God knows I couldn't help but recognize it. No matter how crazy it was. Absolutely crazy. It made no sense. But the air about him, that soft smile—that same sweet, delicate smile I saw on her face long ago. The more I looked at him, the more I realized, the more I understood. Yes, I saw it then: my long-removed wife, her gentle spirit reflected in the eyes of the young man in my doorway, that calm, delicate beauty. I couldn’t explain it but I sensed it—my wife’s presence all around him.

               And that’s when I knew… I’d found her again, and in the most unlikely of places.

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A/N: 

Is Minho crazy, or just crazily optimistic? We'll have to wait and see. I will say, the plot of this story will focus more on the humanity of real emotions and experiences over any sense of mysticism. This is one reason behind the ages set for the characters; I wanted them to have enough "real world" exposure to be able to properly approach some of these topics. The fact that it is in the aggrieved person's POV (at least for now) should be telling. You cannot always trust the narrator in a story; I believe this will be one of these times, though he has good intentions. And this is meant to be a lovestory, so we'll just have to patiently see how it unfolds between all unsuspecting parties.

That said, I want to stress that, though I find depression and hopelessness to be a common curse for many, including myself at times, I in no way want to glorify or promote suicide as an answer to moments of personal crisis. If you ever feel you could make a decision like this, PLEASE get some help. Talk to someone who you can confide in who can support you through it. Please take care of yourselves, all of you~!  ^_^

Best, UnnieM ♥