The following Sunday I took the train to Mt. Gyeyang after church, exactly as I had done before. There was no questioning the fact that making a new friend the previous week had put me in good spirits and I wanted to recreate that good day. But there was something different about the air on this day; it was slightly cooler and the wind was harsher. The branches of the Judas trees were trembling with uncertainty. I could not be sure that I would see my friend again, but I decided not to worry too much about that. Whatever happened would be according to God's will, and so I put my fate in His hands.

Ryeo-wook was waiting when I arrived. Waiting for me, it would seem, since he waved when I approached, squinting through his thick glasses. He was wearing the same big hat as before, one hand holding on to it to stop it from blowing away in the wind. With his backpack he looked like a school boy ready to go on an excursion. I thought he looked very small. He was at least a head shorter than me, and small in stature, and I wondered how come I hadn't noticed this before. When I reached him, I wondered how easy it would be to pick him up, but I kept this thought to myself.

"You came back," I said to him, somewhat dumbly, when we had finished our brief hello.

"I said I come every Sunday," he replied simply. We didn't say much more on the way to the mountain, but every now and then he would stop to point out a bird to me, and I would say only a few words in response. He seemed to know a lot about the birds.

He stumbled on one of the steps and once again I reached out to steady him. This time he laughed, as if though by touching him I had reminded him of some joke we had previously shared. I laughed too.

When we reached the same place as last week, we sat in the same spot under the same tree. He pulled off his backpack, and took out two cup cakes, wrapped up. Handing one to me, he said,

"I thought I might see you again, so I came prepared."

I stared at the cake in my hands for a few moments, feeling a little moved by his generosity and ashamed that I had nothing to give him in return.

"I have a confession to make to you," I said, still looking at the cake.

He answered me cheerfully with his mouth full. "Okay, go on."

"We're not the same age. Last time I told you that we were, but actually I am a year older than you. I'm sorry that I lied, and it seems so trivial now, but I thought that we could be good friends. I did not want you to be formal with me."

Ryeo-wook stared at me for a short while, eating his cake in silence. Finally, he said, "You're funny. I like you."

I was pleased that he wasn't at all mad with me and I felt like telling him more.

"I told you that I will be starting my course in September. I'm actually going to the seminary."

"Ah, very good," he said, then pausing pensively. "So you will be becoming a priest then?"

"Yes, well, something like that."

He nodded in understanding. "I wanted to be a priest once, when I was very young. Well maybe not a priest, what is it called? A monk, yes a monk. Have a shaved head and live in the mountains, meditating every day from morning till night. I thought that would be nice."

I watched him with interest, wondering what he would look like with a shaved head. He laughed when I remained silent.

"I don't want to anymore. That's not what you mean anyway, is it?"

"No, I don't think living in the mountains is what I want. I want to be able to help people, and to help spread God's word. Besides, you're thinking of a different religion."

He smiled. "Yes, I know. So when you become a priest, will you have to convert me?"

"Convert you? I thought you already were a Christian."

He looked away and remained staring into the distance. "Oh right... I guess I am."

Wanting to get his attention back, I brushed my hand gently against his cheek. He immediately became tense, pushing my hand away with a force that took me by surprise.

"Please don't," he murmured coldly, his eyes downcast. My first instinct was to apologise, but I felt wounded by his rejection and sudden change in mood. I moved away from him slightly. From then on our talk became formal, but warmed up again with time. When we were leaving, he put his hand in mine again and walked closely beside me.

"I'm sorry for being harsh before," he said, and I felt awkward that he was bringing it up. "I don't want to be mean, but I am a bit shy sometimes. But I like you, I really do." He squeezed my hand as if to emphasise the point. I left that day feeling happy again.