They meet simply on a whim; both broke college students who had nothing better to do. She had porcelain skin and eyes that shined like pyrite; he only had a broken heart. They sit on a curb, enthralling themselves with subtle talk and even more subtle actions.

It was fall; Jongin said Soojung smelt of cinnamon and pine wood. A glance is exchanged between the two, and the distance between both is furthered. Jongin gives an uncertain shrug and purses his lips, regretting his decision to spit out such weirdness.

Winter begins, and they meet a second time. Her arms are linked with a tall, masculine man, and Jongin only feels a pang of jealousy. She’s dressed in pearls and jeans that hugged her legs. He thought she looked stunning.  

They steal glimpses of each other in the food court.

(“How’s life?”

“It’s been well.”

“That’s good.”)                          

Winter passes like a breeze, and Jongin finds himself lonely in the bright days of spring. A date with a high school student left him with a black eye and a broken index finger. He doesn’t blame her, though—he felt cocky that day. The date with someone ten years his senior left him with a hundred dollar tab to a snooty, uptight restaurant in downtown Seoul.

He wasn’t going to go on the “blind dates” that Baekhyun suggests anymore.

He meets her again on an outing. She’s wrapped in layers of polyester and fur, her eyes a dull brown that haunts him in his sleep. She’s being carried in the arms of a paramedic and is rushed to the hospital. He feels the need to go after her, but his friends push him back—building a boundary between the two.

(“It’s for the best, you know that, Jongin.”)

It’s summer, and the sun seeps through Jongin’s window panels. He doesn’t have classes anymore, now, and he spends his days loathing in the bitter harmony of ceilings and walls.

He doesn’t go out; he doesn’t let the sunlight touch his skin.

Jongin doesn’t see Soojung for awhile.

(Her lingering image, her pale eyes, her—

Jongin prohibits himself from thinking of her.)

It’s fall. They meet simply on a whim; both broke college students who had nothing better to do. She had porcelain skin and eyes that shined like pyrite; he only had a lonely heart. They sit on a curb, enthralling themselves with subtle talk and even more subtle actions.

Jongin said Soojung smelt of cinnamon and pine wood. This time, she only laughs and says, “This is a total déjà vu moment.” He lazily shrugs and laughs, for once in months.

Their bittersweet silence is broken by a tall, masculine man—the same man from winter.

“That’s Minho, my boyfriend. This is goodbye, I guess. We’ll be spending next year in China. I’ll send you a letter. I promise.”

Jongin nods, and tries his best to hide the feelings that dwell in his stomach—like he’s about to puke.

They bid farewell.

It’s on the last day of December, where ice devours his car’s windows and he’s wrapped in a scarf of one color, that he sees Minho locking lips with another girl.

(“He’s cheating on you.”

“You’re just jealous, aren’t you? I can see how you look at me, at him—at us.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Just—please—stop talking to me.”)

They rekindle when she lands in China and sends a postcard. Jongin thinks—for awhile—of how he would have been a great lover if he had done something—anything.

Jongin spends spring and summer regretting the decision, fall and winter trying to find a new path in life, and the next four years finishing his medical degree.

(“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

He looks up from his book, “War and Peace,” and a smile lands on his lips.)

After the day they meet yet again, when they’re both at the brink of thirty-five, Jongin learns that Minho and Soojung had broken up three weeks after their arrival in China; that Soojung should have listened to Jongin; and that Jongin has a chance he didn’t have thirteen years ago.