Whiles.

People often use the term while when one person does a certain act the same time as the other person does another act. At the same figment of time. Most probably not in the exact same point of the spatial region due to occupancy of the spot.

Not in the exact same place. Not in the same figment of place.

It could refer to any two entities.
Usually, two people.
An example. A girl in Seoul and a boy in London.

Two entities.
How about when the first entity is a couple itself, and other entity, the surrounding itself?

A couple and everything else.

I hope others won't take it as being selfish. It won't be too selfish to ask for things like this. For our proclaimed whiles only lasted for less than a season, that we haven't even completed the season of whiteness and coldness. Probably less than one winter season, or maybe, our whiles had started way back even before we started counting. However, it felt like they may had been too short. They must have been. For I was still left hanging by his voice. His touch. His scent.

In our case, us, whiles should have been consisted of us being together, probably playing soccer at a public soccer field, chasing each other with water guns and paintball guns, throwing oranges at one another, dancing under the night sky by the river, and perhaps, holding each other in the midst of unnatural water droplets scattering from the sprinklers. 

It should have been the two of us being a couple while everything else is going about us.

Silence should be ensuing in the background while there are two sets of heartbeats thumping on the foreground.
The background should be a plain black and white while the foreground a vivid green and pink.
Black and white should be blurring to that of an image of a hazy, running body while green and pink resolving in an unending, slow pace of motion.

Our whiles should still have been him placing grasshoppers in my shoe, pranking me with toy insects and prompting me to do shadow puppeting in the corner of a living room during a black-out, or perhaps inside a tent at a pitch-black patio.

He, staring right into my eyes as I gaze up at his dark brown eyes.
He, holding my frame securely against his own one that emanated this nostalgic, musky, sophisticated scent.
He, spontaneously grabbing my right hand with his left hand as he intertwines his fingers with mine. 
He, planting his lips on mine as he reawakens every sense sleeping dormantly in my system. 

He, asking the question that I have been missing for what seemed like many bookfuls of planner too long.
 
But this was my reality.
This was our reality.
Our reality consists of nothing but whiles.

Whiles.

I, here while he, far.

Winter nights in Seoul could usually have temperature points dropping below zero, probably much lower especially when ice of February was beginning to fuse into liquid, rendering the atmosphere colder than the middle phase of winter. Perhaps, it was colder due to the absence of this familiar warmth that I was always craving for. 

At this time of the season, the city was nothing but being dominated by restless and busy bodies going about their business. It was Saturday, a day of the weekend when everyone should be resting.  However, it was just a basic known fact that people in a city like Seoul never rested in general. I should have been getting used to it. The rush and the hassle of everything else. But something was making me uneasy. 

Don't tell me you're lost again. And don't tell me you're seeing Christmas trees. Christmas season is over, Myunjae.

"Of course I know the way. Plus, I've been in the area a couple of times." I snapped at the still extinct, gigantic replica of my friend, Chanyeol. I secured my phone in between my right ear and shoulder, fixing the things I was clutching onto with my left hand in position. 

Just call me again if you indeed get lost. The soccer stadium is minutes away from the area.

"Yeah. Yeah. Note taken."

Oh by the way, Baekhyun is coming back on the twenty third- 

"Wait. Hold that message for later. Gotta call you back." I whipped my head back after sliding my phone inside my jean pocket, still monitoring something behind me.

I walked fast, almost running.

Ever since I walked out of the commercial building down the street I was currently striding through, something was bothering me. The situation even made it harder for me to get away from the area with these restless people obstructing my path of escape. I couldn't blame them though. This metropolitan part of the city was too crowded already, filled with overly active bodies trudging through the sidewalk, occasionally crossing the street when the traffic light struck red.

I increased my pace, almost reaching up to that of a running body. I tripped, partially jerking foward, but I immediately caught my balance after crossing path with a mid-aged lady holding a bag of groceries. I bowed towards her in apology after earning a displeased glance from her, as if mentally asking 'what the hell I am doing walking like that' as if I was a criminal on a chase-out.
 
I glanced back, craning my head forward once more, and continued walking. Faster and faster.
With my patience being pushed to the limits, I turned around on my heels in the midst of the busy street. 

To declare it, yes. Someone had been making me uneasy. However, I could not take it any longer. I was tired enough to run.

"What's your problem?! Stop bugging me-"

I then felt my body being shoved forward as a brawny figure bumped behind me. I craned my head toward his direction as he walked past beside me.

"Watch it! You're blocking the sidewalk!" The brawny older man with a beard, looking like a wrestler, shouted at me as he carried on his path once more. 

I plainly sighed as I eyed the folder and papers that I was clutching with my left arm earlier, now messily scattered in the entirety of my vicinity on the sidewalk. Great. So much for my luck. 

I stooped down in my spot as the passersby eyed me, as if it was against the law for you to pick up the documents you accidentally dispersed onto the concrete sidewalk of a busy street.

I gathered a bundle of white papers, a couple of blue folders, and my yellow planner book, aligning them marginally on the edges before partially folding them, making them fit inside my small bag while being hopeful they would not get scattered on the sidewalk again.I stood up, restabilizing myself as I clenched my jaw muscles due to the intensifying cold breeze of the night, preventing myself from involuntary gritting.

However, I had this strong odd feeling that I still hadn't placed something back in my planner.

I craned my head all over the place, glancing scrutinizingly at the snowy concrete of the walkway. I continued carrying onto my path, turning on my heels, after I realized that the sidewalk was clear of any stray paper from yours truly.

Even before I could completely turn around on my heels, I saw something flat and rectangular at my far front, probably more than a couple of meters away from me. It was resting at an open spot of the sidewalk, as if awaiting for itself to get trampled upon.

That white paper.

It almost brought back so many memories, images quickly flashing one after another.

It was the photograph that I tried my hardest to protect and treasure. It was the only one of its kind, of its content.

It was taken during a halloween party, one friday night. October 25, 2013. A photograph dated five years ago.

Approximately five years ago.

It revived so many memories. So many whiles that I had been with this guy. 

This guy.

This guy with dyed dark brown hair of hints or red.

This guy with the stern, cold dark brown eyes.
This guy who always had the habit of making me run.
This guy who always had the habit of telling stories.

This guy who always had the unproclaimed habit of intertwining his fingers with mine.

This guy who said he would be back after a while of four years.

 It had already been five years. And he was one year overdue.

For the first two years he was away, we would actively exchange messages almost daily, telling me exciting stories about his great 'conquers' in London, particularly about the places he visited and the school he was studying at. However, since I inherited his competitiveness with all those moments I rode with his childishness, I so