Why do you have to be so difficult, Soojung? I ask myself that every single time we meet or speak on the phone. If I asked you if you'd eaten, you'd ask me why it mattered. If I asked you what you planned to do for the day, you'd tell me what your friend Miseon did last summer. If I asked if you had an umbrella with you because it was going to rain, you'd go on and on about how some parts of the world experienced night all winter. If you just answered my questions like a normal person would, then maybe my words wouldn't get stuck all the time. If you didn't let your mind stray so far then maybe – just maybe – I could have held on to you longer. But then you wouldn't be the Soojung I know.

A month after school started, my distant cousin from the countryside came to visit. My days that were once spent entirely with you had turned into an exhausting cycle of attending classes I couldn't fully grasp and returning home to a girl I found hard to like. Sunhee was her name. And unlike you, she wore dresses, did fancy things to her hair and asked for favors like it was the easiest thing in the world to do. Take her out, the adults kept saying. So I rang you up, with that as a perfect excuse to hang out like we used to before school got really tough. Your mother answered, sounding pleasantly surprised to hear me calling for the first time in a while. I could hear her voice getting distant as she called your name, and I pictured her standing by your bedroom door as you look up in excitement at the news of my phone call. But I knew that wasn't the case because what followed the string of muffled dialogue was a dubious, "But it's Hyunwoo" in your mother's voice. And seconds later, she returned with an apology. That was the first time in our five years of friendship you'd ever rejected my call. And it was only the beginning of a series of rejections. 

I wanted to tell you this so we could use the party as an excuse to meet, but I didn't get the chance to. The last weekend Sunhee and her mother spent at our place also happened to be Sunhee's birthday. And hearing the adults go on and on about the things she liked made me wonder just what you'd say about them. I was pretty sure a year's wouldn't result in that drastic of a difference, but Lee Soojung and Oh Sunhee were polar opposites with ten universes in between. Spending almost a month with a girl other than you really opened my eyes to the strangeness that is girls. 

When my mother announced that she had prepared a present for Sunhee on my behalf, I was dozing off on my study desk, my face buried under some loose sheets of assignments. I wasn't exactly pleased with her efforts at giving Sunhee a false impression that I actually cared about her, or enjoyed her stay here. But I hummed an acknowledgement anyways, because it didn't bother me enough to vanquish the drowsiness after a heavy meal. It really didn't. Until that split second the wind lifted a page off my face and allowed me a glimpse of the yellow and white striped package through the thinness of my essay. That was the second rejection, and it hit me like a punch in the gut. 

The third came at the end of Summer when I plucked up the courage to give you another call. We hadn't spoken for a whole season, and ever since what happened the last time, ringing you up felt more nerve-wrecking than waiting my turn at the dentist's. I let my mind run through a hundred different scenarios of how our conversation would go before you picked up with a quiet 'hello'. I didn't realize how much I had missed hearing your voice and I was so close to spilling those feelings out in words, but stopped myself. Thank goodness I did, because unfortunately, you'd forgotten mine. I was hurt, yet somehow I felt like it was something that was bound to happen, whether or not I tried hard to stay actively present in your life. So I played the fool and ignored all the signs of your discomfort. I was so sure things would go back to the way it used to be as soon as I got to the point. 

"Let's go cycling, Soojung. It's the best time to go now. You know, before the streets get covered in orange…" 

I could sense the hesitation from your end of the line before you meekly reminded me of the case of your ruined bike that happened a year ago. My heart sank, but I was able to comfort myself with the fact that we had shared memories that were resurfacing so naturally. So I got carried away with my mix of anxiousness and forced excitement and started flooding you with ideas of a different outing. I suggested we make a puzzle, or fly a kite, or go fishing like you wanted to last year before the lake froze. I named all the things you liked to do, but at some point it became obvious you weren't listening, and I knew I had lost you.

So before your silence could kill me any further, I cut the line. 

I spent the rest of the day looking out at the stillness of your bedroom curtains across from mine, asking myself why it was so hard for me to hold on to just a small part of you, when you so easily had all of me. Eventually I came to the conclusion that that was just the way you were. Your mind was constantly wandering, and I was inevitably left behind. Yet still, I couldn't find it in myself to hate you for that.