It was a little surprising: the fact that I was more broken now, compared to how I was when my mom left.

Maybe Mino made all the difference. He cured me, dragged me out of the heavy waves throwing themselves against me, and breathed life into me so I could function fine, if not as good.

It had been a little over a week, and I could only look forward to the fact that the week that had passed would stretch into six months. But I was just trying to make myself feel better, because the seconds dragged for far too long and I felt like it had been months since I last saw Mino.

I was still functioning, waking up early to attend to my classes, cooking for myself, and hanging out with Seri even though most of the times we spent together were times of silence.

She had asked about Mino once, asking the question: How long have you been together?

I looked at her silly and snorted, “Since forever,” because there really was no other way to answer it, but I didn’t fail to add the fact that he was my best friend, although we were dating in front of my father’s eyes (but Seri didn’t need to know that last bit).

If Mino could text me now (which he won’t, because he’d call) and if he would ask me how I was, how would I answer?

“How are you?”

I would say I’m doing just fine, if it wasn’t Mino asking. I had learned in my nineteen years of life that we take the question very lightly.

“How are you?” It wasn’t like we commit to the question when we ask it. The question just pertains to trivial matters, like ‘how’s practice’ or ‘how are the kids’.

 We all wear a mask when we answer it with mostly an ‘I’m fine,’ or ‘We’re doing good,’ and maybe sometimes we should take the time to answer it honestly, but it wasn’t like the one asking asked for that exactly.

The question was just small talk, no big things.

I’d really like for Mino to ask me now, because I lose my mask around him.

I’d tell him I miss him, that I need him, that I’m not okay, and that I’m hurting. I’d tell him that I can barely breeze through Mr. Dong’s classes even though I found his lectures very engaging then. I would tell him that my eyelids always threaten to fall, and that most of the time, I can’t remember doing anything. I’d tell him that I’m walking through every day without so much as a memory of the days that had passed, and that I, in fact, find the days very long.

I would tell him that my family still hasn’t kept in touch with me, and that I’m actually worried; that my father tries to call me and text me, but I never reply.

I would tell him that I wish the six