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“Why can’t I come with you?” Hee-jin pouted, her tiny fists balled up on her hips and her fine eyebrows drawn down in a scowl.

Ji-hoo tried not to laugh at her look of consternation. Hee-jin was standing in the middle of the kitchen, supervising the making of her peanut butter sandwich. She liked to make sure that sunbae used enough peanut butter and the right kind of jelly, with no seeds in it. Ji-hoo pressed the two slices of bread together and placed the finished sandwich on a plate, then sliced it into perfect triangles before setting it on the counter and brushing the crumbs off his hands with a dish towel. Kneeling down, he held out his arms, and Hee Jin ran into them. He gave her an affectionate squeeze and then held her at arm’s length so that he could look into her small face. Putting out a finger, he smoothed down the line in the center of her forehead—the “I want” line, as he had come to think of it. She had gotten it from her mother, whose “I want” line showed itself on those rare occasions when Jan-di decided to dig her heels in about something. He knew it was usually pointless to argue, but on this occasion he had to be firm.

“I’m sorry, Hee-jin-a. This trip is just for your umma and me.” He and Jan-di had been dating for just over four months, and he had finally talked her into taking a few days away from the clinic so they could take a vacation together. Before Hee-jin could interject, he added, “I’ll tell you what… this summer, the three of us will take a week off and go to the beach together. We can swim and sail and build sandcastles. What do you think?”

Hee-jin tried to maintain her injured air, but the prospect of a week in the sun with her two favorite people in the entire world soon had her grinning with gleeful anticipation. She made Ji-hoo pinky-promise, which he did solemnly.

Mollified, she dug into her sandwich.

Don’t worry, little one, Ji-hoo thought, watching her. If all goes well, you’ll get your wish sooner than you think.

...

…

The next day was perfect for flying, the sky clear and still. Jan-di’s parents brought Hee-jin to the airport to say goodbye, and only Ji-hoo’s conspiratorial wink had kept her from bursting into tears at seeing her mother walk away through the security gate. Ji-hoo and Jan-di were boarded and on their way by early afternoon. Jan-di had only rolled her eyes a little when she saw the Yoon family plane waiting for them, not bothering with her usual objections to his extravagance. Ji-hoo knew that despite her long acquaintance with the F4 and her marriage to Jun-pyo, she still preferred simple pleasures and was uncomfortable when others spent money on her. Though he usually honored her wishes, he intended to spend this trip showing her how important she was to him. For once, he wanted her to see herself as he saw her, as the unexpected gift that changes everything.

It was twilight when they landed. Ji-hoo covered Jan-di’s eyes carefully with his hands as he led her off the plane and down the steps to the tarmac.

“Still keeping your secrets, are you? Okay, I give up. Where are we?” she asked, smiling.

Ji-hoo turned her slowly until she faced north, then took his hands away.

Jan-di opened her eyes and gasped. On the horizon, a sparkling cityscape lit the night.  She drank it in for a moment, and then realized that the skyline was familiar. She’d been here before. She looked inquiringly up at Ji-hoo. “Is it… are we in Macau?”

Ji-hoo nodded, reaching out his hand to take hers. “I know that you have some bad memories of this place,” he said, “but for me, it is full of memories of you.”

Jan-di looked out at the lights, her mind flashing back years to the dreamlike events of that week when she’d confronted Jun-pyo in Macau, wanting to know why he had dropped out of her life. Jun-pyo had pushed her away cruelly. Ji-hoo was right; it was a painful memory, despite their happy ending. Jun-pyo had been protecting her from the Dragon Lady, but she hadn’t known that at the time. Even when she’d found out the real reason, it hadn’t erased the recollection of those cold eyes and that indifferent voice tearing a hole in her heart. She had nearly fallen apart back then. What would she have done without the F-4? Without her firefighter?

She remembered how the three of them had thrown themselves into comforting her. Restaurants, shows, that game of masked hide-and-seek; they had used all the tools at their disposal trying to soften the hurt. Even when Yi-jung and Woo-bin had returned home, Ji-hoo had stayed with her, his comfortable silence and wordless support doing more to soothe her troubled heart than anything else. Other memories flooded in: Ji-hoo singing in the street when her wallet was stolen, taking her sightseeing, carrying her piggyback when her shoe broke. It may have been the site of her deepest heartbreak, but Macau was also the place where she had finally realized what a true friend she had in Yoon Ji-hoo.

She shifted her gaze to him now and a warm smile spread over her face, much to his relief.

“Come on,” he said, drawing her across the pavement to a waiting car that she hadn’t noticed before.

After a twenty minute ride, they pulled up to their hotel, a beautiful glass building that soared skyward in a delicate spire. It wasn’t the same one where they had stayed on their last visit. That hotel had been in the busy city center, but this one was situated on the edge of the field of sparkling lights, in a quieter, less frantic part of Macau. Extensive gardens stretched across the hotel grounds, and Jan-di could see couples strolling in the twilight along pebbled paths that curved among clouds of late spring flowers.

“Let’s stretch our legs, and then I’ll take you to dinner—anywhere you want.” Leaving the porters to handle their bags, Ji-hoo laced Jan-di’s fingers through his own and led her slowly along one of the dim garden paths until they came to a secluded portico. Turning to face her, he encircled her in his arms and pulled her into a hug, pressing his lips tenderly to her forehead. She relaxed into his arms. After a long moment, he pulled back to look down into her eyes. “So, Geum Jan-di, we have the whole week ahead of us. What would you like to do first tomorrow?”

Jan-di’s eyes crinkled up in a teasing smile. “That depends. Will your friend Ming be joining us?”

Ji-hoo chuckled, recalling Jan-di’s first inauspicious meeting with his old school friend. Ming could be a little hard to take, he knew. “He will not. I didn’t even tell him we were coming, actually. For the next eight days, I belong exclusively to you.”

“I like the sound of that,” Jan-di murmured, moving her hands to rest lightly at the small of Ji-hoo’s back and gazing up at him mischievously.

He looked into her eyes, which reflected the dim lamplight of the garden, and his arms tightened instinctively around her. He kissed her forehead again, lightly, but didn’t stop there. He touched his lips softly to each eyelid, then bent to kiss the line of her jaw, trailing his lips slowly down the smooth skin of her neck to her collarbone.

Jan-di’s shiver had nothing to do with the cool evening air.

Finally, his mouth found hers, and for several blissful minutes, they both forgot that the rest of the world existed and got lost in a conversation of kisses.

Once again, Ji-hoo was the one who stopped them, remembering belatedly that, despite the shielding hedges, they were not exactly alone in the garden. Besides, he was hungry, and he knew Jan-di was, too. It was time to venture out into the city. And tomorrow, well… he had plans.

…

…

Jan-di was still in bed the next morning when a loud knock at her hotel room door jarred her into consciousness. Slowly, her eyelids still half-closed, she sat up and felt around beside the bed for her slippers. Pulling on the robe she had discarded across a chair the night before, she dragged herself, zombie-like, across the deep carpet of the richly appointed room and groggily opened the door.

Ji-hoo was standing there—fully dressed, smiling broadly, and holding out a steaming cup of coffee. As soon as she could focus on it, Jan-di seized the cup and opened the door wider to let him in.

“I forgot how disgustingly chipper you are in the morning,” she opined with a groan. Years ago, when she had nowhere else to go, she had briefly lived with Ji-hoo and his grandfather. By the time Jan-di had rolled out of bed each morning, Ji-hoo had usually finished getting ready and cooked a hot breakfast for all three of them. She was often halfway through the meal before she had both eyes open properly.

Ji-hoo took in her sleep-rumpled pajamas and messy bedhead with affectionate amusement. “Why don’t you go get ready? I’ll set out breakfast.” He held up a large paper sack.

Jan-di shuffled closer and sniffed the bag. “Apple strudel?”

He nodded, laughing as she sprang into action, grabbing some clothes from her suitcase and retreating into the bathroom.

“You better leave me one—no, two!” she warned through the door.

Ji-hoo heard the click of the lock and smiled, remembering their last stay in Macau and Jan-di’s mortification when he had stumbled through the unlocked bathroom door at Ming’s house. Apparently the lesson had stuck.

Once he heard the shower running, he opened the sack and divided the strudel he’d bought between two of the plates on the coffee table. There was also some chopped fruit and two bottles of a creamy yogurt drink that he knew Jan-di liked. By the time he laid down the napkins, Jan-di had emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a light grey sweater. Her still-damp hair curled softly at the nape of her neck. Ji-hoo reached out and smoothed a strand of it behind her ear, then steered her to a chair at the table before the tension that seemed ever present between them could flare into life. He knew that if he kissed her once, they might not make it out of this room for a while, and he had arranged a full day of fun that definitely required leaving the hotel.

After the last of the strudel was gone, they made their way to the vast golden elevator and headed for the lobby. Ji-hoo picked up his phone to call their driver, but Jan-di stopped him. She wanted to stretch her legs, and the golden sparkle of sunlight angling in through the window invited them to go outside. When she slid her warm hand happily into his and pulled him toward the great lobby doors, Ji-hoo was glad to agree.

The streets were full of people enjoying the warm breeze. Street vendors were calling out to passersby, holding up samples and offering price cuts. Walking by a table full of hair accessories, Jan-di saw a yellow and green clip shaped like a butterfly. It reminded her of Hee-jin. The little girl loved butterflies. Jan-di picked the clip up, admiring its silver edging and the way the light shone through the translucent wings.

Ji-hoo guessed at the direction that her thoughts were taking. “You miss her already, don’t you?”

She looked up sheepishly. “It’s silly, isn’t it? It hasn’t even been a whole day. It’s just… I haven’t been away from her since she was born.” Shaking her head, she put the clip back on the table. “It’s a mom thing, I guess.”

Ji-hoo laid a hand on her arm. “You’re a great mom, Jan-di-ah.” Picking up the hair clip, he turned to the vendor. “We’ll take this one. Can you please wrap it up?”

Jan-di hugged him enthusiastically. “You always know what I need to hear, sunb—I mean…Ji-hoo-ah.” She colored a little at her slip.

“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” he asked teasingly.

…

They spent the morning wandering up and down the streets of Macau. Down one alley, they found a small toy shop by following a trail of bubbles that blew constantly from a machine next to the entrance. Delighted, Jan-di ducked inside. Ji-hoo followed, and they whiled away almost half an hour playing with all the toys. Over Jan-di’s objections, Ji-hoo purchased a large dollhouse for Hee-jin and ordered it shipped back to Seoul.

“You’re going to spoil her,” she warned, but Ji-hoo merely smiled and gave the shopkeeper her address.

At one intersection, they encountered a street musician skillfully playing the guitar for a large gathering of admiring onlookers. His fingers moved with sureness over the strings, playing “Last First Kiss”, clearly a crowd favorite. His rich tenor voice rang out clearly, the sound weaving a sort of spell over those listening. Ji-hoo was pleasantly surprised when Jan-di stepped closer to him and pressed against his side, her arm sliding around his waist. Her eyes were on the singer, but she wore a far-off look, and Ji-hoo knew that she was thinking of the time he sang on the street for money to replace what they had lost from their wallets. He remembered how proud he had been to be able to buy something for her with money that had come from his own efforts. That feeling had been the seed that grew into his decision to study medicine rather than take over his family’s investments. Seeing his passion and motivation, Grandfather had approved his decision, and they had hired a management board to oversee the family’s business operations.

He slipped his arm over Jan-di’s shoulders, and together they listened until the song was over. Ji-hoo dropped some money into the boy’s guitar case, complimenting his playing before he and Jan-di moved off down the street hand in hand, looking for somewhere to have lunch.

…

…

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the destination Ji-hoo had been steering them towards all day. They had boarded a ferry bound for Coloane Island. The sea air invigorated Jan-di, and Ji-hoo watched with amusement as she twirled around the deck of the boat like a little girl on her first school trip. As they debarked at the island, Ji-hoo was smugly silent in the face of Jan-di’s questions, choosing instead to let the surprise unfold. When they reached the Seac Pai Van botanical gardens, Jan-di sighed in delight, standing on her tiptoes to give Ji-hoo a kiss on the cheek. He beckoned her forward, and the two of them walked through the gates together. Only then did Jan-di notice something odd. There was no one else in the park. Not one person.

She tossed an astonished glance at Ji-hoo, whose self-satisfied smile confirmed her suspicions. “You bought out the whole park? Just so the two of us could walk around?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Wow, you chaebols really are on a whole other plane, aren’t you?” she teased.

Ji-hoo offered no explanation. He just took Jan-di’s hand in his and started walking slowly down the serene stone path that led away into the heart of the park. Their way wound between green, leafy trees that seemed to glow in the sunlight and through verdant flowerbeds spilling over with aromatic blooms of one kind or another.

Jan-di couldn’t imagine the work that went into the lush beauty all around her. Side trails forked off of the main path at regular intervals, and Jan-di caught glimpses of stone statuary hung with trailing vines and adorned with blossoms. Carefully sculpted hedges, curved bridges, and heavy stone water basins gave the whole garden a Japanese feeling. As they moved deeper into the dappled green quiet, Jan-di felt peace wash over her. Suddenly, there was nowhere she’d rather be than in this place with this man.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Ji-hoo looked over at her and smiled. He was dressed casually today, in a pair of dark brown jeans and ribbed v-neck shirt in a light ivory that contrasted with the caramel-colored skin of his arms and neck. His dark hair was cut a little shorter than it had been in his youth, but it still brushed the top of his ears and angled in windblown spikes across his forehead. His generous lips parted slightly as he smiled, revealing straight white teeth. But Jan-di’s favorite part of Ji-hoo’s appearance was his eyes, those warm brown eyes that always saw right into her. The way he was looking at her now was almost a caress. She loved the version of herself she saw in his eyes.

They came to a fork in the path, and Ji-hoo led her to the left as if he knew exactly where he was going. Following a bend in the trail, they emerged suddenly into an open space framing a wide, green pond. All around the edges of the pond and floating in clusters in the middle were white and pink lotus flowers. They bobbed gently in the slight breeze that was playing over the water.

Jan-di gasped in appreciation. “Look at all of them! So pretty!”

Extending out into the pond was an ornately carved wooden gazebo. Lanterns hung from the corners of it, their light pale and flickering in the late afternoon sky. Ji-hoo drew Jan-di up the shallow steps into the shade under the arched roof. Together they walked to edge of the structure that was suspended over the water and leaned against the railing, peering down to where koi were swimming among the leafy fronds of the flowering plants.

Without looking over at her, Ji-hoo spoke. “Do you remember when we visited that Buddhist temple in Soraksan?”

“The one where we wrote prayers on the tiles? Of course I do,” She smiled at the memory.

Ji-hoo went on. “One of the monks there told me that you were like a lotus flower. No matter how muddy and rank the water is, a lotus can bloom there, and when it does, it purifies everything around it.” He turned to look at her now. “You have been through a lot of mud, Jan-di. You’ve stood up under pain and persecution, fear and grief – and yet, no matter what life throws at you, your light keeps growing stronger. I don’t know how you do that, but I am drawn to that light like a moth. I always have been.”

Moisture stood in Jan-di’s eyes as she gazed out at the flowers. She squeezed Ji-hoo’s hand and turned so that she was facing him, too. “You don’t know how much of that strength came directly from you, Ji-hoo-ah. A lot of it is borrowed light.”

“My prayer that day was that you would get into medical school. Do you remember what yours was?” Ji-hoo asked.

She smiled. “My prayer was that you would find happiness,” she said simply.

He reached out to take her other hand so that he was holding both of them. “I wanted you to know that your prayer was answered. I have been happier these last four months than I’ve been at any other time in my life. Being with you like this,” –he lifted their clasped hands—“like this,” –he stepped so close to her that she could smell the scent of soap lingering on his skin—“like this,” –he bent his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth—“has been more joy that I ever thought I would have. So I know how greedy I am to want anything more. But I do. I have one more prayer, Jan-di-ah.” He stepped back and motioned to one of the posts holding up the gazebo.

Jan-di looked at the post and saw that there was a prayer tile hanging on it, just like the ones they had inscribed at the temple all those years ago. She stepped closer so that she could read it. It had just one prayer written on it:

“For her to say yes.”

Jan-di turned around to look for Ji-hoo and found him kneeling on the ground before her. He was holding out an open box, and inside it was a ring. Jan-di recognized it as his mother’s ring, the one that he had offered her once before, on a day when it was no use, because her heart wasn’t hers to give away any longer.

So much had changed since then.

Ji-hoo didn’t look nervous, but the rough emotion in his voice betrayed the whirlwind churning within him as he spoke, “Marry me, Geum Jan-di. I want to walk through all of this life with the woman I love. I want to be a father to Hee-jin. I want to hold you in my arms every night and wake by your side every morning.” His gaze was unflinching as he looked up into her eyes. “Please, Jan-di-ah, be my wife.”

Jan-di’s heart raced. They’d only been dating for a few months, but somehow Jan-di already knew exactly what she was going to say—had known it from the moment Ji-hoo kissed her in the doorway of her apartment. Looking down into his hopeful, upturned face, she gave him her answer.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes.” Her eyes were shining. “Yes, I will.”

Ji-hoo jumped to his feet and caught Jan-di up in a fierce hug before he remembered the ring. He held it out her.

Gently, she pulled it out of the box and examined it. It looked the same, except for one detail. On the inside of the band, next to the wedding date of Ji-hoo’s parents, was a new inscription, the fresh cuts showing as shiny lines against the aged patina: “Ji-hoo + Jan-di”. He took it from her and placed it slowly over her ring finger.

She started to slide her arms around him in another embrace, but he held her at arm’s length. “I have one more question for you.”

Puzzled, she cocked her head to the side, waiting.

He took a deep breath. “Jan-di-ah, will you marry me…”

Jan-di opened to speak, but Ji-hoo wasn’t finished.

“…today?”

She gaped at him. “Today? Here? I… don’t know. I mean, how would we even…?” Jan-di was having trouble formulating a response to his surprising suggestion. She didn’t know what was crazier—that Ji-hoo had proposed such an impulsive plan, or that she was actually considering saying yes. “Our families would never forgive us for doing it without them, you know.”

Ji-hoo could sense her wavering and grinned at her. “I thought you might say that.” Placing a hand in his pocket, he produced a small whistle and blew two sharp blasts on it.

Suddenly, from around a bend in the path, a crowd of familiar people surged into the little clearing. Grandfather was there, and clinging tightly to his hand was little Hee-Jin, her pigtails bouncing as she skipped along beside him. Jan-di’s parents had come too, along with Kang-san, her not-so-little-now brother. Woo-bin strode in behind them, walking up to Ji-hoo and clapping him on the shoulder good-naturedly. Last came Yi-Jung and Ga-eul. Jan-di’s best friend was leading Ma-ru by the hand while their littlest one, Min-woo, slept on peacefully in a sling tied across her middle. She was beaming.

For once, Jan-di was speechless. She looked around at the warm circle of her friends and family, then back up at the man she loved. Finally, her eyes full of unshed tears, she nodded.

A cheer went up from those gathered to witness the event.

For the second time in her life, Geum Jan-di was about to marry the man of her dreams.

…

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