Jongup had an idea of what Mr McVey would ask him to do. He really didn’t want to. Why would he? Why would he want to go back? That place gave him such terrifying memories. Heart-breaking memories. The memories that reminded him of what his life was life beforehand, and how it would never be the same again.

It was the turning point. But he didn’t want to turn. He was perfectly fine with going straight ahead.

It was his fault. He turned the wheel, hypothetically.

He found himself not continuing in his journey back to his empty apartment, but back to Orbit Street. It was daylight now, but the place still haunted him. There was nothing on the floor that showed passers-by it was where his dead sister had laid, or the two other victims, but he stared at it, a few feet away. He couldn’t walk anywhere near it. Pedestrians carried on their daily lives, not stopping to think about what they were walking on. It wasn’t Minah’s grave, but Jongup still couldn’t walk over it.

There were hundreds of flowers there after the traumatic event, but now, two months on, they had all been thrown away. They were just an obstacle, a safety hazard, in the middle of the pavement. It needed to be cleared so people could carry on. Was that what Jongup had to do? Clear the guilt and the memory from his mind and just carry on a new straight path? He couldn’t. Even if he forgot about that terrible night (which, let’s be real here, he never would), his path would never be straight again.

He hurried to a florist stall close by and bought a single rose, which he laid on the floor where Minah had laid. People’s eyes were drawn to him as they stopped talking absent-mindedly into their phones to gape but their legs carried on walking. Some looked on with sympathy; others with no understanding pulled a face or raised their eyebrows to their acquaintance. Nobody stopped to pay their respects, but Jongup didn’t really expect them to.

He wasn’t sure how long he was crouched next to that lamppost, but when he stood his legs were shaken and weak. His eyes were dry, but his body was trembling.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman he had bumped into earlier that day; she was stood silently on the pavement, allowing people to move round her like a barrier in a rushing river. Jongup didn’t recognise her, but he felt a connection. If anything.

She suddenly locked her eyes on the red rose and the floor, and her eyes followed upwards to find who had laid it there. She held Jongup’s gaze for a while, and then decidedly walked over.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Is that your rose?”

“Yeah.”

The woman nodded, and tears sprung to her eyes. “Why did you put it there?”

Jongup cleared his throat. “There was an accident…or well, I’m not sure, if, you know, I, erm… some people died…”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, I know. My husband…my husband was shot. Over there.” She pointed behind her.

Jongup’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry to hear that. My sister was shot too. This rose is for her.”

The woman’s eyes widened too. “Really? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t go to her funeral, I…”

“It’s OK.” Jongup reassured. “Same to you too. We were both caught up in our own grief.”

The woman nodded. “I’m sorry, I don’t know the same of your sister.”

“Minah Moon.”

“Yongguk Bang.”

The both looked at each other nodded in a silence that was neither comfortable nor awkward. The woman held out her hand.

“Claire. Claire Bang.”

“Jongup Moon. Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand.