And so in the end,
like so many beautiful promises in their lives,
being together on the day of the snow never came to be.

. . .

Kim Hanbin died on the fifth of January. It wasn’t a painful death, but it was quick and happened just the way he wanted it to: in his sleep.

A few minute before his eyes closed, he saw the snow beyond the window, and it reminded him of the girl he loved.

Her skin which was as white as snow, the way her eyes flickered white when she talked to him. And finally: that promise they made on the top of that bridge.

Hanbin thought about how stubborn Hayi could be sometimes, and he wondered if she was still waiting for him in that bridge. He pictured her being all alone in the snow. He wondered, and wondered, and wondered until his eyes shut and his time inevitably came to an end.

. . .

It was a cold winter morning in February.

Outside the school stood a two-meter tall photograph of Kim Hanbin. Hundreds of students lined up in front of it in several columns as the principal gave a speech announcing Kim Hanbin’s death. To many, it was a huge shock. To some, the news had simply packed their hearts with a certain extent of sadness.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Jiwon remarked, leaning over the rooftop railings. “How many weeks has it been, Lee Hayi?”

“I figured I’d be expelled if I kept playing hooky.”

“Are you okay?”

Hayi’s only answer was a flickering smile.

“People say that they take the good ones first. We get more time than them in this world so we have a chance to turn good.”

“I wonder, Jiwon.”

A pause, and he asked, “Shouldn’t you be down there?”

Hayi shook her head. “He hated stuff like that. He even made me promise not to come to his funeral.”

“A realistic guy, I reckon.”

“Hm.”

“After I heard the news, I somehow knew I wouldn’t be able to see you for a while. So tell me honestly, how are you coping?”

Limp and drained of energy, the girl finally spoke properly, “It still hurts. Every memory I have of him suddenly turns grey. And when I think about how he’s gone… forever, I feel like I’m being stabbed here,” Hayi admitted, gesturing towards her chest. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” he said.

“I heard you’re moving away.”

Jiwon placed his hand on the back of his neck. “There isn’t a university here that offers the type of course I want to do. You’ll have to make choices like that in your senior year, too.”

“Choices like moving away?”

“That’s right,” the boy confirmed.

“When are you leaving?”

“Next week.”

“Is this a goodbye, then?”

“I guess so.”

“I hope all goes well for you, Kim Jiwon.”

“And I hope the same for you,” he replied, patting her on the back. “See you.”

It was a short farewell, considering they were only acquaintances and not yet at the level of friends.

While walking away, Jiwon wanted to mention a few things to Lee Hayi. He wanted to thank her for the times they spent sitting in silence in that little library. He wanted to thank her for making him realise that the silence didn’t have to be so bad after all. He wanted to tell her that he liked her, he really did. That his thoughts were every so often filled with her. And while he knew he didn’t love her, he also knew how easily it could have happened.

But in consideration of everything that has happened to the girl he wanted to half-confess to, he left it at that.

After he moved away, he would try to forget her.

He would try to forget the girl who he met at the end of his healing process.

. . .

Lee Hayi visited Kim Hanbin’s grave from time to time. The train journey to his grave from their hometown lasted about two hours long, and between those times, the girl would reminisce every so often. Questions would begin to flood her thoughts.

What would happen to both of them if Hanbin hadn’t died?

Would they still be friends if Hanbin hadn’t died?

Would they have been lovers if Hanbin hadn’t died?

She came to realize that the word if was dangerous for the mind. It left her nothing but unsatisfied longings and immeasurable sadness.

That feeling would come back, of course, and more intense during nights when it seemed impossible for her to sleep—because then, images of Hanbin would come back to her. There was no way they could be stopped. Too many memories of him were crammed inside her head; how he stared at the sky so often, the smell of Esse cigarettes that lingered on him always, the way he talked, how he peered at her eyes like there was something worth seeing; and as soon as one of them found the slightest opening, the rest would force their way out in an endless stream.

And only by her own experience had she finally comprehended what Hanbin had told her repeatedly before.

When you lose something close to you, it was like losing a part of yourself.

. . .

Aside from some very vivid memories, including the overwhelming surprise she felt the day they finally met, all Hanbin left behind were his text messages and nothing more. Hayi read the messages so many times she nearly had them memorized. And every time she read them, she felt like Hanbin and her were together again, their hearts one.

This warmed her heart more than anything else could.

Nevertheless, when Hayi finally deleted those messages in hopes of moving on, something inside her shattered. She felt her chest tighten with a stifling feeling, and before she realized it, she’d swallowed a hard lump of cloud. A sob escaped from , followed by another.

And another.

. . .

Lee Hayi didn’t even bother counting down the days, and before she knew it, two years had already passed.

Straight after graduating high school, Hayi moved to Seoul and began a new life without knowing a soul. It seemed like the only right thing to do after all.

She made good friends, and to those friends, she opened up about all sorts of personal things. Things about her childhood, things about her hometown, things that she was uncomfortable speaking about. Still, she carefully avoided ever mentioning about the dying boy she fell in love with back in her hometown. The wound was still fairly fresh—too deep. Of course, later on in her life she would eventually open up about Kim Hanbin to her friends, but that conversation would save itself until the wound had fully healed, only leaving a scar of remembrance.

However, despite this, Lee Hayi could feel, little by little, that she was settling down alright in the big city named Seoul. When the sun rose, so would Hayi—she’d get dressed, take the train to the university, take some notes, meet up with a couple of friends, and afterwards she’d sit in the small café outside her apartment reading a book or writing a story. Just like that, she clung on to her daily routines. 

And out of habit, she visited Hanbin’s grave every end of the month.

That was her way of keeping her promise.

. . ..

It was the spring of her twentieth year.

After the last lecture of the day, carrying a paperback and a few daffodil flowers, Lee Hayi took her time walking to the train station. By the time she reached Cheongnyangni, the sun was slowly sinking and the day had become a soft spring evening.

As she sat waiting in the train, Hayi watched the scene beyond the train windows. It was a typical springtime scene: the cherry blossoms blooming, the people that passed carrying their jumpers over their shoulders instead of wearing them, the sky darkening very slowly.

She placed the daffodils on the vacant seat next to her and turned to the page of the book she was reading.

“Excuse me, mind if I sit there?” called a voice.

It was a voice so familiar, and yet so unacquainted all at the same time.

She looked up to find a pair of small, dark eyes staring back at her. She memorized his face. His eyebrows; his crescent eyes, and the way wrinkles would appear under them whenever he smiled.

A boy, flashing that same winning, crooked smile she used to see every day—now standing in front of her as a man.

“How long has it been, Lee Hayi?” Kim Jiwon asked with a satisfied sigh and sat next to her. “Who would’ve thought we’d meet again in a place like this?”

Hayi smiled, and said, “Fancy running into you here. Seeing a familiar face feels strangely… alright.”

“That’s only because it’s me,” Jiwon scoffed, and the train began to move. The travel across the city to the countryside barely took two minutes, considering they were on the outskirts of Seoul. The cherry trees from the fields had just turned into a soft colour of pink. The sky above was a fresh swept orange, with low-hanging white clouds. For a while, the two of them went on staring at the cherry blossoms.

“Spring is finally here,” he remarked.

Spring.

Something about that word had wrung her heart with reminiscence. Every image, every memory, every single thing about Kim Hanbin had come back to her, like the tide, it suddenly ebbed into her thoughts. The strange thing was that for the first time in years, thinking about him didn’t hurt. Sure, it made the girl feel nostalgic, but thinking about him didn’t cause her to tremble all over and shake and sob anymore.

It was as if, bit by bit, Hayi could feel herself letting go.

And so she smiled with the slightest curl of her lip.

“Spring is finally here,” she repeated.

. . . 

위잉위잉 // 

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh so i finally finished it!!! i enjoyed writing for this soo much because of the feedback you guys gave me. 
i'm so incredibly thankful for those who gave me encouragement, those who continued reading this, even those who were silent readers! 
thank you for reading until the end. hopefully you guys enjoyed this story! 
see you soon ^^

start: Jan 31, 2015
finish: Aug 8, 2015