At school, Jiwon wasn’t somebody who stood out a lot. His personality wasn’t to the extremes, and neither were his looks. Apart from those two odd years where he studied overseas, Jiwon had what every other normal boy had. He, all in all, led an ordinary life.

Or at least it seemed like he did.

Life for Jiwon outside school took a different approach to the expectations of his classmates. For example, if one was to step inside his room—his very own space, full of private belongings—one would realise that Jiwon was far from an ordinary boy.

White walls covered in acrylic paint—red, yellow, blue, pink, spring green and all sorts of other colours—as if the walls were some sort of canvas itself; wooden floor, once again concealed under splodges of paint (most of which were tempera); a blue ceiling with broken glow-in-the-dark stars; bevelled paintings stacked all around, some as tall as Jiwon, while many were smaller than a pillowcase; and finally, huge pieces of paper which were crammed with pastels, watercolour and Jiwon’s drawings.

Funnily enough, there was no bed in his bedroom.

Jang Hanna, the young girl who grew up living two houses away from Jiwon, had once said that his room reminded her of fireworks. That she always loved going to his room because, like fireworks, it always made her feel something. At the time, they were fourteen.

And at the same time, Jiwon made a promise to himself that he would never fall for any girl if it wasn’t her. Not in his lifetime he wouldn’t.

That strange little promise could have very well happened. The possibilities of it becoming true, as strange as it may sound, were quite high. After all, who else but Jang Hanna could understand him better than any girl could? Who else but Jang Hanna would Jiwon not mind spending the rest of his life with?

Who else but her?

And yet fate had different plans for Jiwon’s promise, as he watched her father’s car burn to the ground.

As fourteen year old Jiwon watched his best friend’s corpse get trundled into the back of the ambulance.

. . .

“Say,” Hanna wondered. “How would you like to die?”

Jiwon dropped his paintbrush and looked at Hanna. He was trying to paint an ocean his father had taken him to see the week before. The image was still fresh in his mind. He picked up another paintbrush and his eyes wandered back to the canvas. “Weird question.”

“Just answer it.”

“Old age,” the boy answered. “And in a bed, preferably. Maybe a couple of pills to make it quick and easy, too.”

“Are you serious?”

Jiwon smiled. “I don’t know. I don’t think about this kind of things. But how about you?”

“I want it to be quick and easy, too. Anyway, so how about this, what would you do if I died?”

Jiwon stared at her for a long time, and finally remarked, “I don’t know. Stop talking about this stuff, it’s creepy.”

“Sorry. It’s just… I read a book about it recently.”

“What happened?”

“A boy drowns in the ocean. He comes back—invisible and dead—and he sees how the closest people to him are coping after his death.”

“And?”

“Well, he sees his mother cry herself to sleep every night. He sees his best friend make a habit of getting drunk during the day. He sees his girlfriend isolate herself from the world. You get the gist of it. It’s sad, right?” She paused, and her eyes shifted from the book she was holding to Jiwon. “The saddest part, though, wasn’t the mourning. Surprisingly it was the recovery. The boy, after a month of being invisible and dead, falls asleep for three years. And when he wakes up, it’s as if everybody had already forgotten him.”

“How so?”

“They’re all getting on with their lives as they normally did. Some guy is courting his girlfriend, his best friend has become quite a known author in Korea, and his parents have retired and were getting ready to move to a hotter country.”

“Then, seeing the people he love the most recover like that, surely the dead boy felt happy for them.”

“As it would seem. But the story’s written in his perspective, so not completely. He was lonely, more than he was happy.”

“That’s… selfish.”

“Hm. But aren’t we all?” she muttered.

“Then, you’re telling me, you’d feel the same if you died?”

For a short moment, Hanna fell silent on what he said. And to answer his question, she told him, “If I died, then I’m dead. Fortunately, in this universe, the dead do not have feelings.”

. . .

Im Jaebum, homeroom teacher of class 1-3, resigned without a word to his students a day after that incident. It aroused suspicion from some, but as the entrance exams were approaching near enough, those questions were pulled away from their minds.

Kim Hanbin, on the other hand, was suspended for two weeks. His suspension would be lifted the day winter begun. Thinking about it, the boy heaved a heavy sigh.

It meant two weeks without seeing Hayi.

What could that girl be doing at that very moment? He wondered, trying to find an answer to an indefinite question.

He also remembered how Hayi had once told him that she was a diligent student. That she wanted to get into a good university and get a good job afterwards, so she could provide for her parents. She didn’t come from a rich background, so working hard was the only way, she said.

“I mean, there’s the option of marrying a rich, old man, too,” Hayi said, as Hanbin ate his noodles. “But that’d be no fun.”

Hanbin smiled at the memory of that night. The night Hayi took him to that noodle shop. Three nights ago seemed way too far distant of a memory.

He stubbed out a cigarette and grabbed his phone.

What are you doing right now? – Spring

Studying. How about you?
Wait. Let me guess.
Chain smoking on top of some shabby rooftop and watching the sky. You must be on your fifth cigarette by now. – Hayi

While talking to Hayi, Hanbin’s smile never wavered. Everything about her had simply fascinated him. From her brilliant sense of humour to the way she never needed to filter her thoughts. Just how lucky was he, Hanbin mused, that he’d meet a girl so special before his time inevitably came to an end?

Sixth. And I’m just outside my house, not some shabby rooftop. – Spring

Close enough. – Hayi

Study well, Hayi. I wish you luck on your exams. – Spring

One more thing. I wanted to ask you something. – Hayi

What is it? – Spring

We’ve only met three times. Four, if you count that night. 
Yet I've known you for seven months if you count that first text I sent you.
It’s puzzling me and I’m not even sure if you can give me the correct answer or not. – Hayi

What’s the question? – Spring

Never mind. It isn’t a question after all. It’s just something I wanted to tell you.
You know, even before we first met at that shabby rooftop—even way before then, you never felt like a stranger to me.
You were just you. – Hayi

I see. That is quite puzzling.
Hayi, do you mind if we meet up, soon? – Spring

And all so suddenly, a violent stab of pain hit Hanbin’s chest. Along with the nightmare, it was another reminder that he did not, indeed, have very long left to live. The boy tensed with agony, gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to pass.

I’d like that. – Hayi

. . .

“So you’re back in your old spot,” Jiwon remarked.

“Hm.”

“Your friend got suspended, I heard.”

“He did.”

“You lied to me,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not really the type to hold grudges. But can you help me with something?”

Hayi looked at him, a little wary, but nevertheless replied, “It depends on what it is.”

“There’s this story. I’ve tried everything to find it but… nothing. No results. I want to know what happened at the end. And you read a lot—too much, actually—so maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“What did the story go like?”

Jiwon explained. Unfortunately, opposite to what kind of painter he was, Jiwon was a bad talker. He was a boy who couldn’t explain things very well, so he expressed his thoughts through pens and paintbrushes. And fortunately, given this situation, Hayi was a girl who had a talent for understanding. Understanding people. Understanding information. Understanding bad talkers.

“Who told you this story?”

Jiwon stayed quiet.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Hayi said. “I’ve read it. It’s just that I don’t remember the title. It was published anonymously quite some time ago. What you’ve told me... that was just half of the book.”

“Can you tell me what happened at the end?”

“The dead boy goes back in time, to the night of his funeral, to the night his mother cried herself to sleep. And those three years he slept for, he gets to re-live—or re-see, I guess. He realizes how gradual the process was, instead of the ‘healing’ part being so quick. A year after his death, he sees his girlfriend try to commit suicide, but she fails after being saved by the guy who was courting her. He sees his best friend write a book, with many traces of himself in that story. He sees many things he didn’t when he was asleep. At the end, his soul finally gets to rest. That’s how the book went, if I remembered correctly. Though, I can’t really recall it in much detail.”

When the realization struck Jiwon, it aroused such relief he almost burst into tears.

“What you told me... It’s enough. Thank you.”

. . .

let there be love // may all your dreaming fill the empty sky

ramblings;; it's weird being given so much free time after all the studying i had to do this year. it's a nice feeling, too. but i just can't seem to relax knowing that i'll have to re-face the reality and make decisions about my future in two months' time. hopefully all goes well. i hope you all enjoy the summer holidays ^^

anyway, honestly i don't even know where this story is headed to but yeah... sadly it won't take long left to finish. maybe a few chapters left(?) 

as always thank you so much for the feedback and the upvotes. i'm so surprised at how much love this story is getting;; thank you! i'm greatly humbled. if you're still reading up to this point i'm sorry for rambling on