I watched with utter scrutiny as his hands delicately performed the very last folds. Jongin’s slender fingers performed the task as slowly as they possibly could, and I knew he sensed my gaze upon him. He had been folding it for the last three minutes, putting me into an agonizing state of anticipation. When I sighed, he let a smile slip by his focused facade. And what a beautiful smile he possessed. Not even the lost weight or the bags under his eyes could ever rob the world of that precious smile. He finally finished it, his shaky hands holding the floral-patterned paper crane triumphantly.

    “We did it,” he whispered. “My God, we actually did it! A thousand paper cranes!” He laughed a wonderful laugh before it turned to a soft coughing fit. Had it been any other day, I might’ve warned him not to push himself too hard. But today was a good day, and I didn’t have the heart to take this victory away from him.

    “That means we get our wish now, doesn’t it? Is it just one wish, or do we both get one,” I asked, “I wonder…”

    “I don’t really know the rules on this stuff. Let’s both wish, but if it’s really only one, I’ll let you have it. Then we can fold another one thousand,” he grinned.

    “Another one thousand?” I groaned, displaying my fingers heavily adorned with Hello Kitty bandages, “Haven’t we gotten enough paper cuts already? Geez, it took us three months for the first round. And just how much more money can we spend on origami paper?”

    “Geez, what a party pooper. Then you can have the wish, you big baby,” he teased. “You just better make it good. Don’t you go wasting it on something like ‘Please make my dearest loveliest Kim Jongin get cured and all better, amen,’ okay? That’s totally lame.”

    “Why can’t I use that?” I protested, “It’s a perfectly practical use! I do want you to get better.”

    “You and everyone else. I’m getting too many well wishes these days, you know. It doesn’t seem fair; I bet up there in the sky where wishes work they’ll probably get confused and all end up canceling each other out. Be a bit selfish this time and wish for yourself. Wish for some knowledge up in that empty brain,” he taunted, reaching out to playfully tap my “empty” skull. I scowled. “Just use it on something that means a lot to you.”

    But that was it. He meant a lot to me. That’s why I couldn’t tell him that my grades were slipping, hanging on by the thread of empathy some teachers dared to exude. I couldn’t tell him that I had a test the next day, because if he knew then I’d be kicked out and banished to the library faster than I could snap my fingers. It wasn’t flat-out lying—but I had to withhold just a sliver of truth so that I might be allowed to be the strong one for once.

    “Well if you’re going to be so difficult about this wishing business,” I started, “I’ll need more time to think.”

    “Boring,” he teased, though the fondness in his voice was evident, “But at least name the guy for now. I mean, we just folded a thousand paper cranes, but the outcome has thus far been dreadfully anticlimactic.”

    I clucked my tongue at his antagonism. It had become a trend for us to name a crane after folding it, though usually its identity would soon be forgotten or mistaken. Despite this, it was nice to give the lifeless paper birds their own personalities, because for a moment just maybe Jongin didn’t have to feel so alone.

    “Her name is Hope,” I declared triumphantly, “Isn’t that nice?” He cringed.

    “I mean, in a really sweet and corny kind of way. I personally was thinking of something a bit more exciting or explosive, if you will. Like…Firecracker! Or Spontaneous Combustion! But…I mean, Hope is fine too. Hope is good,” he said, a dangerous, devilish grin emerging. I knew that grin. It was the smile he wore as I drank my smoothie he had tastefully infused with hot sauce four years ago. It was the smile he wore before he tackled me in those football games we played at the age of seven. I knew that grin, and I loved that grin. Because two could play at that game.

    “Well then,” I started slyly, with a mischievous smile of my own, “If your teasing is going to be this brutal, I guess I might just have to withhold from you the smuggled goods of the outside world. And what a shame at that, too; it’s a real bumper crop this time ‘round.” He answered my challenged with a repulsive puppy-dog face.

    “Is that really how you’re going to treat your hospitalized boyfriend?” He whined dramatically, beginning his Oscar-worthy performance of misery. “Taking my precious companionship this afternoon as a reward and offering nothing in return? Too cruel, too cruel, the too cruel world has hardened my beautiful Gracie Choi’s charitable heart. And in my woe, in my agony, only the mushy abominations this hospital dares to call food can offer this weakened heart nourishment. Too cruel, too crue—“

    “Oh shut up you big baby; I’ve got it right here,” I retorted, holding up the white paper bag that glowed like a golden ticket. I pulled out the two perfect macarons carefully and handed him the passion fruit, keeping the taro for myself. “From a little store I know called ‘Bites of Heaven,’” I explained, “It opened up only two days ago.” He whistled.

    “She finally did it. The big sis finally opened up the bakery, her dream. I guess all that work at culinary school finally paid off. That’s great!” He chimed, but added with significantly less enthusiasm, “And I missed it.” His smile hinted disappointment.

    “No, you haven't missed it,” I declared, holding up my perfect, purple circle, “Because we’ve got it right here. She didn't name it Bites of Heaven for nothing.” I took my first bite as he took his. Now I’m not sure how the Greek gods felt when they took a bite of that wonderful Ambrosia, but I am sure it had to be something like that bite of heaven. One bite, two bites, three bites, gone. I looked upward to be met with the radiance of his toothy smile.

    “Your older sister has to be the best pastry chef to walk the earth; I’m confirming it,” he said good-naturedly. It was the kind of statement that would have made me burn with jealousy at the age of twelve when he was still infatuated with her and I him, but now it only evoked a small sense of pride. A lot of things can change in ten years.

    Yes, a lot of things can change in ten years. I was reminded of this fact by an abrupt fit of coughing. It was common, and I was used to this show, but I still winced at the sight of it. Worst of all it was my fault of course. “We’ve been talking too much,” I noted as he finally settled down. “And we took that walk all through the hospital earlier; you’re probably exhausted. I need to be more careful, and you need to rest.”

    He lay there defeated by my nagging. “Read to me then, and I’ll rest. I don’t like being alone in here. I’ll even listen to your horrible classic literature,” he whispered, “Then that’ll really put me to rest.” With that, a skeleton of his dangerous grin remained, so, of course, I couldn’t resist. I pulled out a book, and he softly groaned at the author’s name, Charles Dickens. 

    I paid him no mind and opened up the yellow pages of the well-worn, well-loved book. Jongin loved the art of movement, dance, and I loved the art of language. I could never tell if that made us understand each other, or if it was the origin of all our disagreements. It was a question that came to me often, but I laid it to rest as I dove into the trials of foolish Pip, cold Estella, poor Miss Havisham, and the wonderful Joe and Biddy. Jongin fell asleep no longer than five minutes into the story, but I pretended not to notice and continued my task diligently, because the true beauty of a good book is in the distraction it provides. The story made me forget that the one I loved most in the world was slowly dying, that I was failing school, that I had no plans for the future, and, most of all, that God-forsaken test planned for tomorrow morning. I gladly stayed in this blissful denial for hours past dark, Jongin snoring slowly beside me.

    Like almost every other visit, the nurse ended up having to kick me out. I was only a quarter done with the book, and my voice hurt from heralding the tale to a rowdy audience of zero. I left my sleeping beauty with a kiss on the cheek that broke no spell and left the hospital with a cardboard box full of paper cranes. When we first started folding them, the doctor was thrilled to see Jongin so animated about something, but once we hit about 200, the hospital exiled the poor birds and the mess they brought, and they migrated to my cluttered apartment. What could a person do with a thousand paper cranes? Hang them from a tree? Glue them to a wall? I mean, you always heard about the wish, but you never found out what happened after. You couldn’t just throw the cranes away, could you? Wouldn’t that take away their magical powers? Oh right, those magical powers I still had yet to make use of, I remembered. I still had to make that stupid wish. I felt like an indecisive toddler, standing before a melting mess of a birthday cake. I could wish for my sorry excuse of a life to be put back together, but that seemed a bit too greedy and a bit too broad. 

    I was walking out the door and halfway to my car still stuck with my useless thoughts when my phone vibrated. An email. From Professor Kim. Class canceled due to the snowstorm.

    My God, it was snowing! Had I not noticed? I jumped with a shriek of delight and let the box of birds leave my hands. The first snow of winter had brought me a miracle that needed no wishes or stars.

    My brief celebration ended as I stooped down to retrieve the cranes, still smiling giddily. One had fallen out of the box. I recognized the floral pattern as the last one Jongin folded, the one I named Hope. And as she sat there in the beautiful snow I wondered if it meant our hope had been lost or if it had been released to fly free. Of course, the second option sounded a lot nicer to me. I picked up the crane and tried to dry her with my coat when it struck me. A simple wish. And a perfect mix. Just a little selfish, but nothing too crazy.

    I fixed my gaze upon the enormous hospital, searching for a familiar window. There were so many rooms in that hospital, and so many hospitals in the world. Just how many people were just like me and Jongin? Yet, I still childishly believed and knew we were special. Maybe not to the world, but to each other at least.

    I found his room; it had to be his. I waved my hands up and down like a maniac, well aware of how stupid I looked. It didn’t matter. Maybe if I believed hard enough that he could see me and he could hear me, he really would, for my faith in miracles had recently been restored. 

    “Jongin!” I shouted, to the cranes and to the windows and to the sky where wishes work. “I’m making my wish now, and it’s a little simple and stupid. I don’t care! It’s my wish, so listen up: Let’s walk through the first snow together next year!”

    A woman passing by gave me a judgmental glance and I’m sure more than a few bystanders thought I belonged in that hospital myself, but I paid them no mind. With every snowflake that fell around me, I felt warmer and warmer. Because Jongin and I were like a snowflake. One of billions and similar to many, but we were unique and beautiful in our own way. I blew a kiss to my audience of zero and made my way to my car, preparing for a horrendous drive home with only a smile on my face.

    I took the now soggy paper crane and smiled at the gifts she brought me. There was Hope in my hands, and with her there was hope in my hands. Maybe Jongin didn’t see me making a fool out of myself in the parking lot—which is a real shame, he would have gotten a real kick out of that. Maybe he didn’t see me flapping my arms and blowing a kiss, but I’m sure that somehow he heard my wish. And he knew, just as I knew, that it was going to come true; it had to.