Just like he had promised, there was a call for me in the morning, informing me that the owner requested my services and that they were going to send someone up in an hour. I said a simple ‘ok’ on the phone and hung up. An hour huh? I looked around the quiet room with its deep closed curtains and rectangular shape. I cocked my hip to the side while placing my hands on them as I stared at my suitcase. What to wear?

For some reason, I felt nervous, sweaty almost. Ever since he told me he was the owner of this establishment, I couldn’t get it out of my head. It sounded familiar to some degree, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Needless to say, I had another sleepless night. Too many thoughts running about in my head like children playing on the playground. No matter how much I screamed for them to calm down, they just kept going. The thoughts, playing in my mind like little movies. Movies that were getting old.

I walked over to my suitcase and dug through the clothes that I hadn’t put up yet. I didn’t feel like digging through the drawers where I put the others. I even started to second guess why I did it anyway. I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be here but the last thing I felt like doing was packing up again if I did only stay here a short time.

“What to wear Taemin?” I muttered to myself.

I dug through some nice dark blue jeans that Key had given me, stating that we were the same size and a few shirts that I was too lazy to add to the drawers of all the other clothes. They were simple. Some white with stripes, others a plain cream color. I guess he assumed this must be my entire fashion sense; with all that I was found wearing and what not.

Putting on the clothes that Key had given me, I started to think about the couple even more. And the more I thought about them, the more I thought about Onew. And the more I thought about Onew, the more I thought about our time on the beach. When he touched me and a memory sprouted into my head like a small seed. It was as if I was in a movie, a whole other scene entirely. My eyes no longer saw Onew, but the black silhouette of the man whose face I never seemed to remember.

Kai.

I touched the top of my head like Onew had done. I think a part of me was hoping that that memory would come back and his face would come to me. Because every time I thought about him, there was a feeling in my chest; like a burst of warm colors that would swirl around. And if only for a moment, I would feel as though everything was going to be alright.

Alright…

But there was no success. No spark of a memory, not even the sound of his voice. With a defeated hunch on my shoulders, I walked over to the small desk that the room provided. It was where I had set the chain when I came back to my room yesterday and also where I had set my wallet with the pictures inside. I sat down in the chair and stared at these two items, then, without hesitation, I pulled one of the pictures out of my wallet. The one with me and the little girl. It was only the second time I had officially looked at it since the first time Key found it lying there.

I was unsure why, but I didn’t want to look at it. It could’ve been because the girl in this picture reminded me of the girl that I saw in my messed up nightmare. Or, the feeling that crept into my heart when I saw her smile as she sat next to me. The more I looked at it, the more it turned that warm feeling I got from thinking about Kai to a cold dark world. So I pushed it aside. So I dug back into my wallet and grabbed the torn picture that Onew and Key had found. I was almost sure of it. It had to be of me and Kai. This, too, was the second time I was looking at it since Key and Onew told me about it and showed me.

There were so many I-don’t-knows running through my mind lately. And one of them was, I-don’t-know why but I didn’t want to look at these pictures. Maybe that’s why I went to the tree. Maybe I went there to get rid of these pictures. Otherwise, why would I be so sad looking at one and then have another torn off?

On top of that, there was this chain necklace that I sensed harbored some kind of importance but whatever it was, wasn’t trying to come back to mind. Or maybe Minho was right. Maybe I was the one stopping myself from remembering altogether.

“What are you to me?” I whispered, picking up the chain and holding it to my face.

But my focus knocked out of the way and I almost dropped the chain on the floor when I was interrupted by the soft knocking at my door. I turned my eyes towards the rectangular digital clock that sat on the desk. I can’t believe it. I’d been sitting here, marinating in my thoughts for an hour?

Another knock.

“Coming!” I yelled.

I placed all my pictures back into my wallet and stuffed it into my right pocket while stuffing the chain into my left.

****

“Just walk straight ahead. Towards the big brown door. He’ll be waiting in there.” The service woman told me.

I nodded my head and slowly made my way towards the directions she’s given me. Ahead of me, waiting to be open, was a big and dark brown door. I swear through the swirls of the wood that was highlighted, parts of the tree that it had come from could still be found; hidden in the details.

I pressed my hand lightly on the door and turned the knob with the slowest motion possible. That nervousness I had felt earlier was beginning to kick in once again. My heart began to pound, racing as every second stepped by. The door made a long creaking sound, humming throughout the hallway as I opened it.

The room that I walked into was something I wasn’t expecting. It was huge. And wide. With immense details covering the walls. From the accented gold corners of the ceiling to the warm dark wine that covered the floor. Swirls of decoration swam on the side of the walls as if they were in a sea and I could see various paintings on top of them. From landscapes to intricate profiles of people. There was even motion in some of them. A woman wore a short and flowing black dress, her eyes covered with a dark black makeup that poured down her face as if she was crying. Her body danced in strange positions from one canvas to the other.

“The Mourning Lily.” Came Minho’s dark and subtle voice.

I almost forgot that it was him that I came here for. I followed his voice to find him standing on the far left side of this enormous room surrounded by canvas stands that I assumed held more of his masterpieces. Each of their backs was turned to me so I could not see what was on them. But there he stood, surrounded by them as if they were his children. Just this very moment, he painted on one, words targeting me but his focus on the work in front of him.

“Sorry,” I said as I came closer so he could hear me. “I just-“

“Got lost in the art?” He asked me with a smile.

His head and eyes never moved away from the canvas as the bristles of his brush danced across it. But something was off. Different. He smiled, but there was nothing genuine about it. He was too concentrated on something, and for some reason I suspected, it wasn’t his painting.

“Everyone use to say that about my artwork.” He started, but his voice was dark and meek, a sudden contrast from just a second ago.

“Used to?” I asked.

He cleared his throat as if trying to find the words to really speak what he meant.

“Well, they still say it. They think that I’m strong for what I do, but I can see behind those smiles.” He sighed. “It’s pity.”

“Pit-“ I started, but soon saw what was throwing me off.

His hands. Though the movement was small, they both were ever so slightly shaking. The paints on the board moved a little as he tried to balance it on his left hand and his right hand tried its best to keep the brush in position, but you could see it trailing on the paper like a bumpy road. I could not see what he was painting, for I was somewhat behind the canvas and off to the side of him.

By this time, I was sure he saw me looking, for he continued to speak.

“It’s a condition in the brain. My brain that is.” He chuckled.

“They said there’s no hope, it’s only going to get worse.”

“What exactly is it?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment, concentrating on one side of the canvas; trying to paint something correctly, going over it, over and over again.

“I don’t really like to talk about it much.” He stated, which lead me to wonder why he’d even mentioned it to begin with, or invited me here, but that was another conversation for another time I suppose.

 “But let’s just say that the function in my brain that helped me be creative is starting to go bye bye.” He chuckled ever so slightly and then shrugged as if pushing the feeling away. “I feel fine, and in my mind I’m still painting what I’m seeing, just like all the pictures you see on the wall. It’s just, this time, people don’t see what I see.”

He motioned me over. I had no opposition and nothing to say, so my feet automatically started their way towards him. And there I could see it. The black and purple paint that seemed to contain some detail of something realistic but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The detail was lost in tidal waves of other bursts of colors, almost as if they were constantly drowning in one another.  

“Can’t tell what it is, can you?” He asked, looking at me with a smile.

I didn’t respond. Didn’t want to be rude and say no, but I could tell that he already picked that up from my actions. He pointed down the row of the canvases that surrounded him.

“I’m sure you can tell from the last one down there. This is a series painting after all. The last one down there is what it looked like before I was diagnosed with my condition. I decided to make it into a series to see how things change.”

I just stood there.

He turned his head towards me and motioned his fingers towards the direction, nodding at me.

Without much of a response, I let my feet do the thinking, following his pointed finger.  As my footsteps carried me, I watched the paintings on the canvas of this series become more and more detailed. The images slowly coming together into something that I understood. And finally, when I came to the end, there it was. A brain. A brain in full color, little bits of black outlining some parts. It was beautiful. Every color brought together, in unison to this peaceful outcome. This visual masterpiece of a brain. Something I’ve never seen or remember seeing in my life.

My gaze was so fixed upon the beauty, so in touch with the art, that I didn’t even hear Minho come next to me. He was right, I could tell what it was now compared to the painting he’d just shown me.

“Ahhh. Beauty, isn’t it?” He smiled.

I turned to look at him. Through his smile, I could see lingering sadness if there was any at all. Was he not affected by this? Did he not care about his condition or how worse it would get?

“W-Why are you showing me this?” I asked.

He laughed out a small breath and crossed his arms over one another.

“To live life again is to live. You see it as a challenge but I see it as an adventure.” He replied.

“W-What do you mean?”

He uncrossed his arms and spread them wide into the air, gesturing at the walls.

“Look around you Taemin. To experience things for the first time over again, to see the world anew is a gift. You trouble yourself with having lost your memory. But why? Because it pains you that you’ve lost something. We all have pain. That is life but few of us get the second chance that you’ve gotten. You should embrace it. Everything happens for a reason, as the saying goes after all.”

I sighed and looked towards the floor, fidgeting my feet over one another.

“Nothing makes sense anymore,” I mumbled.

His hand touched my face and he slowly lifted it so that my eyes matched his line of sight. There was a warm smile on his face that reminded me of someone. Not Key, not Onew, and surprisingly, it wasn’t Kai. A smile so warm. But who did it belong to?

“Usually, the best things never do.” He answered.

I couldn’t help it. His words made me smile. A genuine smile.

“Tha-“But my eyes interrupted me.

A painting behind his head caught my attention. He removed his hand from my chin and looked at me with a questionable expression.

“What is it Taemin?”

I furrowed my eyebrows as I walked away from him and closer to the painting itself. On it was a girl sitting down. Her face was turned to a window so only a small part of her cheek could be seen. The rest of it was covered by her raven hair that curved down towards her waist while some of it overlapped the back of the chair she sat in. Her arm was pulled up towards the window and her hand laid on it. Just faintly you could see the rain that covered what intended to be the outside of the window. Her skin was fair and glowed in beauty and as I looked down, she had no shoes on and her feet curved to their tip like she was too short for the chair.

“Taemin.” I heard a girl whisper in my ear.

“Oh.” I heard Minho’s voice say but I didn’t turn around for I was too engrossed in the painting.

“Jonghyun. I didn’t know you were coming to visit.”

“Deh.” The other one said back. “Who’s?”

I decided to turn around and just as I did the man looked as though his heart stopped. His eyes went wide with surprise.

“Taemin?” Jonghyun question.

Someone finally knows TAEMIN! What do you guys think is going to happen next? COMMENT :)