Recall how they said everything went black the moment death came to greet you? How you would feel weightless at a certain point until you felt nothing at all and everything was just, puff, gone?

Well, they lied.

Her head felt like it would explode with every flip her car was taking. The ringing inside her head was deafening, as though it was a countdown to the timer, ready to make a full stop with a blast. Nothing would be left behind and this, she was certain, was the fashion death chose to approach her. With a lot of pain, bones crushed, and blood.

"I want to learn to live in the world after knowing you without you in it."

A stupid smile forced its way to her lips, decorating what was left of her face, in response to that cynical voice.

That voice... there was no denying the death coming her way. She was going to die, she was sure of that. Because as clichéd as it might be, she had always dreamed of an ideal death where that voice being the last thing she heard before everything went black.

Two wishes would be granted then. Her hearing that voice for one last time and the owner of that voice living in a world without her in it.

----

Do you also lose the ability to read along with the loss of your memory?

It was the seventh day after she left the hospital that she wasted sitting all by herself in a strange motel room. A letter, two of its folds had become so fragile from being opened and closed too many times, in hand, she stared at something faraway outside the window.

Fifteen minutes had passed since she finished rereading the letter, and for the nth time she convinced herself that no, she did not lose her linguistic skill and no, she had not read the letter wrong. Or at least, that was what she had been telling herself for the sake of her own sanity.

What else could she do, really? Her memory was erased clean that day she woke up in the hospital, with no recollection of anything, left with a pair of jeans and a torn shirt they had found her in. The letter, addressed to 'The 30-year-old Son Seungwan' it said, she found at the back pocket of her jeans, and she held on to it tight like a life jacket, refusing to let herself drown in the sea of confusion for far too long.

She had read the letter more often than she could remember having her meal. It was that often to the point she could memorize everything written, every paragraph, every sentence, down to every question and exclamation mark jotted down.

"Seoul, June 25st 2015", the letter had started.

"Hi silly,

What date is it today in your time? My guess it is some time in 2016, is it not?" It is, she confirmed. "Well, if it is, I can understand. I know how impatient and over-excited you are at times. Don't ask why; you are me, of course I know."

She looked down at the letter, eyes searching for the sender's sign at the bottom of the page, 'Son Seungwan', and had that name crafted in her brain once more, in case her head tried to do anything funny and decided to erase even that.

"Anyway, if it's actually February 21st, 2023 in the present time, then I congratulate you. Hi, 30-year-old self, we've finally met. I do trust you enough, present self, because I am you; I know I can be as patient as waiting for eight years to open this letter. And since I do, I'm going to talk with you being a fully grown 30-year-old woman taken into consideration."

It was not. It was January 3rd, 2016 that day. And that made she chuckled to herself. She must have been very impatient most of the time that her past self who wrote the letter had guessed it right. So much for a time capsule.

The letter then continued with Seungwan asking about many things, from how she had been in the past eight years, whether she still lived in the same old apartment or actually had moved back to Canada, to who she was dating at the moment. That part brought a frown to her forehead.

"Did Joohyun ever come back?" the letter wondered aloud, doubling Seungwan's confusion. "She said she would, you know?"

Who was Joohyun? Seungwan could not stop herself from repeating that other name to herself ever since it was first mentioned.

"If you still live in the apartment and—I bet—still have that box on the second drawer from top in the kitchen, retrieve it now. Have you? Good, now burn it."

The word 'burn' was a lot thicker compared to other words, as though she had written it multiple times for emphasis. Seungwan stared at that sentence a little longer than necessary, wondering to herself what on earth she had kept in the box that she hated it so much while writing the letter. Her best guess was it was something related to this Joohyun girl, who apparently used to be her girlfriend but broke up before the letter was written.

For some odd reasons, Seungwan felt hurt. How bad had the breakup been that she thought, even after years, her future self would still be hurt by the mere mention of it?

Who was Joohyun?

--

Her apartment was located in the heart of Seoul, just a few blocks away from the main road of Gangnam District, the second door left to an elevator to the fifth floor of a huge, luxurious-looking apartment, or so the letter had said. Seungwan mentally facepalmed at her old self for noting down the address ever so detailed; it was as though she was very certain the 30-year-old Seungwan would have moved out she needed a memoir of the old apartment.

A woman at the lobby smiled at her while handing the apartment key. It was friendly, yet Seungwan could sense the caution in her voice when the woman asked, "Here to pick up some things?"

Seungwan gave a vague nod in her direction while murmuring a 'thank you'. She was not sure herself what she was doing there in the first place. For the much hated box she mentioned in her letter? For an attempt to recover her memory, believing she could remember something if she was at a familiar place? For... Seungwan let out a sigh, hating how her chest felt heavier at the mere thought of it.

For Joohyun?

"'I want to learn to live in the world after knowing you without you in it,' she said," her brain repeated that sentence, voice reciting it with so much mockery she did not know she could muster. "Can you believe it? She wanted a break, my friend. Joohyun, the love of my life, the only person I ever dreamed of waking up to every morning, wanted to know how it felt like to live in a world without me in it."

What was the odd that Joohyun actually came back in the span of six months that Seungwan had been gone? That one question hit her hard, stopping her movement midair, hand stiffened, losing its strength to turn the key open. What if it was a break, break? What if Joohyun had never come back like she said she would?

The cold and empty hospital room she had woken up to engulfed her in that moment, realization hitting her right in the chest, served as a harsh reminder that she had always been alone these past six months. Joohyun had never visited her in the hospital.

Joohyun had never come back.

--

Somehow, through the mess in her brain—new yet seemingly old memories being registered back in, all the 'what ifs' and a prospect of being a permanent lonely and amnesic car crash victim—Seungwan managed to get herself inside her apartment. It was huge—with three bedrooms, one master and two guests, a spacious living room with a grand piano in one corner, and a big kitchen merged with the dining table—and very empty. The domination of white and lack of furniture did not help the sense of emptiness at all.

Yet it was very clean. No dusts covering the furniture, no wasted food in the trash can, no vegetables or drinks or whatever inside the fridge. Nothing like the place she had expected to come back to after six months uninhabited. It was as though someone always came to clean up the place at a regular basis.

It was too clean, even, Seungwan realized as she made her way to the cabinet, meaning to get the box she talked about. It was not there. And it was not that box alone which was missing, her clothes, shoes, photos... everything was gone. Nothing was left to tell of the person who used to live there. Of who she used to be before the accident.

It was as if she never existed.

--

It was after three days, a few failed attempts at cooking, and some more failed ones at entertaining herself with music that Seungwan concluded she was not a cook or a pianist to begin with. Or if she was, the subconscious part of her brain forgot. Her only resolves were takeout foods and many remix CDs she had found arranged on a shelf in the living room.

The loss of her memory was a blessing as well as it was a curse, Seungwan decided as she made herself listen to one CD containing songs from many different singers. A curse because she could not understand just how on earth her old self could bear to listen to those... nightmares they dared to label a song. Yet it was a blessing because in a sense, she could rewrite that mistake of music taste she used to have. She had found this one gem among the collection, a song called Halo by Beyoncé—another strange name, but a gem was a gem nonetheless.

Seungwan got herself a job at a library downtown. The pay was not much, but it was enough to cover her daily needs. Electricity, water, phone bills, it seemed like she did not need to worry about those, and for this one Seungwan had to give credit to her old self. Everything had been paid for another year in advance. So for now, with a small job while trying to regain her memory, Seungwan would survive the next twelve months.

On day five, Seungwan had settled to a routine she followed ever religiously. She would wake up at eight, get herself some cereal and a glass of milk for breakfast, then go to the bookstore after a quick shower. Her shift usually lasted for six hours, and often she would have finished reading one book before the shift ended. Then she bought herself diner and went back home, ready to spend the night watching TV and filling up her journal.

The journal bit, she decided it was partly because she had never kept one that she had trouble remembering her past. Then again, even if she did have one, she would never know. None she ever found in the empty apartment.

Sometimes, in between the sequence, Seungwan wondered if her life was anything like this before the accident and how, if it was, did Joohyun fit in?

At what point had Joohyun come to interrupt her life and chosen to stay?

--

That routine, however, was interrupted on day seven when she was halfway unlocking the door. For the first time she heard the telephone rang. Seungwan was struggling with her shoes and almost tripped on the carpet, but the ring stopped before she could reach it. The default 'please leave a message' voice from the answering machine filled the room, and then a beep away,