Chapter Text
In the middle of the night, Hyunju walked with heavy strides toward the kitchen, arching her back in an attempt to crack her bones. The weight in her body and the irritability pressing on her mind were just as present. Once in the dining room, she poured herself a glass of water, feeling that persistent pain in her throat.
So many aches were starting to drown out her bright personality at the most unexpected times, in moments when patience used to be her greatest virtue. But she couldn’t think about fixing those little cracks when the pain in her heart was the one that hurt the most.
She and Youngmi had ended their relationship. Two years of friendship and three of dating. All of it had gone down the drain.
Love is blind, that’s what they say. But they don’t always tell you about the other side of the coin. Even when love exists, sometimes something much stronger takes hold: fear.
The fear of being judged, pointed at, and excluded. A simple phrase that summed up the reason for their breakup.
The days were no longer blue, like the calm she used to feel on a relaxing walk by the beach with Youngmi after a long day. They were no longer yellow and orange, like the sunsets they used to watch together from the rooftop of Hyunju’s building, a place that had also become the home of their romance.
They were not red either, warm like listening to Youngmi sing her a love song, or passionate like a sin they could never free themselves from.
Now, walking through her apartment meant facing the framed photos of them posing in different places. The square rabbit cushions, and others with rabbit-print covers chosen by her now ex-girlfriend, resting on the sofa. The mug with the logo of the café where they had their first date, tucked away in a kitchen cabinet. The ceramic figures on the living room table, some made by Youngmi and others by both of them, in passionate scenes reminiscent of the movie Ghost.
It was still too hard to see Youngmi’s presence living inside lifeless objects. Hyunju’s heart broke even further the moment she switched on the light in the main room.
It was like being carried away by a train that never stopped, where every new passenger represented another painful memory of the unshakable love Hyunju once believed would last forever.
She couldn’t tell when the tense silences began, when conversations stopped leading anywhere, or when the distances grew stronger between them, even while they lived under the same roof.
Her gaze drifted off without her noticing, pulling her back into memories she thought were buried.
Youngmi had entered the apartment, holding her coat tightly in her arms as if to cover up the discomfort of the tense silence that followed them home.
Hyunju, walking behind her, didn’t say a word after closing the door, heading straight to the bedroom they shared.
"Hyunju, please, talk to me."
"For what? We’re nothing but strangers now."
"Don’t say that. We could never be strangers."
"That’s how I feel, Youngmi. Your aunt got married, and the least I expected was to celebrate alongside my girlfriend’s family. And what did I get? Sitting in the car, not even allowed to step out because that way we’ll ‘avoid problems.’"
Each word grew heavier, tearing something inside Hyunju as they left her mouth.
"But it’s true, you know it is. It’s what’s best for both of us."
"That’s not what bothers me. What bothers me is that you choose to let your family’s opinion get in the middle of this relationship. It might be what’s best for you, but it’s not for me."
And now the apartment was silent. No yelling, no sighs, no doors slamming. Only the hum of the refrigerator and an empty cup.
In the middle of the night, the streets were completely empty, lit only by the pale white glow marking the sidewalks. Nothing could be heard except for the occasional sound of an engine, the crunch of a branch breaking in the wind, and the steady rhythm of her shoes against the ground.
Hyunju pushed open the door of a convenience store, the chime announcing her arrival despite the emptiness inside. She wandered down the aisles without much interest, until her fingers paused in front of the drinks, resting on one in particular.
Chocolate milk. That little box didn’t just hold a coffee-colored liquid, it carried thousands of memories. She opened it and drank. To be honest, it was easier when Youngmi smiled at her across the table while they drank from matching mugs at home.
She hated it, yes. Hated how sweet it was.
But she also remembered loving, with every part of her soul, a short young woman with the sweetest personality she had ever known. Someone she probably could never hate, no matter how hard she tried.
She longed to turn her into someone she wasn’t, someone she had never been. Into the person who destroyed the world of dreams and goals they had built together from the moment their eyes first met. Maybe then, she thought, she could move on without having to look back into a chest full of bitter memories.
Her thoughts ended when she finished the drink, crushing the box in her hand as if she could suppress what it meant. Exhausted, she sat on one of the high stools by the fold-out table against the wall, facing the large window that looked out over the streets she had walked countless times.
Once, there had been a presence next to her, sharing midnight dinners after late university classes. Even drained by their academic workload, they kept their balance by leaning on each other. Youngmi would swing her feet as she hummed or sang a song Hyunju knew well.
Sienna by The Marías.
That melody had played on many cold winter afternoons, but she had never really listened to the lyrics until now.
The nostalgic rhythm carried her back to one of her greatest goals since beginning her transition: becoming a mother. Painting and decorating her child’s room, rocking her baby to sleep, gazing at its little face in the middle of the night, imagining its first word or the moment it would take its first steps.
Her relationship with Youngmi had only made her believe that her biggest dream could come true. They were feelings she rarely shared, knowing that her physical and hormonal transition didn’t allow for a typical biological process.
But in a world where people lived in peace and happiness like in a fairy tale, in a reality where they could have a biological daughter, completely their own, Cho Hyunju and Kim Youngmi would walk hand in hand with two tiny hands binding them together.
Sometimes she caught herself imagining the little girl’s features, how she would undoubtedly resemble Youngmi. Not only in her face, but in that way she had of drawing attention to herself, laughing with her whole body, treating elders with respect, just like when they first met.
Yet that vision always dissolved in a blink, reminding her that the only thing real was the persistent echo of two names, one real, and one that never existed.
Maybe stopping herself from imagining what could have been was for the best, because that was what she now had to get used to.
That’s why, the next morning, she dressed comfortably and finally decided to leave the house after a week shut in. She wore a modest, warm outfit, carrying a medium-sized dark bag with some belongings, just in case she needed her headphones to silence the zoo of voices in her head.
Her steps were steady, and the noise of the station helped her focus on the arrival of her train. She boarded the moment it pulled in, settling by the window to take in the scenery, ignoring the huge step she was about to take.
The trip was three hours long, but her legs were already stiff by the second, her brow furrowing. She stood and walked through the cars until she reached the front ones, where there were no seats and people stood scattered, taking in the panoramic view.
Then, out of nowhere, someone knocked her off balance.
She noticed a short-haired girl wearing the same style of clothes she did, as if she were an exact copy. The sleeves of her coat hung past her hands, giving her that childlike look Hyunju would recognize from miles away. Her heart pounded like the train had come to a stop, but when the woman turned around, the illusion was gone. Still, the knot in her throat didn’t go away so easily.
At the next stop, her knees nearly buckled, almost sending her to the ground. Once she steadied herself, she exhaled over and over in a frustrated attempt to stay calm.
For the rest of the trip, her headphones blasted music at full volume. The upbeat rhythm clashed with her stern face and sunken mood, betrayed only by the restless bouncing of her right leg.
At last, the train stopped. After calling a cab, she arrived at her destination: a massive apartment building, so much like the old place she once called home, so similar and yet so different. The landlord greeted her kindly, talking about the number of rooms, the condition of the place, its size, and how it was perfect for a couple or a family of four.
"It’ll be just me, thank you." She answered with a smile she wished she didn’t have to fake.
The man understood and left her alone to explore. Now there would be no one to fill the endless silences of spring mornings, or more precisely, the void inside her. Ignoring the root of her problems was easy enough, but reliving the rejection from the very person she had given her heart, body, and soul to haunted her every night, something even her pills couldn’t soften.
But that’s what happened. Youngmi left. And Hyunju didn’t know how to stop her.