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Kim Minji stared at the book rested on her lap. It had taken her a lot of courage to bring the book to the Observer. She likened that whatever she was doing would be going against the principles of The Guardians, and if word got out, she would undeniably be sent away. But she believed that the Observer sitting opposite her would not tell anyone—it was what she had promised Minji at the start of their every session.  

“What is to be said in this room shall stay in this room, Minji.”  She had told her every single time before proceeding with that day’s agenda.  

“So,” Minji heard and promptly raised her head, “what do you have there, Minji?” 

The girl found the Observer regarding her with a steady expression; there was no indication of impatience, nor were there hints of annoyance at the begrudgingly long time Minji was silent. She was merely waiting for a reply, however long the patient might have to take—they had the whole night anyway.  

“Handong?” Minji began. “Are you not going to say what you always say?”     

The Observer stared seemingly not understanding. Then, the realisation hit her. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course,” Handong returned briefly then stopped for a fraction of a second. “What you say today will forever stay in this room. I promise,” she finally said.  

Minji released a hidden sigh. Now, she could finally begin spewing all those things that had been clawing at her for weeks. Meetings with Observers only took place once or twice per week, not quite sufficient for Minji’s liking. The sessions were mandatory, designed to keep track of citizens’ progress in their duties, and to identify signs of defects emerging. It is the Observer’s job to prevent them from surfacing if possible. Citizens have been told that Observers operate independently, free from The Guardians’ jurisdiction—they are the channels whereby citizens can get help to stop themselves from becoming a defect. 

Minji looked back down at the book, and flipped it open. It took her just one try to get to the page she had wanted to show Handong—she had read the same page so many times, even the book had remembered it for her. She glazed over the meticulous handwriting at the bottom of the page, then ran her fingers over the last line of the book.  

“They found true love and lived happily ever after,” she whispered loud enough for the other to pick up. But she doesn’t read the handwritten words, found them too personal and precious to share.  

‘They had found more than just love; they had found a truth, a peace and a freedom, one so priceless and stunningly radiant.  

Perhaps love in their world is not a defect, but a celebration—like when a precious seed had grown and bloomed into a wonderful flower; it calls for a commemoration, to sing a song of joy and laughter.  

Oh, how beautiful must that have been—to love, to fall in love, and to be loved.’  

Minji did not understand most of the handwritten text, but she could feel something pricking at her, telling her to memorise those words by heart and to never forget the sensation she had felt.  

“Minji?” The girl glanced up once she heard her name. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you want to tell me more? Perhaps then I can help.” Handong inquired softly.  

Minji felt a slight unease in her heart—suddenly, she didn’t feel too good, but she did not recognise the feeling and could not put a name to it. After discovering the book, she had felt many things that she could not use words to explain. It was then that she had realised, there were many words that she had never seen; many things she had never experienced. She stared at Handong again and began hesitantly, “I’m…” She struggled to come to terms with her emotions, to put a meaning to what she felt—she wanted desperately to verbalise her emotions, shout it out loud, for it felt like a pity to keep them hidden from the world. Only when she acknowledges their presence can she find peace. But what was it that she was feeling in her gut? The poor girl did not even know herself, and of the emotions humans were capable of expressing.  

She was disappointed, simply put. The Observer had not lived up to her expectations, had not understood the line she had spoken aloud, did not praise her courage to try, even. 

“I think there are a lot of things The Guardians are not telling us,” Minji spoke, the words exiting like heavy stones previously caught in a net that was her throat. “The story in this book is so… great. It’s almost as if love is… good. It said that they were  happily. But what does that mean?” That was all Minji could manage—she lacked the vocabulary to bring her point across effectively and in quite the way she had imagined to.  

Minji wanted to tell Handong how she had felt joy when seeing the couple smiling faces, how her heart had swelled when she read about the love that they had. She felt the warmth whenever she imagined herself being in their position, finding someone to share her time and spend her life with. She wanted Handong to feel as well, the same things that she did when she had read that last sentence again and again. But Kim Minji didn’t even know where to begin telling her story; she felt lost in her own bubble of ignorance. And for once, she saw cracks in the utopia of Polaris.  

They stayed silent for a while; one did not know what else to say while the other judged the words of her patient carefully. Kim Minji had showed signs of defect; from the way she had questioned The Guardians, to the way she had rejected their principles. Love is a defect. To say otherwise would be to challenge The Guardians teachings, which were  supposed to be absolute and right—only defects do that . And Handong did not know what Minji had meant by happily; to speak of a word that wasn’t in the handbook was the signal of a citizen gaining too much knowledge. And a signal of a citizen turning into a defect.  

‘With knowledge comes disobedience; with disobedience comes undone the order of society.’  That is the basis of Handong’s job as an Observer. Her duty is to observe, to take note of behaviours that do not align with The Guardians’ ideal—it is her duty to purge society of defects, to rid society of ugliness.  

“Minji, I need you to stop thinking about these things,” she began, “it is our jobs as citizens to complete our duties. That is all that you need to focus on, other things are merely distractions that hinder your work and the running of society.”   

“But-” 

“2017005, stay in your lane. That would be my best advice for you.” 

Handong observed as Minji fidgeted with the cover of the book; there was an unwillingness obscured by a mask of nonchalance and acceptance. The Observer could tell that her patient was not convinced by her words. A pity, she thought. Handong leaned forward to speak, but the mini clock seated on the coffee table rang out.  

“Looks like it the end of our session for today,” she reached over to stop the ticking of the clock. “Thank you for sharing, Minji.” 

Minji could only keep mum. She nodded lightly and thanked the Observer, stood up, and began walking away. 

“Minji,” Handong began softly as the girl headed for the door. She only continued when the girl had turned around to look at her, “I need you to leave the book behind.” 

Minji grew wide eyed, “what?” She knew of the repercussions if The Guardians were to find out about her predicament. “I can’t possibly do that,” her voice raised an octave higher. Citizens were not allowed to question their lives and the duties they had been given. What she was doing now could potentially result in her being collected—Minji would never want to end up as a failure of this perfect society she had been born into. It didn’t matter whether she still believed in Polaris being a utopia, nothing mattered as long as she could continue living her life as it was—she was perfectly fine with living in an illusion.   

“Minji, please. I need you to trust me.” Handong spoke without any trace of rush, simply tone steady and eyes blank. It was a sentence taught to her by The Guardians. Once used, most citizens would yield and do as they were told. Those that don’t are most likely defects.  

“I just need to understand a little more about the book in order to help you.” She watched as Minji hesitantly reached into her bag and pulled out the thin book. She took one last look at it before placing it gently on the coffee table in front of the couch.  

“Will you return it to me?” Minji asked timidly.  

“Of course, Minji. Thank you for today.” Her reassuring tone was gentle, yet there were no attempts to change her expressionless face to something more forthcoming. 

The patient nodded again and proceeded out the door. The Observer took the book into her hands and studied the illustrations. It was fancy, too fancy to be deemed appropriate to be put on shelves in the public library. It seemed like the Writer was not doing his or her job. It was things like these that create more defects and ruin the running of the society The Guardians had so painstakingly built. She picked up the nearby telephone and dialled in a number she knew by heart.  

“1026003 Handong reporting to The Box .” She spoke with her usual calmness. She heard the other end of the line picking up and a voice rang out. 

“Report status. 1-0-2-6-0-0-3, Handong.” 

“A new defect has been identified, 2017005, Kim Minji. Please do collect the defect as soon as possible. I shall personally head down to the facility to hand in the evidence.” 

“2-0-1-7-0-0-5, Kim Minji. Status updated to 0-0-1-7-0-0-5. The defect, 0-0-1-7-0-0-5, will be collected tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.” 

* 

Lee Siyeon walked into a grey building, black coat trailing behind her as it got caught in the breeze. All buildings in Polaris looked the same—tall, grey and boxy. To tell them apart, you would have to look for the signs that are nailed above the entrance. This particular one read: The Box. Once inside, Siyeon took to the right hallway, which led to the medicine preparation room. Her work for the day had started when the large grandfather clock in the middle of the city had struck seven times; she could only return home when the clock strikes again at eight at night.  

“2001010 reporting,” she spoke into the mic once she had reached a large door. “For the collection of medicine for the defects.” 

“Please verify, 2-0-0-1-0-1-0.” The system sounded. Siyeon placed her palm onto the lighted platform beside the door and waited. “Verified. 2-0-0-1-0-1-0, Lee Siyeon.” The same monotonous voice sounded, and the door slid open. 

She walked into the laboratory, making her way to the desk station of a certain Developer. The sterile smell of the room left a familiar sensation at the back of her tongue. This laboratory is used exclusively by Developers for the manufacture of medicine—batches that are meant for a particular portion of society. Siyeon’s job is to administer those drugs. She would be what one would call a doctor, but The Guardians gave people like her another name. Regulators, they are called.  

“Is the thing ready?” She sees a red head among the stacks of papers and empty beakers. The Developer looked up and gave her a dismissive wave before turning her attention back to her work. 

“Almost,” Siyeon hears. “Give me a minute to confirm the doses… Alright, here.” She hands the Regulator a single syringe filled with a bright blue liquid. “Gahyeon is working on a new batch with a new formula, but this will do for now. Come back later to retrieve the rest.” 

“Thanks, Dami,” Siyeon took over the syringe and eyed it carefully. Her job had allowed her to come into close contact with these medicines, but never once did she question the need for them. She was only tasked to inject it into the defects, and had been briefed thoroughly on their effects—it was not in her power to question her duty, or to find out the reason behind it.  

“I heard a new defect has been reported. The new Observer is doing a great job. Handong was it?” 

“Yes, 1026003 Handong; quite impressive. I’ll be meeting her later actually, before going over to collect the new defect.” Siyeon closed the notebook with a loud slam and glanced at her wrist watch. “I have to go,” the Regulator gave Dami a curt nod, who returned the gesture with only a slight unbothered wave of her hand. “Defect 0007001 will be awakening soon.” 

The defects—society’s rejects, those who had went beyond what they have been tasked and had therefore hindered the efficacy of society. The Guardians has made it clear: all defects must be collected and rehabilitated before reintroduction into society, some others will be disposed of. ‘The Box’  is ultimately a facility designed to hold these people before they undergo rehabilitation. Since the process is complex and requires the brain to be in a specific condition, defects must be kept isolated from citizens for some time, from months to even years.  

Siyeon’s work is to ensure that the defects receive periodic shots of medicine, which will preserve their brains and consciousness during their stay in The Box . Essentially, they are injections designed to prevent defects from going insane as they spend their days in a completely white and bare room—for insanity is much more difficult to reverse than anything else. 

The Regulator strode quickly towards the enclosure area of the vicinity, clearing all the security checks with absolute ease and familiarity. As she approached the rooms holding the defects, the walls and floor turned whiter and whiter, until they blended together in a single united colour of bareness. She heard noises coming from within the various rooms—it was a common occurrence.  

“Let me out!” she heard a man shout.

“We are all being controlled! This isn’t a utopia!” She heard another scream.  

From the various protests being uttered, Siyeon could discern anger and displeasure towards The Guardians—this should not have happened; it was no wonder that they were defects. She proceeded down the alley, ignoring the shouts. They were not labelled under her serial number; thus, it was not her duty to care about their presence and wellbeing.  

She reached a particular door at the end of the hallway. Once again, everywhere was white, even the clothes that the defects donned. The Regulator stood out ridiculously in the middle of it all, with her black working pants and long black coat.  

“Good morning, 0007001. We will be commencing your first shot of today.” Siyeon stood at the door, maintaining a safe distance from the person in the room. 

“I’m not 0007001. I have a name,” she replied calmly. “My name is Yoohyeon.” 

Everyone has a name in Polaris, but they also have a number attached. The number, in a sense, is more important as it tells people more than what a name could ever hope to do. Every serial number starts with a one, two or three—according to the class of citizenship one belongs to. Citizens from the first class are those responsible for the functioning of society—like Dami and Gahyeon who produce the medicine, or the Engineers who develop materials for building of infrastructures. Those from the third class are the lowest class citizens, these people are usually given physical duties like construction and transport. Siyeon is a second-class citizen—people who support the first classes, aiding them in serving society. 

Then of course, there are the defects. Those were tagged with a serial number starting with zero—they temporarily lose their place in Polaris. Every citizen can potentially become defective—even those from the first class, however rare they are.  

“You were a first-class citizen; a Writer. 1007001, Kim Yoohyeon.” Siyeon began, positioning the needle onto the back of the defect’s elbow, aiming for the vein lying beneath the thin layer of skin. “You should’ve known better than to end up here. I do not understand.” She finishes the injection and pulled away immediately. 

“Yes, you are right,” Yoohyeon stated at her; she did not struggle even once as the plunger was pushed in and the blue liquid disappeared into her arm. “You really don’t understand.”   

“Your stay in The Box is coming to an end. Afterwards, you’ll undergo rehabilitation.” Siyeon read off the piece of paper hanging by the door, effectively ignoring her comment, “it would seem, Gahyeon will be the one overseeing your rehab.” 

Yoohyeon hummed, but gave no indications of rejecting the process. To the Regulator, Yoohyeon acted like the only sane person in the entire facility. She had never witnessed the former Writer shouting, demanding to be released. Neither had she seen her talking bad about The Guardians or rejecting their governance. 

Siyeon stared at the defect sitting in the middle of the room, her white clothes blending perfectly with the floor and leaving only her head to be the only visible contrast in the entire space. The defect must have noticed her gaze, for she had curved her lips upwards. Siyeon did not know what the girl was doing, and it gave her the creeps. She must be a defect after all, the Regulator thought; because it was an odd look—citizens of Polaris don’t do that.  

The citizens of Polaris don’t smile. They had no reason to.   

“My sister will do a great job, I suppose.” Yoohyeon spoke as the Regulator avoided her gaze. 

“I’m sorry? Who might you be referring to?” Siyeon fished out a tiny notebook hidden in her long coat, ready to note down any behaviours that may signal the former Writer would need to extend her stay. 

“My sister,” Yoohyeon simply repeated. “Gahyeon. Though people usually refer to us as twins.” 

Twins.  Siyeon knew about them. They are the ones that arrive at the development centre in pairs, and some would look just like each other, while some would look nothing alike. Those that looked freakily similar are then sent to a processing facility, where it is decided which of the two to keep and which would be disposed of. Siyeon didn’t know for sure the process behind such a selection—she only heard from some first-classes that their brains would be studied, and the lesser of the two will be disposed of. On the other hand, the other type of twins would both be accepted into the centre just like everyone else. 

“I see,” Siyeon concludes.  She scribbled 'Extend stay in The Box for defect 0007001. Conscious enough to talk about the subject on twins when 1003002 Lee Gahyeon was mentioned.’  into her little notepad before regarding the defect again. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

With that, she walked out of the room and let the door swivel to a close.  

Yoohyeon watched as the white door locked automatically in front of her. It was her 451st day living in the room. Yoohyeon doesn’t know how she had managed to keep track of the passage of time in a room that was lit 24 hours every day, and without windows on top of that. It was merely a rough estimate, taken from her own body’s tendency to adhere strictly to her circadian rhythm and the number of times Siyeon had turned up at her door. She had quickly realised that the Regulator would turn up twice daily—once in the morning and once before the end of her shift, which was likened to be six o’clock.  

She traced her index finger on the floor, drawing intricate patterns and words while she allowed her mind to wander for a bit, feeling the joy of her thoughts flowing freely. She pitied the people walking on the pavements in the world outside of  The Box . She was once just like them, before she was identified and striped of her title as a Writer. Now, sitting here alone in a white room that would have turned her insane if not for the constant injections, she had found a peace that wasn’t present before in her life. She had finally learnt to feel. Ironically, it was through being labelled a defect that had brought her this revelation.  

Perhaps, ugly is not for defects, because a defect can be beautiful too.  

Yoohyeon was a writer. But being a writer under The Guardians was different—she wasn’t tasked to write, that is The Guardians’ job. She was tasked to erase, and rebuilt according to The Guardians’ standards, the new knowledge. Her job was to eradicate the traces of the past, and all the literature written by brilliant authors throughout history. And so, she had sat by her little wooden desk in the public library, sorting away—text to be shredded, and text to keep.  

‘Only keep books of no value, words without meaning. For literature is capable of ruining the minds of those not strong enough to repel its allure.’  She was told by The Guardians, the protectors of Polaris and the ones above the law. Lawlessness was a concept well established in Polaris. A place unguarded by restrictions, there was no trials, no imprisonment and no punishment. Simply because there was no need for such measures. In Polaris, everyone works for the smooth running of society, exist for its people and for the governor of such peace.      

Yoohyeon had not known about the writers that existed in history, because in Polaris, there is no history. She had mused about the existence of weird and colourful books; those told of stories that made no sense. She came across books that talked about magic and fantasy, school life, machines, war—all of which seemed ludicrous to Yoohyeon. Magic isn’t real; and words are only useful when they document truth and reality. The school life written in those books couldn’t be further away from the truth that the Writer had experienced.  

She had scheduled all of them for shredding—text that she did not understand are not worth keeping—all but one particular book. She had come across something, something that she had kept despite not understanding at first. It had been years ago, but that was the start of Yoohyeon’s venture into the unknown. A step that she had never regretted even as she was thrown into The Box as yet another defective product unfit for society.  

It was a colourful book. The concept of colour was relatively new to Yoohyeon then. It wasn’t that Polaris lacks colour, but it was in fact dull—Yoohyeon supposed that even black and white are colours, but compared to the shades painted on the pages of the book, Polaris all of a sudden looked hideous. Ugly. Weird, because a utopia like Polaris can never be ugly. Ugly are only for defects.    

She flipped it open and scanned through the text. “They found true love and lived happily ever after,” she read aloud the last line. It was the most interesting piece of writing she had the honour of grazing her eyes upon. There were many words that she did not understand—happiness, family, freedom, and lastly, love. She knew what is love—love is a defect, she recalled reading in the handbook given to her during her time in school.  Yet, Yoohyeon realised, she had never truly understood what  exactly  is love—no one living in Polaris studies defects or interact with them, unless it is a part of their duty. The people in the pictures had their faces brightly lit, and their mouths are curved upwards in a pleasant manner. They were smiling, but at that time, the Writer had no idea what a smile is or meant. 

Then, there was 'happily'. She had no idea what happily was; there wasn’t anything in the handbook that talked about it. It was yet another term she did not understand. She wrote off the book under the ‘to be shredded’ section, and placed it aside to continue  with her work. She picked up an oddly thick book next. The weird paperback was chunky and the text within it was not continuous, but broken into two columns. The font was smaller than what one would normally find in books, with randomly bolded words scattered all around the page. Upon closer inspection, she realised the bolded words were arranged in an alphabetical order. In it documented the literal meanings of many words—words that were familiar, words that she had never come across, and words she did not know how to pronounce. The more complete handbook, she then called it. Now, she knows it was a dictionary.  

With unskilled hands, she found with much difficulty the word ‘happily’. 

“Happily. In a happy way.” She read and frowned. That did not seem to answer a lot of her questions. What exactly then, is happy?  She scanned the page again, looking for the definition. 

Happy .  

— feeling, showing, or causing pleasure or satisfaction.  

She recognised the word pleasure. It is used a lot by The Guardians, who boasted that citizens should feel pleasure from working as they are contributing to the running of society, contributing to the maintenance of the utopia that Polaris is. Pleasure was used to describe what one is, or should be feeling when talking about The Guardians, and the spectacular job they had done to build Polaris. 

Frowning, she grabbed the book that she had just sat aside, and erased its title from the list. She flipped through it again, rereading the text countless times. But with every scan of the book, she grew more and more confused. The book had used the word happiness alongside love—but love was supposed to be ugly, wasn’t it? Ugliness, to Yoohyeon then, was not a pleasure.  

Finally, she picked up the dictionary and meticulously searched for a certain definition. 

Love .  

— to like something very much.  

That, Yoohyeon understood to some degree. She had been taught since young to like the job that she would be given when she reaches adulthood, to like her duties as a working adult and as a citizen of Polaris, and to serve The Guardians and the society that they have built willingly. She reckoned that love, then, must just be a stronger feeling of responsibility and sense of duty. Surely, that should not be a bad thing. So why was love described as a defect in her trusty handbook? She figured the more complete handbook must be a lie, something created by authors of the past to brainwash the people and introduce chaos into society. It was ironic, now as Yoohyeon recalled, for she had mistakenly accused the wrong book, precisely because she was being brainwashed. But could you really blame the Writer? For she did not know a truth that Yoohyeon now knows, did not possess knowledge outside of what The Guardians had granted her.   

The Writer sneered at the thick book in her hands, full of condemn and hatred for being led astray, even for just a moment. But then, she saw another line beneath the one she had come across:  

—to like another adult very much and be romantically and sexually attracted to them, or to have strong feelings of liking a friend or person in your family.  

She had never known that a word could have more than one meaning, never knew that words could be interpreted differently. To the Writer, words are dead, simply letters strung together to document facts and convey information. At least that was what she had been taught. Words should not be capable of creating something new, something more—they couldn’t be allowed to do that, for 'literature can ruin the minds of those not strong enough to repel its allure’ .  

* 

“You must be Handong,” the Regulator spoke as she approached the reception area. A woman in her mid-twenties stood politely by the counter, with a thin book in her hands.  

“Yes,” she fished out her identity card for the other to check. “1026003, Handong. And you are?” 

“Siyeon. 2001010,” she simply said. “We shall proceed to collect the defect, 0017005, now. Thank you for your work, Observer 1026003. Let me walk you to the door.” She bowed deeply before taking over the book from Handong.  

Siyeon waited for the woman to disappear among the crowd outside, and headed in the direction of the public library shortly after.  

Defect 0017005, Kim Minji, a second-class citizen whom had been appointed the duties of a Librarian. Her job included the arrangement of books in the public library for citizens to read, and the shredding of books deemed unfit for shelving by Writers. It was no wonder that the evidence of her defect had been none other than a book.  

How unfortunate, to be corrupted in the midst of completing her duties. Siyeon fished out a black glove from her coat pocket and slipped it on after much effort. Its material was uncomfortable to the touch, but Siyeon needed it to complete her duty. She took one last look at the picture pinned next to the defect’s name and shut her notebook tight.  

Walking into the library, the smell of dusty pages was the most prominent. She searched the vicinity for her target, wished to finish with her work as soon as possible. Collection of defects was the aspect of her job that she enjoyed the least—granted, she loved and respected the duties that was given to her; every citizen must. The public library was a small room, filled with only two shelves of books, but that was the greatest number of books Siyeon had come across in her life. There was but one Librarian on duty, and the woman matched the picture in Siyeon’s notebook. 

“Greetings, Kim Minji?” The Regulator regarded the Librarian briefly before referring to the picture filed in her notebook and comparing it to the appearance of the woman standing before her.   

 “Yes?” Minji returned, placing the book in her hands gently back onto the trolley next to her. “Do you need help finding a particular book?” 

“My name is Lee Siyeon, 2001010.” She reached out her gloved hand for a handshake. Minji regarded the stranger weirdly before placing a delicate hand into her grip. It was rude to reject a handshake, she was taught.  

Suddenly, her world turned pitch black.  

* 

Minji awoke groggily. She saw white at every angle, not a single area deviating from the colour palette. Her body was spewed across the floor in an awkward position; her spine ached considerably as she moved to find a more comfortable position.     

“You’re awake.” She picked up a voice coming from her right. 

“Who?” She weakly led out, head still hurting from whatever impact her head must have been subjected to from the moment of her blackout. The bright light coming from the lamp above her head did little to sooth the stinging pain she felt. Everywhere was white, from the ceilings to the walls and to the floors. She looked down at herself, realising the fully white outfit that she was wearing—Minji was sure she wasn’t wearing white when she had reported to work in the morning.   

“I’m Yoohyeon,” the same voice again, “what’s your name?” 

Minji turned to find a girl sitting against the wall not far away, eyes focused immeasurably on her. Suddenly, she felt a little self-conscious—it was the first she had ever experienced feeling like that, and it was yet another feeling she did not know how to explain. Looking away, she shifted slightly before finally pushing her back off the floor. Not meeting the eyes of the stranger helped to relieve the weird sensation in her gut, and her heart settled down finally. 

“Defects don’t usually share a room, I think. It seems like even The Box can run out of rooms for us,” the girl continued light-heartedly. 

“Defects?” Minji returned, shocked. She met the gaze of the girl again. “Where am I?” 

“The Box ,” said Yoohyeon, amusement was evident in her expression, but Minji could not tell what it was. Perhaps no one had ever shown her emotion with this intensity, perhaps she herself had never experience emotions to a degree that taught her what they were. But Minji never could tell apart people’s emotions; the people of Polaris didn’t have emotions for her to discern anyway. At least not as passionate as the girl now talking to her.    

“So, your name?” she asked again.  

“2017005, Kim Minji. I am a Librarian.” 

“0017005, Kim Minji. Was a Librarian,” Yoohyeon laughed.  

The Librarian stared at her new roommate, skeptical of the way she had spoken. She had never heard anyone led out such a sound before; did not know what the girl had meant. But she had seen that expression—in that book that she found, hidden in the drawer of a small wooden desk in the public library. It was the same expression that had brought her unexplained warmth and safety.   

“How about you?” She asked after letting silence take over. She was very interested in the girl, because Minji recognised that she was a defect, someone who was different from herself. She had not yet realised that she too had become the very being she swore not to be.  

“0007001, Kim Yoohyeon. A former Writer.” 

“Why did you end up here?” She asked quietly, almost like it was an inappropriate question.  

“Found out that The Guardians’ teachings were wrong, and we are being deceived,” Yoohyeon shrugged. “We are capable of so much more. I wanted to fight for freedom; to free myself from the grasp of perfection, because sometimes, imperfections are so much more beautiful.” 

Yoohyeon let the silence that commenced after reign free; she was well aware that the chances of the girl being conscious of what she’d just said was slim.  

“Perfection is an illusion,” Minji timidly whispered, just in case anyone was to be listening in on them. She paused, chewing down on her lip—a sign of nervousness she didn’t yet know she held command over. “We are all living in an illusion.” 

Yoohyeon jerked her head up, catching the surprise laced on Minji’s face flash by. The former Writer stared unbashful, ignoring the awkward shuffles and fidgeting from the other. She opened her mouth, but the words got caught, like a fish struggling to break itself free from the vicious net of a fishmonger. There was a glisten in her eyes, barely present but enough to give her orbs a peculiar shine; she felt the wetness arrive and that sting in her nose—she knew what was coming, but reckoned it was like a stranger to everyone else in Polaris. Her lips trembled delicately, and in the moment, she looked vulnerable and even just a little bit broken.  

Minji could only return her soon to be tears with confusion and a slight tilt of the head. It was the fitting response for a member of the society of Polaris; it should have been the response before, when Yoohyeon had spoken about freedom.  

“Yes,” Yoohyeon breathed out nonetheless, “yes.” 

The defect reached out to place her hands—dried and wrinkled from all the time she had spent cooped up in an air-conditioned room—in the other defect’s palm. Minji’s hands felt soft to the touch—they were the hands that had gone through absolutely nothing in comparison; but they gave Yoohyeon a sense of security she had secretly yearned for all this while—and Yoohyeon realised then, that she had missed the warmth of companionship dearly, more so than she had imagined.  

Finally, after 451 days, Yoohyeon saw something other than white. She saw colours in the form of Kim Minji—bright and striking Kim Minji, her saviour, her grace.  

If only memories of the days that had been and were to come—where freedom was being locked up, while salvation was to bow down and surrender to those that held command over society—would forever be with her and never lost to time.  

If only.  

Minji relaxed, feeling a little more comfortable in Yoohyeon’s presence. The hand in her own felt oddly right to hold on to, which should never be the case since citizens were encouraged not to be engaged in physical intimacy. Minji had never held the hand of another, at least not like this, where it held less like a handshake but more like an embrace. Yet, she did not mind that Yoohyeon was the first to hold her hand this way.  

She had felt no malice, no hidden intentions behind the girl’s demeanour, but who was Minji to tell that there wouldn’t be another grand betrayal, another stab in her back? Minji remembered Handong, the Observer who had promised her the safety of her secrets; look at where she was now. As yet, she realised Handong had never shown her the dedication to helping and the assurance of support, the Observer had merely spoken it aloud, enough times to make Minji believe in her lies. Maybe that was the difference—Yoohyeon had said nothing about wanting her trust, only shown her sincerity through honest curiosity and openness. Unlike with Handong, Yoohyeon was once batting the same demons as Minji herself; now they just happened to end up in the same place.   

“Your hands are cold,” Minji grasped onto them tighter; it was a chill she thought humans could not possess. 

“Everything feels cold after a while when you are in here for too long.” 

Suddenly, Minji felt the arrival of sadness. It was abrupt and domineering. She was sure of it being sadness, for it was an emotion The Guardians had taught them to feel whenever they had betrayed society’s expectations.‘ With the loss of a duty, one has failed us and the citizens of Polaris—first come shame, then come sadness. Let all those who have let us down be purified and reborn . ’  

She felt the quickening of heartbeat and the erraticism of breaths, started contemplating the consequences after attaining such a shameful label. Minji had heard all about how defects are taken away and tortured until they are willing to serve society again, read about all the horrible things the state would do in order to purge people of wrong. And she had seen people she knew being demoted from a second-class citizen to a third-class one, imagining herself in their shoes.  

Yoohyeon sensed the change in the girl’s demeanour, felt the panic arising from within and saw the haze in her eyes. She asked softly, “how are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling sadness.” 

With that, Yoohyeon laughed again. This time, there was a mockery etched in her cackle. “No Minji, you are feeling fear.” 

“Fear? What’s that?” 

The former Writer looked on with pity. To not be able to understand one’s emotions was frustrating, but not even realising that one could possess emotions was nothing but a tragedy. It was in this tragedy that they have lived, perhaps it shall be in this tragedy that they would continue living, until the day they were no more.   

“Fear is what you feel when you are scared. It’s unpleasant, and you will feel it when you believe that something bad is going to happen.” Yoohyeon hand was still within Minji’s grasp. The former Writer tugged on it, and circled her other arm around Minji's neck. “Sadness is what you feel when you are crying. Well, mostly.” 

“Fear.” Minji repeated, the word foreign and strange. For a moment, she almost lacked the capacity to properly pronounce it—a toddler uttering her first learned word.  

“It’s okay. Maybe in here you can finally learn to feel.”  

Did she really want that? Minji did not know anymore, did not understand her own wishes, if she even had any at all. The Guardians had been the protector of her interests and the authority which guided her decisions. Up till now, she had never once needed to decide on her own.  

“Is that what happened to you?” she whispered, looking at their intertwined hands.  

She felt the girl nod against her shoulders and then spoke, “and once you do, sometimes you might even wish you hadn’t known the truth at all.” 

* 

Morning came, and the door to their cell slid open. As usual, the former Writer was sitting in front of the door not far away, relaxed and at peace. The newcomer was upright on the floor, watching every inch of the door as it opened excruciatingly slowly.    

“Good morning, 0007001 and 0017005. We will be commencing your first shots of today.” As usual, Siyeon spoke her lines with rehearsed calm, pausing appropriately to address both defects.  

“Morning Siyeon!” The former writer was much more cheerful this morning, “and as always, I’m Yoohyeon, not 0007001.”  

The Regulator regarded her with suspicion, eyes narrowed, and brows furrowed. It was slight and brief, but nonetheless she had shown some form of emotion—something she had yet to conjure up during her visits to the Writer’s cell. The defect was acting weird today, and she made sure to note it down in her notebook. She approached Yoohyeon steadily, face morphing back into a void. The Writer, having been in this situation far too many times now, sat nonchalantly and allowed the other to do her job unhindered. Minji however, watched in horror as the Regulator plunge a syringe into her cellmate’s veins, the blue liquid disappearing into her arm. She had realised that whatever she was feeling now, had very much resembled her turbulent emotions yesterday.  

Fear. Minji now knew.  

Once finished, Siyeon turned towards the newcomer. “Your arm please, 0017005,” she spoke without haste, without malice, and without anything. Her tone was flat and dry.  

The former Librarian recoiled her hands forcefully once Siyeon was within reach. “What are you doing?” There was a tremble in her voice; one additional thing she came to learn about herself—when one is afraid, one’s voice can tremble like so, so vulnerable and so weak. “What is that for?” 

“These are injections meant to stabilise the brain, to prevent it from degrading before our Scientists have a chance to restore them. You will receive injections periodically-”  

“Two times a day—8 in the morning and 6 in the evening.” Yoohyeon recited, endlessly bored from hearing the same sentence too many times. 

“Yes,” Siyeon side-eyed the girl, and continued, “do not worry, they are not meant to harm you, 0017005.” 

The scoff from the former Writer did not go unnoticed, but both chose to ignore it. The Regulator waited, syringe still in hand, while Minji stretched out her arm hesitantly. She watched helplessly as her feeble limb was yanked forwards, and shortly after, the blue liquid had made its way past her skin and into her arm. She didn’t feel any different, but her heart still beat erratically.  

When Siyeon had left, with a promise of a second shot later that day, Minji had turned towards the other girl suddenly. Then in her little timid voice, asked, “what are the shots supposed to do?” 

Yoohyeon had looked at her in what seemed like surprise, but Minji could only guess. “I’m not sure of the science behind it, but Siyeon is actually right. They are not harmful. Honestly, it would be better to take them; they prevent us from going crazy.” 

“Crazy?” Minji tilted her head, “everyone says that defects are crazy.” 

“Look around you, Minji. What do you see?” 

The defect did as she was told, “nothing?” She frowned, it was all very confusing for the girl, “everywhere is just… white.” 

“Exactly,” says Yoohyeon, who had smiled kindly upon seeing the frustration creep up her cellmate’s features. “You are frustrated.”  

“F-Fras?” 

“Frustrated.” The Writer repeated, this time slower. “You have many questions, but not enough answers,” she saw Minji nod, gradually getting it but also lost in her thoughts. She chuckled lightly and continued, “you see Minji, our brains can’t really take it when we spend too much time in this room.”  

The girl was now focusing sorely on her. “Everywhere is white, there’s really nothing to see. Our brains will go crazy; it will stop working basically.”  

“So, the shots prevent that?” 

“Yes, they are designed to keep our brains working. So that later on when we undergo rehab, things can run smoother, I guess.” 

That had been the start of everything. It was in this moment that Minji realised she could ask Yoohyeon anything, and the former Writer would be happy and willing to explain to her. From then on, she was relentless in her pursuit of answers. And each time, the Writer had laughter heartily before explaining everything patiently to her.  

She learnt about freedom and started to yearn for it; she imagined a day where she could finally make her own decisions and be proud of them. She learnt about happiness and started to feel it, before gradually realising that she had the capacity for more  emotions. Many, many emotions.  

Sadness, anger, fear, disgust invaded her thoughts and tormented her in her sleep. She would talk to the Writer about them, tell her all about her dreams—most of them nightmares, which are dreams that are bad and scary, those that woke her up from her slumber.  

She would listen to the Writer talk about her life before becoming a defect. How she sorted books, many of them shredded when they should never be; how she came across text and stories that changed her. How she ended up here.  

Every day, Minji would learn a little more about life and reality. Every day, Minji would start living a little more.  

Every day, Yoohyeon watched as Minji gained knowledge, truths that had been hidden away by The Guardians. Every day, Yoohyeon watched as the girl absorbed everything readily, and felt her heart lightened as her burdens eased.  

Finally, someone had understood her; someone had made the effort to understand her. 

* 

Time flies when people are enjoying themselves. Very quickly, without the two defects even realising, Minji had been labelled an outcast of society for over half a year; Yoohyeon had been in The Box close to two years. 

On one particular day, Minji had been lying down on the floor, hyperaware of the gaze that had been directed at her. Yoohyeon was sitting to her side, watching her. The stare was warm, and left Minji feeling all fuzzy. She thought of the book she had found in the library—the memory seemingly from a time so long ago, so far away. 

She remembered the neat handwritten words, and found herself relating to their meaning more than ever before. Happily ever after felt so weird back then, but now with Yoohyeon staring at her, it was as if she had already found her happily ever after.  

She opened her eyes to connect her gaze with Yoohyeon’s. In an instant, the room had disappeared, and only Yoohyeon and her was left. Minji sat up forcefully. She had felt it again—it was the fourth time today, and countless times this week. That weird spontaneous heartbeat, which came and went unpredictably. One second, she would be normal and the next her face would have heated up and her heart would have spiralled out of control.  

She felt her heart rise when Yoohyeon was near, felt it sink when Yoohyeon was far. Her heart moved as if it wasn’t her own. She had never experienced something like this—her heart had never done somersaults.  

Surprisingly, Minji did not hate the new way her heart operated. Because underneath the thick blanket of apprehension, there was a stronger feeling of happiness. That giddy feeling of joy that was so intoxicating she had pitied herself for not feeling it sooner.  

“Yoohyeon,” Minji had begun unsure. The hint of insecurity did not go unnoticed by Yoohyeon, in fact even Minji herself could pick up on her nervousness, which only served to make her more anxious.  

“What’s wrong?” Yoohyeon was concerned, holding her hands gently and rubbing small circles on her back. Everything that she did made Minji feel special. Citizens are not supposed to feel that way. No one is supposed to be unique in Polaris; only The Guardians had the liberty to be so.  

But Yoohyeon had made it so easy to believe that she was indeed a gem, indeed someone more in the girl’s eyes.  

Minji leaned back against the girl, sighing as she found her space within the embrace. They passed the days like this most of the time; hugging each other, feeling each other close, and sharing stories of their past lives. They had decided to call their time outside The Box their past.  

It was mostly Yoohyeon talking, really, but Minji was contented. She enjoyed listening to her voice, it was smooth and so soft that she would get lost in it. She would close her eyes and imagine the girl singing to her, and she would feel at peace.  

“I think I love you.” She breathed out, her brown orbs connecting with equally brown ones—but Yoohyeon’s eyes were shining, and they seemed to so much brighter than what Minji had been used to seeing.  

The silence that came after was daunting. She did not know how well, or poorly, Yoohyeon would react to such a confession. She had uttered it in a sort of panic, a spur of the moment maybe. There had been some kind of magic in the air, something that had prompted her to blurt out the first thing on her mind. Now that the atmosphere was gone, that Yoohyeon was no longer looking directly at her but rather staring off into space, she felt like throwing up.  

Nervousness. She could now accurately describe what she was feeling.  

“How did you learn about love?” Yoohyeon had whispered, voice unbelieving but sweet. Her cheeks had been stained pink, and her eyes was still pouring out volumes of fondness for the girl. Fondness, Minji was sure, can rarely be hidden completely. She herself had tried to hide it many times whenever she felt it rising in her chest, but the way Yoohyeon had blushed when they made eye contact, Minji was certain she had failed.  

“I found a book; it taught me the word love. I-I was unsure back then. But now...” she stared at the other, and then at their intertwined hands. Yoohyeon looked just like the princess drawn in that book—her demeanour bashful, her blushing face, and radiant smile.  

“Now I think, I’m sure.” She looked away, felt the warm on her face all over again. 

But then, she felt a hand light caressing her cheeks and a voice softly whispering, “I think I love you too, Minji.” And just like that, her world was complete. She was complete.  

Yoohyeon wrapped herself around the other girl, pulling her tight, flushed against herself. She never could get used to the feeling of someone else on her skin, but at the same time, could never get tired of feeling Minji in her arms. How the girl would fit, every curve and every angle of her frame, snuggly within her own lankier build.  

“You know, someone had written in the book; they said that love was priceless and radiant, that it wasn’t a defect but a celebration. I didn’t understand it at first, but the characters in the book looked so happy, and everything was so colourful, so different from Polaris.” Minji rambled on. Yoohyeon was staring at her starstruck, entire being frozen solid. The words that flew out of Minji's mouth was so familiar. Too familiar. 

“Oh, how beautiful must that have been,” the former Writer heard, and the first traces of tears fell.  

“To love, to fall in love, and to be loved,” she cupped Minji’s face delicately in her hands, lips trembling as she spoke those words. Those exact words she had scribbled on the last page of that book.  

“How? How did you know?”  

The Writer did not know what had come over her. In the moment where her face was so close to the other girl, where she could almost hear their hearts beating in rhythm, she supposed this moment was magical and powerful.  

They were amateurs when it came to love, awkward people learning to live. So many things could go wrong, but Yoohyeon was confident the heart could never lie. It was her sixth sense speaking when she had hidden that book instead of shredding it. It was that mysterious feeling guiding her, that she ended up here. It could not be wrong.  

She moved forward to brush her lips against Minji’s, like how it was written in every romance book. A kiss, they called it. They described it as soft and sweet and electrifying; everything in between and nothing at all simultaneously. Minji’s lips were soft and intricate; they were cold and a little bit cracked. They were both everything she had imagined and nothing like that at all. She felt tears on the tips of her thumbs and opened her eyes.  

Minji was crying. Herself was crying.  

There were no giggles and red faces that followed like how literature had said there would be.  

And yet, it felt right.  

“I was the one who wrote it,” her voice was raspy and hushed. The tears made it hard to see, and the mucus made it hard to talk. “Thank you, Minji. Thank you for coming into my life.” She shut her eyes and a new wave of tears had slid down her cheeks. To think that their time had began even before they had met.  

Yoohyeon felt Minji’s lips again; it was shaking against her own unsteady ones. She tasted the salt in their tears; her first kiss tasted nothing like honey, but somewhere on her tongue there was a sweetness that lingered. She wondered if Minji tasted it too.  

Somewhere in her heart, there was a warmth that spread.  

The door to the room had slid opened right then, it was once again time for their shots. Siyeon walked in and regarded the two hunched in the middle of the room. Space between them was non-existent—something that normal citizens did not do.  

The Regulator finished up injecting the shots and exited the room hurriedly. Both defects were quieter than usual, and it was clear from the redness in their eyes that something had happened. Siyeon did not know what it was like to cry, did not know what crying means, did not know how to cry.  

She scribbled messily into her notebook. It was part of her job to report any out of place activities. It seemed like placing two defects in the same room had been the wrong choice after all.  

The Box had run out of space for new defects earlier in the year, and the upsurge of these people were getting unsettling. The Guardians had announced the expansion of The Box, and plans of sending more defects into rehabilitation faster. But for the time being, the facility concluded that two defects would have to share a room.  

0017005 had been assigned the same room as 0007001 for a few reasons. First, 0007001 had shown less signs of being defective—no shouts, no violence, no protest; just peaceful in general. Second, 0007001 had been inside The Box for a relatively long time. Third, 0017005 seemed to be confused and lost. Hence, it was concluded that 0007001 would soon leave for rehabilitation, opening the room for 0017005 to be alone. Their stay together would not last for very long.    

Kim Yoohyeon had been in The Box for long enough. In fact, she was long overdue for the next step.  

“We should authorise 0007001 Kim Yoohyeon for rehabilitation soon,” Siyeon had reported that same afternoon, eyeing Gahyeon who was cooped up in a corner typing away. 

“Sure,” she looked up to address the Regulator in politeness. “Schedule her for the session tomorrow.” 

And with that, Kim Yoohyeon’s fate was secured. 

* 

The former Writer was led by two workers of The Box into a large room. They had come abruptly, entering the room in the middle of the day and asking for her to follow them. She had given Minji a reassuring squeeze of the hand, smiled gently at her, lulling away her panicked expression. 'Don’t worry,’  she had said. But now, she wasn’t so sure anymore.  

She saw her sister standing beside a reclining chair of sorts as she entered. Gahyeon was busy operating an electronic device, dialling in numbers and words that seemed like codes.  

“The defect, 0007001 is here,” someone spoke. Yoohyeon looked around hoping to find a familiar face that she had been seeing for close to two years, but it appears that Regulators were not involved in this part of defects' rehabilitation. 

“Sit,” Gahyeon merely says, gesturing briefly to the chair beside her.  

Yoohyeon observed the seat curiously. It was made out of synthetic leather, but did not feel soft to the touch. There were drill holes at the base of the steel legs, metal bolts secured it onto the flooring. The straps on the arm rests were likely going to hold her down during the process, while the various circuit-like setups and wires nearer to where her head was going to lay would probably do most of the job. But Yoohyeon felt neither fear nor panic—she was beyond the point of these emotions. The former Writer had known how her fate was going to unwind the moment she had entered The Box. Perhaps the only thing she felt upon entering the room, where her life would be forced to reset and she would go back to living in an illusion, was sorrow and pain. 

Sorrow, for she felt sorry for herself—that she would again be a puppet in a tragic play. And pain, for she felt the loss of something more than freedom. Pain, for she saw the reins of love slip between her fingers, like sand like water, and she had no means of keeping them near her heart ever again. Her heart ached for the loss of love, for the loss of Minji.  

Her Minji.   

She sat uncomfortably; tail bone pressed hard on the base of the chair. Gahyeon was still busy with operating the system and Yoohyeon took the moment to study her sister. She only realised upon becoming a defect that fraternal twins like they were, were blessed. Because they were the only type of siblings that knew they were family, knew with certainty that they have come from the same place and the same person.   

But like all bonds in Polaris, the concept of family was non-existent. Children do not seek out their parents and parents do not ask for their children; siblings do not find one another; there are no husband and wives, only Donors and Birth-Givers.  

“Gahyeon?” she began, but did not get a response. However, she had continued, not allowing anything to hinder her, “what are you doing?” 

“Work.” Gahyeon said monotonous, “like what all good citizens should be doing.” 

Yoohyeon smiled; she knew what the girl had meant. Her sister had been absolutely crushed when the news of Yoohyeon entering the facility had emerged. As much as they do not communicate, both knew about the existence of each other. And even the citizens of Polaris knew about their relationship—their relation was rare enough that it made it easy to remember. 

The day she had been collected, she had woken up in a cold room with her sister barging through the door seconds later, equally cold. To be associated with a defect was humiliating, so no one in Polaris would willingly speak of them, but to have your sister be thrown into The Box and everyone knowing was perhaps difficult for Gahyeon to bear.  

That, Yoohyeon felt a little guilty about.  

People would surely believe that, with her sister turned defect, perhaps one day Gahyeon would turn crazy too, just like how her sister did. So, Gahyeon had stormed into her cell first thing after she had awoken, staring down at her in disgust and shame.  

“How are you feeling?” Yoohyeon had asked. 

“Shameful.” She had replied, tone completely mirroring her expression. And for once, Yoohyeon must admit that The Guardians had taught citizens one correct thing. 

“What were you thinking?” The voice had turned cold, no longer possessing the rage, disgust, shame. “You were a first-class citizen. Why would you turn into a defect?”  

Yoohyeon had studied Gahyeon really thoroughly back then, observing the way her eyes were dull, her tone flat and posture painfully straight. She had remembered thinking: how sad must it be to live a life of lies? She had smiled then, and shook her head.  

“You wouldn’t understand.” 

The door had closed with a force that shook. It was the last time she had seen her sister before today.  

Before she had been found out and collected, Yoohyeon had visited her sister countless times; she had wanted to reach out to her own bloodline, to involve herself in the things she had read about—sisters enjoying each other’s company, talking about life, eating together, being happy.  

“I would need the opinion of a professional before labelling a book for shredding. It’s a book about defects,” she had given the excuse, “I would like to know a bit more about what you do; before I can do my job properly.” 

Gahyeon hadn’t been eager, but hadn’t been suspicious either. And so every Wednesday, the sisters would spend 30 minutes of lunch together. At first, they talked about work, but gradually, Yoohyeon would pry. She would diverge from work and ask more private questions. With time, Gahyeon grew apprehensive, and Yoohyeon grew cautious.  

They stopped meeting after a month, with Yoohyeon cooped up inside the library writing away in that children’s book, hoping one day, after she had been collected, someone would find it. 

And someone did.  

Yoohyeon smiled. “Shall we get this over with?” she whispered, and closed her eyes. Minji came into mind. Her smile widened.   

When she had first read about love, Yoohyeon hadn’t believe in it. Well, she was sure love existed, but she wasn’t so sure about it existing in her life. When Minji had recited her writings, loud and clear in that precious voice that rang beautiful, her heart had finally started to beat.  

She felt the thump. Really felt it against her bones.  

And when she realised falling in love with Minji was inevitable because she was the only other person that knew of love, it didn’t bother her. It didn’t matter that they had fallen in love because of circumstance. Yoohyeon would like to argue that it was fate.  

Fate had chosen Minji to discover that book hidden in her desk drawer. Fate had chosen Yoohyeon to be Minji’s cellmate. Fate had brought them together. And in being together, they have loved.  

But fate be damned. 

Fate had dictated that Yoohyeon and Minji were now to be separated. Fate had always been cruel.  

“We shall now begin resetting your memories and consciousness.” Yoohyeon’s eyes shot opened. She sees Gahyeon still focused on operating the machine and felt something click onto her head.  

“What?” she croaked, “resetting?” Yoohyeon had not known what ultimately happened to defects. She supposed they were all brought to be brainwashed again, forced to listen to The Guardians’ teachings before being sent back into society.  

“Yes,” Gahyeon says simply, “please do not worry.” Her words of reassurance were not accompanied by a tone of concern.  

“W-Wait,” the former Writer coughed out, but realised her eyes had already begun to close. Her consciousness slipped; she saw figures standing over her, saw brief periods of darkness, saw bright blinding lights.  

A girl dancing under the moonlight. I saw her spinning, her dress fluttering like butterfly wings. A girl is laughing as she holds my hands. I am smiling as I held hers back.   

Ah… how beautiful, how perfect.   

My Minji.   

Then, she saw nothing altogether. 

* 

Kim Minji paced in her room relentlessly. She did not know how many days it had been since they took Yoohyeon away, did not know how long it would take for her to end up in the same place as her.  

The constant itch in her heart was at first annoying, but currently, she was just miserable. She wants it to be gone forever, it didn’t matter if her heart no longer yearns. She figured that Yoohyeon might be willing to forgive her for giving up her love like this; just this once. Love was like a poison to Minji when she first felt it bubble within her ribcage—setting ablaze a fire that could never be doused ever again quite so easily.  

Back then, it was addicting. It was a pleasure to finally be able to feel—she had never been more alive; well, she had never been alive, she realised. Her feelings were so tangible when Yoohyeon had been beside her, and with Yoohyeon gone, Minji’s love had overflowed.  

'They had found more than just love; they had found a truth, a peace and a freedom, one so priceless and stunningly radiant.’  

Back then, love felt like something two people held and share, something that could be nurtured until it blossoms into a beautiful flower. Love was something that she and Yoohyeon held in their gaze, in their embrace, in their words, in their smiles.  

‘Perhaps love in their world is not a defect, but a celebration—like when a precious seed had grown and bloomed into a wonderful flower; it calls for a commemoration, to sing a song of joy and laughter.’  

Now, love felt a lot like a burden. Because the person whom she had shared it with this whole time is gone.  

She missed Yoohyeon terribly. The little kisses on her neck, the tight embrace around her torso, the light giggles vibrating in her eardrums; everywhere was white, but everywhere was Yoohyeon at the same time. Minji could still hear the quiet raspy good mornings every time she opened her eyes, could still feel the ghost of a slender yet firm arm around her shoulders, could still imagine the girl’s singing that reverberated throughout the room.  

She could see shadows of the girl everywhere. She saw love in the form of white. She felt love in the form of Kim Yoohyeon.  

‘Oh, how beautiful must that have been—to love, to fall in love, and to be loved.’  

After she had experienced what it was like to finally be human, Minji hated that a day would come where she would revert back to being merely a breathing machine. She sighed. Resting her head gently on the wall, she began tracing the girl’s silhouette with her fingers. 

Honestly, Minji did not know if Yoohyeon was pretty. There was no basis to compare her to. Everything in Polaris is beautiful, The Guardians had always emphasised. But Minji figured it didn't really matter, because to her, Yoohyeon was like the prettiest being out there. It seems, love makes everything look beautiful.   

She closed her eyes and pictured her right there—the slightly dishevelled hair, the long neck, the perfectly poised shoulders, the small waistline, the-. 

As usual, the door silt opened and Siyeon walked through it calmly. In her consistent and steady voice void of compassion, animation and melody, she started, “good morning, 0017005. Let’s commence the first shot of today.” 

And as usual, Minji would shrink to the far end of the room, furthest away from the door and Siyeon. She would shake her head vigorously and scream, “don’t come near me!”  

Then, seeing Siyeon standing unmoving, she would shout again. “What did you guys do to Yoohyeon?! Where is she now?” she had repeated the same lines every day since the Writer was taken away, only her intensity and rage had increased, otherwise nothing had changed.  

The Regulator stood still, waiting for the defect to finish her lines before uttering hers, like they were rehearsing lines for a movie. Siyeon, however, did not know what a movie is.  

“You would have to take the shot, 0017005. This is-”  

“Standard protocol,” Minji scowled.  

“Yes,” Siyeon blinked, “and in the case of the former defect, 0007001 Kim Yoohyeon, I might have some news for you today.” 

Minji perked up, hideous frown on her face fading to hope and curiosity.  

“You shall be seeing 2007001 very soon, I suppose.” The Regulator was by now towering in front of the defect, the syringe already inserted into her arm and plunger pushed halfway through. Minji had let her guard down.  

“Be patient, 0017005.” The defect jerked herself out of the Regulator’s grip and retreated sideways, glaring and sneering. “Your next shot will be in a few hours.” Siyeon shrugged and the door slammed shut.  

* 

Again, Minji did not know how time had passed since the morning blunter with Siyeon. But the light clicks of the door told Minji accurately enough—her second shot of the day were to commence.  

She sighed.  

“Good morning, 0017005 Kim Minji.”  

She froze. Now that she had been stuck here in this cell for close to a year, there were many things she no longer knew anymore.  

But there would perhaps be the little things that she would never cease to have the knowledge of. Like Yoohyeon’s hands that had been a steady source of support, or Yoohyeon's gaze that had made her experience the turbulence of emotions, or Yoohyeon's voice that had calmed her down tremendously.  

She glanced up and trembled. “Yoohyeon…” There she was, standing tall and straight before the door. 

Then, the longing that had been so pronounced came crushing back, invading every pore. Ah, the ecstasy of meeting your loved one in the flesh, to finally after painstakingly long time meet again. Yoohyeon might not have been gone for even that long, but when time becomes a mess, a second seems like eons.  

“I missed you so much,” there was a tinge of desperation if Minji was being completely honest. But love was just like that: it makes shamelessness so much stronger than a man.  

“0017005, I shall be your new Regulator starting today. I am 2007001 Kim Yoohyeon. I see that Siyeon had already informed you of my name.” The girl spoke in that monotonous voice everyone used in Polaris. There was no emotion present on her face—the previously animated girl had lost all her animation. She did not smile when speaking to Minji; her eyes did not glisten with mirth and fondness—the girl was now a shell of herself; she had become a citizen of Polaris.  

But she still looked as pretty as ever; she still looked like the girl Minji loves. But no, this wasn’t Yoohyeon—The Guardians have killed her, for it is the spirit that made Yoohyeon, Yoohyeon. Minji searched her eyes for a hint of familiarity, wondered endlessly what they have done to the girl she loved.     

The defect stood from the corner of the room, taking careful steps towards the newcomer. Gingerly, she held out her hand close to but shying away from Yoohyeon’s cheeks. Her fingers twitched; they so wanted to touch her, wanted to finally feel the sensations that reminded her of love.  

But she was scared.   

Scared that if she were to feel this Yoohyeon on her skin, then the old one would disappear. Scared to touch this Yoohyeon, for she might come to realise, for good, that the girl standing in front of her now feels different from the girl she would always wake up to before. Minji could not bear the thought of her Yoohyeon gone.    

But the ache and desire to feel her close was too overwhelming; Minji stretched out her hand and her fingertips brushed briefly across her soft cheek. Yoohyeon flinched.  

The Regulator shifted her face slightly, just barely out of the defect’s reach. She regarded the girl that had been assigned to her cautiously. Kim Minji was the first defect she was tasked to work with, and just from this short interaction alone, she could tell why the girl had been thrown into The Box. She wasn’t normal; she seemed to have forgotten all of The Guardian’s teachings. What a shame, Yoohyeon thought, she ought to feel sad about letting The Guardians down. 

The Regulator frowned, her distaste towards the defect rising. And since defects are the failures of society, she did not feel wrong to be looking at the girl with contempt. She met her gaze and flinched again. There was a look in the defect's eyes that Yoohyeon had never seen before; citizens of Polaris don’t look at others like that. What a shame, she had thought again and casted her eyes to the ground.   

“Y-Yoohyeon? It’s- It’s me, Minji.”  

“Yes,” the now Regulator looked up briefly. “I am aware of who you are, 0017005.” 

Minji’s heart sank. No, you don’t, it screamed. Where have her Yoohyeon gone? What happened to the promise of happily ever after? What happened to the feeling of paradise?  

“0017005,” she heard and could feel her heart tear. “We shall commence your second shot of the day.”  

It was that familiar voice, that voice which made it sound like she was singing every time she spoke. The voice had gently called her name all this while, had only called her by her name and never a string of unimportant numbers.  

“0017005?” 

“Minji,” the defect muttered. She was still standing head down, hands clasped in front of her with her shoulder sagging and frame tiny. “I’m Minji!” she jerked her head up suddenly, her frame now swelling and expanding. “Stop calling me 0017005! I’m Minji! Call me by my name like how you used to!” 

She grabbed onto the girl roughly, yanking her by the arm and shaking her while she yelled. The tears in her eyes made it hard to discern the other’s expression. Minji could just tell it doesn’t matter anymore; there won’t be much to discern anyways. When the first sob hit, she could never have prepared herself for its intensity, that pain which soared through her being, knocking her out. 

Yoohyeon had flinched again, and this time, Minji had moved away before the girl could reject her touch.   

“I-I love you, Yooh. We- We love each other! Don’t you… remember?”  

“Love?” The Regulator repeated simply. Minji nods, feeling the hope rush and reaching her eyes. They were pleading, searching for something—a recognition, an acknowledgement, a remembrance.  

“Minji,” the defect hears and hope skyrocketed. Then, like all good things that she once had in her life, it plummeted.  

“Love is a defect.”