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The waters were calm now. The stormy memories of thundering waves, dark clouds, heavy rain hitting the roof of the car as tears fall against the leather seats — they seemed so far away now. But at that time, certainly, Clara had thought, this was an ache that would never dull, a loose end that she would always chase, a heart that would never heal.
It was March 20, 2014. That, she remembered with a strange sense of clarity. She always found it odd that she remembered the date and yet couldn’t seem to recall how it felt to be sitting inside that car, how painfully the sobs wracked her body, how pained Mingyu looked when she finally said the words he was dreading to hear. And yet she remembers something so insignificant as the exact date, but perhaps it was a blessing that time had caused her heart to forget the pain and sorrow that March 20, 2014 brought.
Whenever she thinks about her story, it always begins at the end. It starts on the morning of March 20, 2014. Before dawn broke, Clara helped Mingyu lug their bags at the back of his Jeep Wrangler. He paused and frowned at her when one of the duffle bags made a clanging metallic sound. Unzipping it, he lifted the appliance at fault and stared at her.
“Seriously? A toaster?” he asked incredulously. She placed her hands on her waist, prepared to defend herself. “Why are you bringing a toaster to the beach?”
“Because we need to eat,” she argued, snatching the toaster from him and placing it inside the bag. “And also I brought bread, margarine, and sugar specifically because I wanted to have toast. Where else are we gonna find a toaster at the beach?”
Mingyu looked like he was about to say something, but it came out as an exasperated yet defeated sigh as Clara slammed the door shut. Flashing him a cheeky smile, she made her way round the car and slipped into the front seat. He chuckled to himself as he got into the driver’s seat, his left hand gripping the wheel as he started up the car.
“Ready to go?” Mingyu asked, and the irony almost made her want to chuckle. Instead, she smiled and said, “Yeah, ready.”
The drive was long — after all, that was the whole point of picking the farthest beach resort possible. They wanted this drive to be the longest one they would ever take, long enough to reminisce on memories that could so easily slip through their fingers. Mingyu and Clara alternated between belting out 90’s songs at the top of their lungs and laughing about the silliest memories.
Around 11:00 AM, they stopped to fill up on some gas and grab a bite to eat. They were sitting on the bench in front of the convenience store, wolfing down on cheap burgers and brain-freezing smoothies.
“We met in a convenience store, too,” he suddenly said. “Do you remember?”
She did, and she still does. It was a rainy Thursday in 2010. Clara, then a pharmacy student in the middle of her finals, had been walking to her dorm when it started to drizzle. Pulling out her umbrella, she opened it only for it to entirely fall apart as the rain got progressively, and rather mercilessly, harder.
“ Shit! ” she cursed aloud. The rain drowned out her voice as she tried to fix her umbrella. Two of its ribs had come off and she was far from any building, so she rushed to the nearest shelter she could find.
Her uniform was soaked, her umbrella was totalled, and she could feel the last thread of her sanity and mental stability about to snap. She was holding back tears as she tried to fix her stupid umbrella. Suddenly, a hand holding a jacket appeared in her sight and she turned to the side to look at the person it belonged to.
If she hadn’t seen tall, dark and handsome before, she sure as hell did now. He stood about a few feet taller than her, his skin was kissed by the sun’s lips, and his face was chiseled by the gods. For a moment, Clara forgot that she was dripping wet, her white uniform was probably see-through, and her makeup was definitely smudged. But no matter how much of a mess she looked, the handsome stranger didn’t seem to judge her. His eyes were soft and gentle as he said, “Take it.”
Fuck, his voice sounds perfect, too. Clara cleared her throat a few times before replying, “No, it’s… it’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine. I’m perfectly fine.”
That made the handsome stranger chuckle. He gave her a quick once-over, then said, his voice dropping with amusement, “You’re not perfectly fine … and besides, your uniform is white and, well…”
He looked away with a blush, and Clara finally realized that her purple bra was indecorously visible through her uniform. Instinctively, she covered herself with her arms, snatching the jacket from his hand. She put it on deftly, silently watching the handsome stranger turn his gaze upwards and hold out his hand to catch the droplets of rain. Suddenly, he spoke, “It came down out of nowhere, huh?”
She looked up. Despite the gray clouds and pouring rain, sunlight was starting to filter in. “Yeah,” she answered mindlessly, “it was really sunny just a while ago.”
It was silent between them for a while — nothing but the sound of gushing rain turning into the slightest pitter patter. When it finally turned into a drizzle, the handsome stranger — and at this point, Clara thought she really needed to get his name so she could thank him and return his jacket once she’s got it washed — rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a pink umbrella and handed it to her.
Clara laughed hesitantly and started to lean away, shaking her head. “You already gave me your jacket. I’m not taking your umbrella, too,” she said. The handsome stranger started to laugh, his shoulders shaking with mirth. She frowned at him, confused. “What?”
“You make it sound like you’ve burdened me with the world,” he smiled. He handed the pink umbrella to her again, more assertively now, gently poking her arm. Slowly, her hand moved to take the umbrella from him. Once it had crossed over from his hands to hers, he grinned and held his backpack over his head, sparing her a short and sweet, “See you later.”
Before she could even process what he had just said, he had stormed into the drizzle. Clara knew there was no way his small backpack was covering his body — after all, he was a huge guy. Slightly panicked, she yelled out to him, “Wait, how do I return your stuff?”
But he didn’t answer. He was simply too far away. But then, the handsome stranger turned around, smiling brightly as if she were a dear friend, and waved to her. It wasn’t until Clara got home, stomping off the rain and soil from her shoes, did she look up briefly as she was closing the umbrella. And there, written with black marker inside its edges, was a name and a phone number.
Mingyu Kim. 636-555-3226.
“Yeah, I remember,” Clara replied, popping the last bit of burger in her mouth and dusting off her hands. She held her hand out to him, prompting Mingyu to hand her the strawberry smoothie they were sharing. Upon finishing the last of their food, they hit the road again.
She rolled the windows down as they drove through empty roads. The wind hitting her face had the slightest hint of saltiness, letting her know that they were getting nearer to the sea. Clara breathed in deeply, savoring the freshness and saltiness filling her lungs. She felt the faintest ache under her left rib, but it didn’t matter as much to her. Not now, not when she felt free and hopeful and alive .
“You feeling okay?” Mingyu asked, worry laced in his voice. He briefly took his eyes off the road to glance at her. She offered him a smile, though it was weak, and he smiled back.
The sunlight felt tender against her skin. Clara could feel it spreading warmth in her body, radiating from within and setting her body alight. “Bette Davis Eyes” by Kim Carnes started playing on the radio and she sang along with Mingyu, bouncing along to the rhythm. The Corrs started playing immediately after and by the end of “Runaway”, they were pulling into the parking lot beside the beach.
She got out of the car, stretched her arms, and sighed loudly. When she moved to help him unload the bags, he pushed her lightly aside, smiling kindly at her. She moved aside and he lugged two bags behind his shoulder with one hand, using the other to grab her hand. Clara relished the warmth, the gentleness, the feeling of being protected.
She glanced down at her pale hand in his. So little, so fragile, so frail.
In 2011, her hands were plump and the perfect ivory color, much like porcelain. His fingers wrapped around her wrist just right as he pulled her along the crowds of people. The mall was packed — she would’ve been swept away if it weren’t for Mingyu holding onto her as if he never planned on letting go.
“You okay?” he asked, pulling her closer. They had been dating for a few months but Clara still couldn’t silence her beating heart every time he touched her, pulled her closer, smiled at her. He would do it every time they shared an umbrella, every time they had a movie date at his dorm, every time they were walking to… anywhere , really. She smiled, nodding at him as he maneuvered them through the crowds.
“Do you think we can make it in time?” she asked as they stepped onto the escalator. Kung Fu Panda 2 was showing and Mingyu had begged her to see it with him.
“Well…” he began just as they reached the top and turned towards the cinema only to see a long line. Clara held in a laugh as he nodded in defeat, continuing, “We might make it just in time for the ending…?”
That made her laugh as they took their place at the back of the line. “Maybe we can get the next show?” she suggested, swinging their hands side to side. “We’ll, I don’t know… Go on a food trip. Play dress-up at the department store. There’s a pet shop somewhere here, right? We can go pet some cute animals. Maybe we can window shop at the grocery.”
“Let’s do all of that, then,” Mingyu smiled, kissing her on the forehead. “Do you want to see the last full show? I think it would be nice.”
“Sure,” she agreed, immediately perking up. Two kids ran past them, holding cotton candy and popcorn. She smiled upon seeing how lively and youthful they were. It made her feel so old. She could even swear that her bones were creaking, throbbing, aching . Shaking it off, she turned to him with a smile and asked, “Why do you want to watch Kung Fu Panda so badly anyway?”
He gasped, seemingly offended. “Why wouldn’t I want to watch Kung Fu Panda so badly? It’s a masterpiece. It gave me my life motto.”
“Life motto?” she smiled amusedly. Tilting her head, she said, “What life motto?”
He shifted between his feet, straightening his back and clearing his throat. Finally, when he stopped moving, he took a deep breath and said in the most noble, almost princely voice he could, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.”
“Very poetic,” Clara nudged his ribs with her elbow. He laughed, and she remembered how ticklish he was. She teased him a bit more before laughing, putting her hands up in defeat. “That’s a great quote, though, not gonna lie. I remember that from the first one.”
“It’s iconic,” he gushed. “But it was wrong on one count.”
She frowned, not really knowing what he was getting at. She could smell something fishy and the ends of her lips quirked up as she asked, “And on what count was it wrong?”
With a playful glint in his eye, he smirked at her and said, “My tomorrow’s not a mystery.” Upon hearing that, Clara couldn’t resist rolling her eyes as he laughed — either out of pride at his unfinished pick-up line or embarrassment because she so obviously knew what was coming, she didn’t know.
“Because you know what your future is and it’s me?” she drawled out with a sarcastic lilt in her voice. He responded with a cheeky smile, “Well, if that’s what you say.”
She hit him as hard as she could on his arm, causing him to laugh aloud as he blocked all of her punches. But while she felt embarrassed for Mingyu for that lame pick-up line, she was also unable to fight the giddy blush that appeared in her cheeks. In that moment, she found herself wishing fervently, earnestly, passionately :
I wish I can be Mingyu’s future.
The rain poured so suddenly.
They were in the middle of dancing to Selena’s “Dreaming of You”, sand under their feet and ocean breeze caressing the skin left uncovered by their clothes. It was Clara who felt drops of rain on her eyelashes, on her cheeks, on the tip of her nose. “Oh, shit,” Mingyu muttered under his breath, grabbing her hand and running back to the car.
And there they were, sitting inside the car, watching the raging seas and the rain falling like silver needles onto the water, the sand, and their car.
“It came down out of nowhere, huh?” she asked, gulping down the knot in her throat.
Mingyu ran his tongue over his dry lips, mustering his strength to speak. But as he did, he didn’t even hear his own voice — all he could hear was Clara, on that sudden rainy day, all those years ago. A past that felt so distant, it seemed he could never grasp it again. “Yeah,” he spoke with such a pitifully, somehow beautifully broken voice that it made Clara’s heart hurt, “it was really sunny just a while ago.”
“Day’s almost over,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“We probably need to go home soon.”
“Mm-hm.”
Clara hung her head, staring down at her lap, at her small hands on her lap. So little, so fragile, so frail. The beautiful ivory had been stolen from her skin, leaving it paper white and brittle. The fullness in her wrists had given way to bone-thin skeletal fingers. The aches in her bones, the pain in her ribs, the tightness in her lungs — she was no longer the same girl he met four years ago.
“Maybe we should go home, Gyu,” she said in a small voice. Mingyu lifted his hands and placed them on the wheel, but stopped. She glanced at him, then reiterated, “We should go home, Gyu. It’s getting late.”
“No.”
She closed her eyes, feeling her body slowly falling apart at the seams. “Gyu—”
“No,” he said, sounding firm yet trembling. “This is stupid, Clara. Why can’t we just stay here for a few more days? We can find somewhere to stay, maybe an Airbnb or—”
“Don’t,” she said, causing him to stop, “make this harder than it should be.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this, Clara,” Mingyu said, turning sideways in his seat to face her properly. Pain was overflowing in his eyes, spilling onto his cheeks as salty tears. “If you’re worried about me or something, you don’t have to be! It’s my own choice to stay with you, to stay with you even if—”
“Please… stop ,” Clara whispered, cradling her head in her hands. Mingyu stared at her for a moment before hitting the wheel with the palms of his hands as Clara’s sobs got louder.
Silence rang in their ears. It wasn’t until well after Clara’s sobs had died down and Mingyu’s breathing had steadied did she finally lift her head, eyes fixed on the increasingly inclement weather. Slowly, her shoulders began shaking — in laughter, not body-wracking sobs. When Mingyu turned to her in confusion, she forced herself to speak through bouts of laughter, “It’s just… It’s so ironic that it was suddenly raining when we first met and now that we’re… well, you know … it suddenly rained again.”
It wasn’t so painful a year ago. Not when the doctor broke the news, not when they decided on the day they would break up. After receiving the prognosis, Clara already knew that she didn’t want to trap him in a relationship that was going nowhere. She didn’t want him to be around when she bit the bullet. But she wasn’t ready to lose him just yet, wasn’t ready to let go of the only man she’s ever loved. And so they put a deadline on their relationship and promised to spend every moment together until the time finally came.
She watched the rain fall to earth, seemingly grieving with them. Softly, mindlessly, she said, “It’s like heaven knows we’re miserable.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Clara.”
“I don’t want to lose you either, Gyu,” she smiled. Her grief crystallized into tears, making it seem like her eyes were sparkling. Mingyu stared into her eyes, burning the sight of her into memory. And then she whispered the heaviest words that have ever left her lips, “Just… promise me you’ll be happy.”
Mingyu didn’t respond, so she added, “Please… please .”
With a deep breath, he nodded, furiously wiping at his tears and nose, and thumping his palms lightly on the steering wheel. That made Clara smile, finally, contentedly .
“It’s time for us to go home.”
On March 20, 2014, Mingyu and Clara decided to part ways.
The waters were calm now. The stormy memories of thundering waves, dark clouds, heavy rain hitting the roof of the car as tears fall against the leather seats — they seemed so far away now. It’s been seven years but she remembered nothing of the pain, only the love that filled her heart and wrapped around her like a pair of wings.
Mingyu was standing at the edge of the water, staring out into the horizon. Clara stood just a few steps behind him, the wind tugging at the ends of her dress. Her skin was ivory, her cheeks were dusted pink, and her wrists were plump. He hadn’t changed at all. He was still the tall, dark and handsome stranger she met at a convenience store. He was still the kind man who would pull her closer to his side where she was safe, the kind man who cooked her meals, the kind man who loved her for so many years.
“It’s been seven years, huh?” Mingyu whispered softly, his voice getting carried away by the wind. He paused, breathing in deeply. “It feels like more than that.”
It does , Clara thinks. But she stays silent, waiting for him to continue. He does after a few moments, saying, “I earned my degree, became a chef. But don’t worry, you’re still the only one who’s tasted my beef with mushroom and broccoli. That’s your favorite, right?”
Clara chuckled. It was her favorite, indeed. She remembered the first time Mingyu had ever cooked for her. It was during hell week in college and she had come down with the most terrible fever that had her stuck in bed for days. On the third day of her fever, she woke up to a broad back covered by a white T-shirt, rummaging in her kitchen. Something smelled so good that she didn’t even think to ask how he got in (she found out later on that her dorm mate had let him in after seeing him waiting outside) .
“Do you remember Kung Fu Panda 2 ?” Mingyu asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. She smiled and spoke along with him as he repeated the quote, “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.”
“I remember,” she whispered. She remembered at that time wishing that she would be his future. She remembered seeing him manage her kitchen, whipping up his best mushroom soup, and wanting to tie the knot with him right then and there. She smiled, a bit sadly, and whispered again, “I remember.”
“Maybe I’m a fool,” he chuckled, kicking at the sand. “Maybe I’m just a hopeless fool , aren’t I? Because even after all these years, I’m still hopelessly in love with you. Even after you…”
Clara stared out — into the ocean, on the horizon, at the clear blue skies. She could almost see visions of a future that was universes away, in a dimension full of possibilities that could never happen, in a trash can of discarded stories and doomed longing, a storage for rough drafts that would never turn into fairy tales.
On the peaceful waters, she finds her and Mingyu reflected, dancing around their house in the wee hours of the morning. Where the sky meets the sea, she catches a slight glimpse of a little girl with her eyes and Mingyu’s nose, running across a field and holding the strings of a kite. In the azure sky, she finds splattered colors creating a painting of a chef, a doctor, and their little girl living in comfort, warmth, and love.
She heard a car door open and watched a girl with silky black hair and pretty brown eyes approach him. She gently touched his arm, linking it with hers as she turned to stare out at the ocean. Tears glistened in his eyes as he pulled her closer, kissing her on the forehead.
So you’re finally happy now , Clara smiled, wiping a single tear that spilled onto her cheek. Took him a while, if she were to be honest. He had spent the first few years after leukemia had claimed her just getting wasted, living in a tumbledown apartment, isolating himself from everyone. But things changed after he met her. Kylie , she remembered.
He saw the light slowly return to his eyes, the color to his face, the smile to his lips, and the happiness to his life. Pretty soon, Mingyu was laughing again, and cracking lame jokes, and whipping up delicious meals. He was once again the man she had fallen in love with and she watched him fall in love with Kylie more with each passing day. She could no longer be his future, and that was perfectly fine. She meant it when she said that she just wanted him to be happy. And in all honesty, she was probably a fool — perhaps the biggest fool of all time — for staying by his side for so long, for loving a man with breath in his lungs and warmth in his skin when she was but a figment. But still, she didn’t feel like she could leave him.
Not until now.
Kylie pulled away from Mingyu, smiling at him comfortingly before kissing him on the cheek and walking back to the car. Before he followed, Mingyu stared back into the ocean, the orange and yellow hues of sunset reflected in his eyes as he whispered, “I hope you’re happy wherever you are. I love you, Clara. I always will.”
She didn’t answer. She was simply too far away. She could feel herself becoming untethered and her body felt lighter as if she were slowly lifting off the ground. She found herself chuckling. Before she disappeared, Clara wished she could tell him just one last time, let him hear with her own voice the three words tucked in her heart, three words so powerful that they tethered her to exist within a space stretching finitely between life and death — three words meant only for him .
She wanted to call out to him, to reach out her hand. But she simply smiled and stayed her hand as he whispered into the expanse, hoping that his voice could ride on winds and stars to reach her wherever she was.
“Goodbye, Clara.”