Chapter Text
"Why do you take photographs?”
They’re sitting on the banks of another ubiquitous Taiwanese beach when Minjeong pops the question. It’s something about the spark in Jimin’s eyes as she takes stock of the horizon, half pure admiration, half calculation. Only the slight narrowing of her sharp eyes and the thumb carelessly brushing her camera tells Minjeong she’s thinking of how the setting sun would look from her viewfinder.
It’s only been a month and half since they were introduced, but Minjeong feels like she’s known Jimin longer than that. Maybe it’s because they’re both Korean; maybe it’s just a one-sided illusion. The way objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.
She can’t help feeling warm, though, when Jimin does things like this: tilting her head and pondering her question seriously, not taking her eyes off the view. A moment later, she replies.
“I never really thought I’d pursue photography as more than a hobby. It was like… one thing led to another. At first, I didn’t even take photographs. I just imagined taking them. Every once in a while, an urge would grip me out of the blue — a voice telling me this scene I was staring at would make a great picture. The composition of objects no one would have thought to match, miraculously falling into place. Accidental gorgeousness. But understated at the same time.
“At those moments, it felt like time would freeze and I’d mentally take a snapshot of the landscape in my mind. Unconsciously, just for myself. No one else except me would ever see it, and I’d probably forget it by the next day, but it didn’t matter. I’d experienced that feeling, and I’d hold on to that warmth and purity.
“Later on, a friend showed one of my casual pictures to a photography teacher — it’s a long story. I’d just been messing around when I took it, for my friends, but the teacher contacted me and offered to write me a recommendation if I wanted to major in it after graduating high school. She said she knew a professor who specialised in street photography, slice-of-life stuff like mine — but I’d have to apply to an overseas university.”
“And here you are,” Minjeong finishes. It’s the most Jimin’s ever said to her, but it doesn’t feel awkward, or momentous. Just natural. That’s probably what she likes about Jimin, how her confidence never asserts itself nor feels forced. Her charmingly effortless self-assurance.
Jimin smiles then, briefly, and not for the first time Minjeong wants to wrestle the camera easily from her and snap a photograph. It probably wouldn’t be any good, though. Definitely wouldn’t come close to capturing the brilliance of Jimin’s smile.
It’s been real nice, being able to speak Korean for the first time in almost a year for the past six weeks. It’d been a happy and unlikely coincidence that they’d even met, and she hadn’t even known Jimin’s ethnicity when Yizhuo asked her for a favour — her boyfriend’s friend needed a model for an assignment. Yizhuo bragged that she was the star pupil of the photography elective Huili was taking, and that Minjeong wouldn’t come out of the deal empty-handed — the excellently-shot pictures would definitely boost her Instagram likes.
Instagram was where Minjeong first met Yizhuo soon after she came to Taiwan, as well. Yizhuo’s first sentence when she approached Minjeong in the cafeteria of their university had been, “You’re that Instagram model, aren’t you?”
Minjeong’d blushed back then, it being the first time she’d been called as such. Just a year ago, her Instagram had less than half the followers it currently has, and this is thanks in part to her occasional features on Yizhuo’s Youtube channel. Needless to say, she’s a popular Youtuber, on par with the likes of Snowbaby.
Thus of course she’d been blown away to know that Yizhuo followed her on Instagram, being the wanghong she is. When she confessed this, stammering and awestruck, Yizhuo had laughed the big laugh she’d come to know so well in the following year, and said wasn’t she a wanghong herself? She couldn’t be unaware that she was hot property among the guys at their school, even the upperclassmen, could she?
They were getting on like a house on fire when a guy walked up. Minjeong was sensitive enough to intuit this must be one of Yizhuo’s many suitors, but didn’t expect her to be her actual boyfriend.
Soon they became a de facto trio, and on occasion Yizhuo would invite both of them to feature on her channel either together or separately. Minjeong was ashamed to admit she’d barely ever watched any of Yizhuo’s videos properly, despite knowing who she was and that she’s in their school, the campus belle. But she quickly made up for lost time, binge watching all the videos she currently had up on her glittery, traffic-heavy channel — she’s a finicky perfectionist and constantly deletes vlogs she deems unworthy.
From that alone, she has learnt that Yizhuo and Huili are that nauseatingly adorable and loving couple, that social media darling and her prince so perfect together people could barf at their cuteness. She would be disgusted by them if not for the fact that they’ve pretty much become her best friends, and not just for the “popular clique” image.
She feels legitimate, since she’s probably the only person (who wasn’t a guy drooling at Yizhuo’s wet t-shirt) to watch all the “Boyfriend does my Makeup” and “Ice Bucket Challenge” videos they did together.
So when she heard of Huili’s interest to introduce her to her coursemate, she hadn’t been expecting Liu Zhimin to be Korean.
She told Jimin as much at their first stilted meeting, soon after switching to Korean. Blowing up on Instagram hasn’t improved her awkward turtle-ness at first meetings one bit, but for the first time she’s relieved not to feel like a third wheel with Huili and Yizhuo.
She hasn’t ever been able to actually spell out her sexuality to both of them — or to anyone, in Taiwan or Korea, really — so despite the fact that Huili has truly accepted her, they still feel like an unevenly rounded out threesome sometimes. Added to the fact that some fans have started leaving obnoxious Youtube comments demanding if Huili is cheating on Yizhuo with her, or double-crossing, which Yizhuo either ignores or deletes if they get too invasive.
She’s more aware of her foreignness than any of them, the way she sometimes stutters out of nervousness during Yizhuo’s mukbang lives, drawing their affectionate laughter and teasing. Her Mandarin has gotten so much better since she started hanging out with them but she still doesn’t feel qualified to be making videos in Chinese, as if she’s a hack. Yizhuo always reads out comments from male fans who adore her broken Chinese, though, and asks her if she’s interested with a quizzical glint in her eyes, but that’s probably her imagination.
She had a feeling Huili knows, though, when once he lost his cool and swore out an outrageous viewer who went too far with a joke calling Minjeong Yizhuo’s “sassy gay friend”. Even Yizhuo looked shocked and momentarily thrown by his uncharacteristic rudeness, but quickly recovered.
“Zhimin’s doing her first exhibition,” Huili raved the first time they all hung out together, for once not the quietest in the conversation. Jimin hung back, her eyes carefully lowered, shy. When she spoke up hesitantly to introduce herself, Minjeong’s heart leaped at her accent.
“Gosh, that’s perfect exposure for Wenzheng! Xuejie, do you follow her Insta?”
She’d nearly balked at both of them seeming to be carrying out the conversation on her and Jimin’s behalf, and embarrassing her in the process before she’d even spoken a word.
To her utter mortification, Jimin nodded, smiling. Her eyes met Minjeong’s for the first time, a brief searching look. Minjeong had the indescribable feeling she was being drunk in by Jimin’s gaze, catalogued, almost.
Later, it all made sense when she found out what Jimin does. She’d grown even more uncomfortable when Jimin revealed, “It’s my first time working with a human subject. I usually do landscapes, still lives; stuff like that. My professor said I had to branch out.”
Branching out? With Minjeong? Tripping over her Mandarin, she’d immediately started declining with pained politeness, saying she wasn’t right for the job and Jimin should photograph someone else instead — maybe Yizhuo; hell, Huili would be a much better “subject” than her.
But — “We aren’t free to help,” Yizhuo had cut her off bluntly, and a little smugly. “Huili has her own project, and I have to be her model, right, unnie?”
Minjeong blushed then — Yizhuo had started this ridiculous and unnerving habit of calling her that teasingly a week ago, although they’re the same age — and before she could wrap her head around it, heard a shutter clicking. She whipped around, mouth open, to see Jimin looking sheepish and lowering her camera.
“S-sorry, I just —“
“It’s okay! What a great photo to start off the collection!” Yizhuo said loudly, overriding Minjeong’s protests and Huili’s muffled laughter.
“Just give it a go, okay?” Yizhuo whined persuasively later, batting her false lashes. “For me?” Minjeong’d relented helplessly, the only thing a friend could do.
And truth be told, she hasn’t regretted getting to know Jimin. Minjeong’d immediately trawled through her followers to find what she guessed to be Jimin’s account, and followed her back. It was private, but Jimin granted her access almost as quickly. It was a singular pleasure, spending the hours of that afternoon leisurely scrolling down Jimin’s feed, full of pictures that made her heart sort of just… settle down.
Minjeong ended up liking an embarrassing and uncountable number of them. She couldn’t imagine herself ever being placed up there, along with those breathtaking pictures that didn’t seem to be taken in this country, this world. She made a mental note to tell Jimin to show her every picture she took, and put none of them up.
“After that, you just jumped right into taking photos with a professional camera?”
They resume their conversation from the seaside the next day, walking through campus. Minjeong’s busy stuffing a messy sheaf of loose-leaf into her shoulder bag and doesn’t notice Jimin’s camera until the telltale click.
Part exasperated and part amused, she looks up, the papers threatening to fall. “What did I tell you about warning me?”
“Sorry.” She’s getting to know Jimin’s hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression awfully well. “But you know, as they say… the best pictures are the ones taken by surprise.”
“I think you mean the most unflattering ones,” Minjeong grouches. “Send that to me for my IG.” She smiles winsomely at Jimin, trying not to show how eager she is to see that picture.
“Maybe,” Jimin says, enigmatically, as always. She’s been obligingly sending Minjeong photos now and then, the off-takes she’s not planning to use for her project. They all come out beautifully, so Minjeong doesn’t know why she’s not satisfied with them; but she’s held off posting any online so far. Jimin hasn’t forbidden her, and she knows they’ll be good promotion, both for Jimin’s project and for her own reputation, but there’s just a casually intimate feel about them that she wants to keep to herself, a while longer.
Now, Jimin finally relegates her beloved camera to her battered duffel, and takes off her glasses, rubbing her eyes. She looks tired, younger.
“Of course not. I had to learn all the proper techniques from scratch.” A smile flickers across her face. “I consulted my parents first, but they left it up to me; so I had pretty much no more excuses for not making the decision on my own. I spent my whole post-graduation summer going on long walks alone, taking pictures of mundane, everyday stuff in Korea until I got sick of seeing the same scenery every day, but not really. I guess I just wanted to prove my mentor right when she said I needed fresh eyes, a new country to photograph.
“How could I ever grow tired of Seoul if I tried?”
The soft light in Jimin’s eyes tugs a pang in Minjeong’s chest. She’s nodding, unconsciously. Jimin’s voice brings her back from her drifting as she goes on without stopping.
“Anyway, first I was just playing around, nothing serious. I was emboldened by the praise and kinda cocky; so I just started snapping random photos with my phone everywhere I went, tons per day. I busted the memory. None of them were much good, but the praise’d gone straight to my head and they all looked amazing to me suddenly. But I was just surprised by how much I enjoyed it.”
Jimin laughs suddenly, remembering. She tucks loose tendrils fallen from her messy bun behind a ear, embarrassed, a gesture Minjeong is starting to be familiar with.
“You’re too modest. I bet they were good too,” she blurts out, not thinking, but Jimin looks up, surprised.
“Really? Thanks.”
Minjeong nods, grinning. She is, in fact, sure.
“And… what about you? Why’d you come to Taipei?”
They’re getting yanshuji and zhenzhu naicha on another afternoon, and Jimin doesn’t allow her to pay. Minjeong’s expecting the by now familiar click to catch her off guard while taking the first bite of the savoury deep-fried cutlet, but instead it comes with her extra-unglamorous sip of too much boba, too little tea. She nearly chokes sputtering with mock outrage.
“I will disown you if that ever gets out,” she threatens, waving her chicken helplessly, and Jimin snorts, shoving her cutlet under her arm as she eagerly checks the screen.
“Don’t worry, you look as pretty as always,” she says in Mandarin, making Minjeong flush to her roots.
“So?” Jimin prompts her again later, after Minjeong thinks she’s forgotten and she doesn’t have to answer the question. “What brings you so far away from home?”
Minjeong hadn’t realised it wasn’t just a throwaway question. Jimin is peering at her, seeming genuinely interested in knowing, her precious Canon forgotten and dangling around her neck as she systematically demolishes her cup of boba.
“I…” Minjeong checks herself, pausing. I wanted to run away to a place where no one knows anything about me.
“I wanted freedom,” she finishes, smiling. “I wanted to… be myself.”
“And Busan didn’t let you do that?” Jimin is smiling back, but warmly. It’s the first time Minjeong’s seen her look kind of… well, gentle.
Silence as she’s at a loss for words, then Jimin rejoins, “I visited your hometown once to photograph the cherry blossom festival for my high school art final. It’s kind of wild that we’d never have met, if we never left Korea, huh?”
“Wild,” Minjeong echoes, thoughtfully. “Wait… are you walking me home? How’d you even know where I live?”
Jimin looks slightly awkward without her camera, wringing her hands with her sheepish — playful — half-grin. “Yizhuo told me. She said to walk you home if I kept you out too late.”
“Jesus,” Minjeong mutters under her breath, tossing the balled up wrapper into a nearby bin. Does Yizhuo know? Did she figure it out herself, or did Huili discuss it with her?
Her thoughts are interrupted by a faint but unmistakable click.
“Hey!” Minjeong can’t stop herself from kind of yelling. Her raised voice makes both of them flinch, and Jimin’s eyes widen, but she suddenly feels sick. “Unnie, insensitive much? Can’t you see I’m having a moment?”
“Minjeong, I’m sorry —“ It’s the first time Jimin’s addressed her, but she’s too annoyed to even care.
“God,” she mutters again under her breath, knowing she’s too harsh but deliberately being so, “There’s a time and place for everything.”
“Min—“ Jimin starts helplessly, looking forlorn with her camera dangling uselessly from her shoulder, but doesn’t follow as Minjeong strides away.
Are you home safe? She receives a text from an unknown number an hour later. Goddamn her best friends.
Delete it, she replies without answering the question.
Jimin doesn’t contact her for awhile after that, despite that being their first text message exchange. Minjeong is too prideful to ask Huili or Yizhuo about her, so she just goes about her days, putting on a cheerful smile, goofing around like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Huili and Yizhuo are more annoyingly blissful than ever, flaunting the couple tattoos they recently got at every opportunity.
“How’s Jimin?” Huili asks her once, puzzling Minjeong.
“How would I know? Isn’t she your friend?”
Huili looks thrown too, pausing. “Well, we’re not really — all that close, to be honest. I’d barely talked to her a few times before she approached me to ask you to model for her.”
Wait, what? “She chose me? I mean… didn’t you recommend me to her?”
Huili rubs his nape. “No, she definitely hit me up first. I thought she wanted me to help her ask Yizhuo at first — I’ve gotten hella requests for her to model from our other classmates — so I was pretty surprised when she mentioned you. I mean, no offence man, but I didn’t know she’d been following you on Instagram, did you?”
“No, I didn’t either,” Minjeong mumbles on autopilot, but her mind is already racing forward. Her legs follow a moment later, blathering some lame excuse to Huili.
She finds the unsaved number in her text message history, and her fingers tremble typing out the three simple words.
Where are you?
No reply after five minutes. She bites her lip in frustration. Classes are over — has Jimin already returned back to the university hostel where she resides?
Spurred into motion, she sends off another message before heading off campus.
When Minjeong busts into Jimin’s room like she’s the dean and Jimin’s been caught smoking pot, the latter is just lying spread-eagled in bed, loose hair fanned out against pillow and eyes glued to her phone like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
When Huili sent her Jimin’s room number and added that she hadn’t turned up for classes today, Minjeong guesses her imagination had just run wild.
She swiftly takes in the clutter of Jimin’s room — it’s pretty organised, actually. But it doesn’t look like she’s gotten up for the day.
“Are you okay?” She strides right up to Jimin’s bed, peering awkwardly down at her.
There’s no click this time, only silence. But the familiar discomfort in Jimin’s eyes tells her Jimin has just taken a picture with her phone. A picture of Minjeong’s face from the bottom. What the hell.
That uneasy look is too obvious. No wonder she’s never been able to shoot “human subjects” before this. She’s way too shy to look anyone in the eye without the buffer of her viewfinder.
This time, Minjeong doesn’t flare up or run away. She just stares down at Jimin, brows raised incredulously, trying not to avert her eyes first until Jimin sits up clumsily on her elbows.
“Uh… yeah. Why?”
Why? Because you haven’t contacted me for two weeks; and why did you pick me to be your model?
“Your project,” she chokes out instead. Jimin looks confused. “Is it done?”
“Done? Uhh… yeah. I guess.”
“Really. And you didn’t tell me.” Minjeong’s voice sounds flat again, against her will. She wishes she could compose herself, but she’s all out of control.
“Wait.” Jimin sits up properly, and grabs her cardigan. She makes herself decent, and stands up, towering over Minjeong slightly, suddenly.
“I took the day off to work on the finishing touches. I was going to call you out tonight to thank you… maybe buy you a drink, but…”
Minjeong looks up at her, waiting.
“I didn’t know if you’d want to meet me again,” Jimin finishes lamely. Minjeong’s eyes move absently behind her, to her cramped but cozy-looking bed. Her indent in the sheets. She gulps, swinging her gaze back to Jimin running slim fingers through her bed-tousled locks.
Minjeong didn’t think how this would look. If the other students saw her leaving Jimin’s room.
“Sure,” she mumbles. “Whatever. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”
“What… why —“ She doesn’t hear the end of Jimin’s sentence as the door closes behind her.
Jimin sidles out of the dorm lobby exactly ten minutes later, her squinted eyes widening and relaxing when she sees Minjeong still there. As if she thought Minjeong had been pulling her leg.
A few guys Minjeong vaguely knows are playing basketball on the dormitory court. Minjeong wonders if Jimin has ever photographed them; or just the court alone, when it’s empty and deserted.
”Where’re we —“ she starts stiffly, but Jimin’s already taking easy strides across the court, cutting through the game with a friendly wave to the players. She signals to Minjeong to wait where she is from the vending machine on the other side of the court, near the shut-down canteen.
“The drinks in that machine are actually really good,” she says, popping open the first can of winter melon tea for Minjeong politely.
“Did you photograph it?” Minjeong blurts out, and Jimin looks surprised, then breaks into her wry lopsided grin.
“A couple of times.”
Minjeong can’t help smiling. It’s a pretty machine, and a nice hostel. Jimin seems to have settled right in here. She wonders if Jimin ever feels the wisp of loneliness that seems to permeate all student dormitories, no matter how homey they may be.
Then again, she also realises how little she actually knows about this girl.
“It’s nice,” she says after a few sips.
“Right?” Jimin empties her can, tossing it into the recycling bin. Before Minjeong can finish her, Jimin smiles and takes her free arm.
“I want to show you something, Wenzheng,” she says in Chinese.
“What?” Minjeong shakes off Jimin’s grip when they’re on the rooftop, breathless from scampering up the few flights of stairs. She’s being oversensitive — the guys below are still absorbed in their game, not having noticed their departure.
“The view,” Jimin replies simply, spreading her arm, and Minjeong looks beyond them, raising her gaze to caress the horizon and even higher. It’s nearly twilight again — but still late afternoon. she can see what Jimin means: the light at this hour of the day is kind of magical. And of course, light and shadow is everything to Jimin — she must know every shift of the day like the back of her hand.
“What are you thinking?” Jimin asks, almost as if she read her mind.
Minjeong shakes her head, dazed. “Just… that you’re so passionate and talented. I’m sure the photos turned out great.”
Jimin cocks her head, smiling coyly. “Have you ever had an ugly picture?” Minjeong shoves her arm playfully.
“You’re talented too,” Jimin says, settling down near the TV antennas. Minjeong joins her gingerly, the ground of the roof warming the seat of her knee-length skirt. “I like your pictures,” Jimin adds simply.
Minjeong cringes vehemently, squirming simultaneously in pleasure and at the thought of Jimin scrolling through her feed and rating her selfies. “You’re an artist. I’m not.”
Jimin turns to look at her then, her mouth obscured by the shroud of the sun’s angle. Her eyes smile, though.
“I think you are,” she says firmly.
Minjeong’s face warms too. She clears her throat. “You… don’t want to shoot this?” She gestures to the sublime view.
Jimin pauses. “I’ve already done it a dozen times. But still… I never manage to do it justice.” For the first time, she looks wistful.
“I’m sorry.” Jimin breaks the silence, out of the blue.
Minjeong jumps, her skin tingling. “For?”
“I didn’t do you justice, either,” Jimin replies humbly, looking at her lap. “My photos — they’re never right.”
Minjeong’s heart catches in her throat with sheer disbelief at what she’s hearing. “Are you serious right now? Have you even seen — your own photos?”
Jimin just shrugs, dolefully.
“I’ve always been a perfectionist. And when I started snapping pictures, that was one of the things I loved — how once a picture was captured in freeze-frame, it couldn’t be edited or altered anymore. Even if the the subjects in it changed beyond recognition.
“For better or for worse, it was what it was. Honest and clear.”
“How do you feel when taking your favourite pictures? The ones you’re the most satisfied with?”
“Well, I feel… transported. Suspended in time. Like I told you, that’s what I really love most about photography — the ability to freeze a moment for eternity. To stop time.”
"..."
"I guess I feel... happy."
“Hold on to that feeling.”
“…”
“When you feel self-doubt, imperfection — hold on to that feeling, and don’t think about anything else.”
Hold on to that feeling, and don’t think about anything else.
It’s her own words that are ringing in Minjeong’s mind another week later when she leaves the tattoo parlour recommended by Huili and Yizhuo with a minute tattoo of her own.
It’s far too small to be visible to the casual observer — even any of her followers who may have eagle eyes. It’s a secret, intimate like a candid photograph.
Before she can change her mind, she forcefully convinces herself that since she’s already gotten the permanent tattoo, she has to show it to the person it’s meant for.
Minjeong, what’s this?
A tattoo.
A real one?
Yes.
Whoa.
I’ve fallen in love. The way you love photography.
Really?
What do you think?
That’s great…
It’s in Hangul… the person you like is Korean too?
It’s only for the eyes of that person
No one else.
Then why are you showing it to me?
??
Minjeong-ah? Are you there?
“It’s my baobei’s first photo exhibition, everyone please come and show your support!”
Yizhuo wraps up her latest video with a blinding smile she unpeels the moment the camera stops rolling. Minjeong is sitting opposite her, out of frame. Yizhuo folds up her selfie stick, businesslike and checks with her, “You’re coming, right? You know Zhimin’s the only one in class showing more than one photograph.”
“If I’m free,” Minjeong mumbles vaguely.
“Come on!” Yizhuo exclaims, looking gutted. “Your fans are looking forward to the reaction video I promised when you see your photos.”
“Your fans, not mine,” Minjeong mumbles, but forces a smile at Yizhuo’s sad puppy eyes. “I’ll try my best. Okay?”
“Yay!” Her best friend flings her arms around her in a bear hug, and whispers in her ear cheekily, “I was just kidding about the reaction video; I’d never do you dirty like that.”
She’s okay with it, she finally decides after hours of tossing and turning in her dark room, turning her mind inside out in search of the honest truth. Even if Yizhuo and Huili know. Even if they all do.
And thank god she does, because the moment she picks up her phone Yizhuo’s text pops up.
She’s gone home. You can come now ;)
You need to see these.
Minjeong practically races back to school like a nitwit, her mouth dry, heart thumping in her throat. It’s that hour of noon with the fading light slanting in, dust motes illuminated. Jimin’s favourite.
Under that flattering light, Minjeong sees the six pictures one by one. Their very first meeting almost half a year ago, Huili and Yizhuo blurred in the background; a flustered blush high on Minjeong’s cheeks.
Her cheeks, again, filled with bubble tea pearls, smile embarrassingly dorky.
Walking across campus with a harassed expression, struggling to tame papers flying from her half-open book bag. Disheveled and tired, but laughing.
Even a sneaky profile shot she doesn’t remember from the seashore, the sun setting orange around her.
Are you okay? Her mouth slightly agape in mid sentence, lips pursing on the last word. But she doesn’t look a fool — in contrast, a strikingly… tender emotion is etched on her face. She was right — Jimin’s phone photos are spectacular, too. Minjeong feels herself flushing, alone in the dim.
She notes with relief that there’s no sign of the picture Minjeong asked her to delete. She can only imagine how raw and exposed she looked — and can only hope Jimin truly deleted every last trace of it.
She stops before the final picture. It’s rendered in black and white, artistically noir, and a flicker of bewilderment grips her before she realises why it looks so familiar: It’s her picture -- the one she texted Jimin -- but transformed subtly. The juxtaposition changing everything about her shaky phone photo. Another hand superimposed in, almost, barely touching her fingertips. A matching tattoo that looks realer than real, still fresh, on the inside of the other person’s ring finger. Yes, Minjeong reads the Hangul of the single word with bated breath, then lowers her eyes to the title of the photograph beneath it.
Answer.
Her phone buzzes, making her jump in the empty lecture theatre. The sinking light and shadow is everywhere, splashed over Jimin’s — her — photographs, and nothing has ever looked so beautiful.
Minjeong fishes out the phone with clammy, trembling hands.
I can’t stand waiting anymore
I’m heading over.
Do you like them??
P.S. Look at the title of the exhibit
Minjeong backtracks to the first picture. Jimin is in none of them, but her fingerprints are all over, unmistakable, full of feeling. She reads the tiny print below the picture, so understated not many would notice at first glance.
Muse
Sometimes I do wonder if it was naive, a mistake to chase this dream all the way here. But I'm glad I did, because it led me to you.
While waiting, she finally saves Jimin’s number into her phone.