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Jisu opens the door to their home quietly, and the inanimate room greets her the same way.
“I’m home,” she says, hoping her small voice reaches the far end of the equally small apartment complex. She removes her shoes and hangs her coat—have those gotten smaller, too?—turns on the dim light and it blinks at her in return. Jisu makes a mental reminder to have it changed soon. Hopefully, this time, she’ll remember.
She halfheartedly drags her feet towards the kitchen. She doesn’t bother turning on the light this time, and barely manages her way through without stumbling over pieces of trash she forgot to take out. Yet. She’ll get to it soon. What she needs first is a dinner. Hopefully there’s some leftovers for her to devour.
Jisu goes to the fridge, immediately grabbing the first thing she could, which, of course, is a box of pizza from her beloved’s favorite place. She opens it and sees only crumbs, even though she clearly remembers having two slices left from last night. Maybe. She’s uncertain now. She pushes the lump down her throat, picks at the crumbs, stares at it, wondering how the leftovers looked—if she could even remember—before placing it back and tucking the pizza back at the fridge. She’ll throw it out with the trash eventually.
A sigh escapes her lips, and she stumbles yet again in the dim room, relying on her sense of touch to navigate her way through; feeling, sensing, and going around it. She does this for what feels like forever. Then she reaches their room.
Jisu doesn’t hesitate to open it.
Chaeryeong is sleeping.
She always is. That’s what Jisu could remember.
Yeji was rambling earlier about the time Chaeryeong apparently outsmarted their contenders during the 2018 Math Quiz Bee. Ryujin laughed and said how Jisu’s beloved immediately failed a Chemistry quiz after. Yuna shook her head at this, recalling how they went to grab strawberry smoothies after, and how Jisu and Chaeryeong went home later than the three did.
Jisu could remember that. But she can’t remember who suggested to go home late that day. She remembers suggesting Chaeryeong to try dying her hair red, and the younger laughing at it before going to the salon the day after. But Jisu can’t remember how loudly Chaeryeong laughed at the idea. She remembers her heart almost jumping out of her chest when she saw her girlfriend’s makeover for the first time, how she wanted to kiss her right then and there, but she can’t remember how shy Chaeryeong was, or how red her ears were when Jisu complimented her.
Jisu’s breathing hitched, and she grabs her phone, unlocking it. Her homescreen is a picture of another mundane day, just like this, but with brighter lights and cleaner floors and Chaeryeong in the middle of it all, trying to play the guitar for her.
Chaeryeong was beautiful. Chaeryeong is beautiful. Chaeryeong loved being brunette the most, but Jisu loved her red hair. And her black, especially, even though Jisu never managed to save any pictures of it. Chaeryeong looks like she aged ten years younger with her natural hair color, and younger Chaeryeong looked…
Her eyes involuntarily land on Chaeryeong’s sleeping figure, and Jisu’s knees weaken. She leans on the doorframe for support, even though it wasn’t of much help. Jisu redirects her attention back to her phone, scrolling until she finds an old video of Chaeryeong laughing as she wipes icing on Yuna’s face. Jisu’s own laugh overlaps with Chaeryeong’s.
She still remembers how it sounded, doesn’t she? She still remembers how they sounded together, doesn’t she?
Jisu’s eyes involuntarily land on Chaeryeong again, and this time, she’s quick enough to look away, back to her phone, the gallery app still opened. She presses her finger on a picture, but her phone remains unresponsive. She tries scrolling down, but it still won’t budge. Her heart quickens as panic grows inside of it, pressing her phone harder, but it glitches, breaking into different colors until she can’t identify the gallery app anymore, and she throws the phone away.
Jisu almost jumps in place when she sees Chaeryeong’s sleeping figure a bit closer, even when she didn’t move an inch from her place at all. Chaeryeong always looked like this to Jisu. She hated that Chaeryeong now only looked like this to her; unresponsive, unconscious, un… Jisu gulped. She tried to take a step back, but her heels hit the door—since when was it closed? Since when was she stuck inside with this image of Chaeryeong?
Jisu almost screams.
Since when did Chaeryeong’s bed move closer to her again?
Jisu was sure she was trying to get away. Chaeryeong’s sleeping figure is the last thing she wants to remember. Chaeryeong was always here, inside their room, pale and frail and covered in her favorite blanket, chest rising up and going down and rising up in a slow manner. Only her chest moved; her fingers never twitched, her lips never quivered. It felt like she was only a body at most times, with only her chest to indicate she was still—
Jisu can’t take it anymore. She turns around and is about to make a run for it, but she’s greeted by a dead end. Where are the doors? The windows? Where was her phone again? Jisu can’t remember. She closes her eyes. She can try to remember. She has to remember.
Jisu makes the mistake of opening her eyes again.
She’s seated this time, on a stool beside Chaeryeong’s bed. Their bed, but only Chaeryeong ever lay on it. Their hands were intertwined together, and Jisu remembers never wanting to let go of it. She doesn’t remember how her beloved’s hands feel against hers, however. Today, it’s as if… She’s just holding it. It wasn’t warm nor cold. She’s not even sure if she could actually feel it. Was this actually Chaeryeong’s hand?
Jisu drags her eyes to the sleeping silhouette before her. Chaeryeong’s chest rising up and going down. Up, and down. Up, and down. Jisu remembers watching her beloved breathe, the slow rise of her chest serving as her last thread of hope.
Jisu doesn’t drag her eyes further up Chaeryeong’s body. She can’t bring herself to, even though that’s what she did the most when Chaeryeong fell into a deep slumber. Jisu only stared at her beloved’s face, trailing her eyes across every feature to engrave it deep within her memory. She wanted to photograph Chaeryeong’s tranquil sleep and convince herself that her beloved was merely resting, saving up energy until they can be together again.
Jisu’s vision blurs with tears, and she blinks those away, but Chaeryeong’s face remains a blur. It took a sharp blow to her heart—battered, bruised, and now in pieces she faked to be still intact. She wanted to convince herself it was still intact, the same way she tried to convince herself that after all those years—or even after only those few years—she still remembers.
That she doesn’t forget.
She hasn’t forgotten.
But now Chaeryeong’s face was a blur. Her chest was still rising up. Going down. Rising up. But her face was…
Jisu hung her head, letting the tears fall along with the slither of hope she kept hidden.
Then, she jolts awake.
Inside her room.
No, their room. Hers and Chaeryeong’s. But only Chaeryeong ever lied on it before; when she was nothing but limbs whose chest slowly rose up before coming down again. And now only Jisu only ever lied on it. Her chest aching with every memory, indicating that she was still alive and mourning.
Jisu looks at the picture on their nightstand. It was from their first vacation overseas together. Chaeryeong was beautiful. Chaeryeong is beautiful. Jisu still remembers—she can remember as long as she has her photos and videos and—
For how long can Jisu remember?
Without the photos and videos?
She doesn’t want to forget.
Will Chaeryeong ever be forgotten?
Have they already slowly started to forget Chaeryeong, the same way she did?
Jisu’s breath hitched, and she brings her knees close to her chest, letting her head rest on it.
She doesn’t want to forget.
She hasn’t forgotten yet.