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Prologue: About Love

Their shared apartment lives on a semi-busy street right across the Korean takeout place Minji used to work at when they were still in college. Some mornings, Hanni sits by the window and watches the garbage truck drive by. It’s there, then it’s gone, leaving back the smell of rotten food and wet cardboard.

“Hey,” Minji’s voice cuts through the silence. “I need some help with the script.”

“For what?” Hanni turns around, legs lazily dangling off the windowsill. “The play about talking dogs and crickets?”

“Nope,” Minji mumbles, taking a sip from her coffee. “It’s a love story between a table and a chair.”

Hanni raises an eyebrow. “Are you having a fever dream?”

“Unfortunately not,” Minji sighs, opening the box of cigarettes lying on the table. “It’s this indie film project Sam is working on. She asked if I could help out with the screenplay.”

“And how can I help you with that?”

Minji lifts her gaze and lights the cigarette. “Tell me everything you know about love.”

The smoke fills the thoughtful silence that follows. And for some reason, Hanni starts thinking about Minji.

Hanni has known Minji since college. Back then, Minji always wore those thick glasses with black frames, walking around looking like a textbook nerd. At a party, a guy once told Hanni, “She’s totally undateable.”

“Why?” Hanni asked, and whatever attraction she had towards him suddenly disappeared like cotton candy in water.

“She’s too tall.”

“You’re just insecure,” Hanni said, before walking away, not sparing him a second glance.

On her way back, she called Minji. “He’s a dick,” she slurred into the phone, the evening air feeling cold against her flushed skin. “I would totally date you if I was a guy.”

There was a momentary silence on the other side, then a chuckle. “You’re drunk.” Minji’s warm voice seeped through the speakers like the beginning of a familiar song and it made Hanni laugh—not the fake high-pitched one she does when her professor tells an unfunny joke, but a genuine one, the kind that vibrates through her chest and warms her whole body.

“I mean it,” Hanni said, leaning against the window as the bus roared into motion. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“Drunk guys at parties, apparently,” Minji said, almost sounding amused.

“Oh, fuck them,” Hanni mumbled, then hiccuped. “What do they know about love?”

“Right,” Minji chuckled again, this time a little softer. “What do they know about love?”

A breeze sneaks in through the open window. Hanni can still hear the garbage truck in the distance.

“And if I told you I know nothing about love?”

Minji exhaled. Another cloud of smoke, obscuring her face. “You do.” A hazy smile, like something out of a dream. “Of course you do.”

Love is scary, Hanni wants to say. Scary because it makes you spend whole afternoons learning how to cook their favorite dish. Scary because you write tear stained journal entries instead of telling them. Scary because it makes you pass up on live-changing opportunities just because you don't want them to cry alone in an empty apartment.

But instead, Hanni says, “You know, love is like salt. Too much and it’ll kill you. A sprinkle is enough.”

Minji blinks, then bursts out laughing, choking on the smoke. Tears are forming at the corners of her eyes, and Hanni can see all her teeth, even the molars in the back.

And Hanni thinks Minji is pretty, and that she will never meet a girl prettier than Minji.

One: Love You. Goodnight.

Today at the dance studio, Hanni stands in front of a group of kindergartners dressed in tutus and point shoes, still wearing her usual hoodie and baggy jeans combo. She feels judged—especially by that toddler whose eyes are fixed on her worn-out sneakers.

“Uh… Sarah is sick, so I'm taking over the class today,” Hanni says with an awkward smile.

It doesn’t go horribly. Hanni manages to deliver a somewhat convincing performance (thanks to the thirty YouTube videos she studied the evening before)—but that doesn’t make it any less mentally draining.

“I felt like some sort of undercover spy,” Hanni tells Minji on the phone, still a little out of breath. She ran to catch the bus, almost instinctively. In college, she was always in a hurry to get somewhere. Now she rarely ever is—most of the time she doesn't even know where she wants to be.

“I’m sure you didn’t do that badly,” Minji says. After a long day, her voice always feels like a reward—a warm soup, a refreshing shower. Honestly, Hanni wouldn’t know what to do without Minji.

“But it’s just—” A guy shoves Hanni out of the way. Hanni glares back at him before continuing. “It’s just not what I really want to do.”

“Hey, cheer up,” Minji says. “I’m gonna wait for you at the takeout place. Nothing a little good food can’t fix.”

♡︎

When Hanni arrives, Minji is already waiting for her at one of the tables in the back. They always sit there when they come here.

“Kimchi stew, dumplings, cheesy rice cakes,” Minji mumbles through a mouthful of rice. “The chicken is coming up soon.”

“And one stir-fried cabbage,” Hanni says, plopping down in the seat across from Minji. “How often do I have to tell you that vegetables are a must in your diet?”

Another mouthful of food. Chewing, swallowing. “I eat apples,” Minji says like a sulky toddler.

“Fruits and vegetables are not the same thing.”

The first time they ate here, Minji told her about home—about cold winters and scorching summers, about school uniforms and sports festivals. And Hanni listened—until the stew went cold, until the sky changed color.

“And what about you?” Minji asked, cheeks a faint shade of pink. She already had one entire bottle of Soju. “Do you miss home?”

“Always,” Hanni confessed. “The beach especially.”

“We only have mountains,” Minji says. “But they are good in the summer. Gets pretty breezy up there.”

“So, if you had to pick one: mountain or beach?”

Minji contemplated, that familiar frown appearing on her face. “Mountain, I think. I hate when sand gets into your shoes.”

“I guess we’re moving into a mountain hut when we’re both unmarried at thirty-five.”

Minji laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

The fluorescent light buzzes. Steam rises in the air. Minji’s face still looks the same it did all those years ago. And even now, Hanni prays that it’s more than just an empty promise.

“By the way, Kevin is throwing a house party tonight,” Minji says, biting into a rice cake. “Are you coming?”

“Kevin?”

“Freshman party. You almost puked on his shirt. Remember?”

Hanni doesn’t. It seems that all she remembers from college—except for Minji—is the cold wooden floor of the dance room, and the sleepless nights spent crying over assignments.

But even those memories had Minji somewhere wedged in them. The times when Minji picked her up after classes on the Vespa which started huffing and puffing as soon as it ran more than thirty minutes. Or the late-night phone calls with Minji on the speaker, half asleep while Hanni was breaking down over the new dance routine.

“You know, Kevin knows a bunch of artsy people,” Minji says. “Maybe you’ll find someone nice there.”

“That absolutely won't happen.”

The last time she went to a party with Minji, they somehow ended up in the guy’s bathtub, sitting shoulder to shoulder and listening to the commotion outside. Minji was cradling an empty bottle of vodka like an emotional support doll, her eyes unfocused as she turned to face Hanni.

“Where do you think we’re going to be in five years?”

Hanni laughed, hugging her knees closer. “Are you seriously asking me this right now?”

“You wanted to talk,” Minji grumbled, peering into the empty bottle like it was a kaleidoscope. Then she pointed it at Hanni like a microphone. “So answer the question.”

“You’re gonna be a successful writer and you’ll write articles about all sorts of things: food, travel, people. And you will publish a few books—there will be one about your hometown and one about your three-month stay in Canada. And you’ll have a nice apartment overlooking a busy street. It’s probably going to be really minimalistic, a few shelves here and there, nothing fancy, all gray and white—”

“And what about you?” Minji interrupted her.

Hanni blinks, suddenly not knowing what to say. She searches, then grabs the first thing that seems logical. “Married, probably.”

“What about dancing?”

“I don’t know.” Hanni put her chin on her knee. The lights in the bathroom were dim. Her leg was touching Minji’s. “I want to have kids, though, two of them.”

Actually, she thought about living with Minji—somewhere in the busy parts of New York, where things were always in motion. She thought about waking up together and dinner parties with rich, pretentious friends. And running through the streets at night and crashing into a soft bed, giggling like teenagers. But she knew that that wasn’t the life Minji wanted, and it wasn’t the life Hanni should want.

“You want kids?” Minji shifted, and Hanni couldn’t tell if she was trying to move away or closer.

“I don’t know, actually. It just seemed like the right thing to say,” Hanni said, staring up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “What about you?”

“I don’t think I would ever want to put myself through pregnancy. But I think kids are cute.”

“I can give you one of mine then,” Hanni said, before realizing how ridiculous it sounded. “I’ll have two anyway.”

Minji grinned and it only made Hanni feel stupider. “I don’t think that’s how things work.”

But that’s the thing about love, it makes you do all sorts of stupid things.

Like spending your Friday night at some guy named Kevin’s party, just to catch a glimpse of that smile from across the room.

“And that’s Danielle,” Minji shouts over the loud music, pointing at the girl beside her. “She sculpts and stuff.”

Danielle laughs, shaking Hanni’s hand. “Nice to meet you!” She seems nice and kind, and Hanni thinks she could like her if she wanted to.

“Where do you know her from?” Hanni asks Minji after they find a quiet corner somewhere in the apartment. It was a tiny room filled with cleaning appliances, smelling like moldy mops and soap.

“Oh, I helped her out with an art project once,” Minji says, trying to shove a broom back into place. “You know, the one who said I’ve nice biceps.”

That happened almost a month ago. Minji came home one day, wearing a proud smile on her face, and asked, “You think you would recognize my arm if it was part of an art exhibit?”

“What is this about now?” Hanni lifted her gaze from the book she had been trying to finish since last year. Somehow, she never made it past page 170.

Minji flexed her biceps, not at all discouraged by Hanni’s lack of enthusiasm. “A girl took twenty pictures of my arms today,” she said, grinning. “She is using them as references for her ancient Greek-inspired sculptures.”

“You’re making it sound like you won the Oscars.” Hanni rolled her eyes. “And also, your arms look quite unassuming to me.”

“You’re just jealous,” Minji said with that stupid little grin. “But you know, I think I would recognize your arm. Hell, I even know how to tell your hair apart from mine.”

“You just do it to blame the hair in the sink on me,” Hanni scoffed, biting back a smile.

Outside the storeroom, the party grows bigger and wilder—smashed bottles, vomit on the floor, the smell of alcohol in every corner. But inside, Hanni is showing Minji all the TikToks she has saved for her. Ever since Minji deleted her account in a futile attempt to combat her phone addiction, she was basically using Hanni as her daily dose of internet. (But Hanni bets that she isn’t going to make it past week two before relapsing into the YouTube and dinner phase)

And when they eventually get bored (and the alcohol starts to taste like alcohol and not the promise of something better), Minji takes Hanni by the hand and says, “Let's dip.” to which Hanni replies “Your socks are mismatched.”

The empty, cold night welcomes them with open arms. The blinking of traffic lights and neon signs. Unfamiliar streets turn into familiar ones, then back into unfamiliar ones. Minji is in front of Hanni. She always is. And Hanni watches her stretch her arms out—like a bird, like a scarecrow. Hanni never quite knows if Minji longs for the sky or the ground. Maybe it's both. They keep running—past the park with the duck pond, past Minji’s favorite bookstore, past the tall skyscrapers that made them feel like ants in comparison, carefree laughs echoing through the concrete jungle.

Back home, they crash into Hanni's unmade bed. The bra she forgot to throw into the laundry basket, the top she wore out to that date last week and the oversized T-shirt she borrowed from Minji and never returned—piling up into a little mountain that she always promises she would take care of but never does.

“Your room’s a mess,” Minji mumbles, snuggling into Hanni's pillow.

“Sleep in your own bed then,” Hanni huffs, trying to push Minji off her bed.

“Can't move,” Minji scoots closer, draping her arm over Hanni's waist. “My legs are sore.”

“Stop complaining then.”

A soft exhale, like a laugh—but something a little more tender. The air around them settles into a languid silence. Then Minji mumbles, “Love you. Goodnight.”

Hanni closes her eyes. “Love you too. Goodnight.”

Once, when Hanni came home smashed from a birthday party, she flopped onto Minji's bed, and when Minji tried to push her off, all she said was, “Love you. Goodnight.”

The next morning, when Minji asked her about it, Hanni just shrugged. “My mom always says that. Love you. Goodnight. Does your mom not?”

“Nope,” Minji responded. “She rarely even uses the word love. It's too dramatic for her.”

Hanni was having microwave lasagna for breakfast. She forgot to do the groceries again. “Then she probably expresses it in a different way I guess,” she said, licking her fork clean. “Like my dad thinks it’s sappy to end calls with I love you so he says ahoy or something silly.”

Minji laughed. “Well, my mom always asks if I have eaten yet.”

That night, when Minji walked past Hanni's room before going to bed, she carefully opened the door, peeked in, and said, “Love you. Goodnight.”

And it's been like that ever since.

Two: We’ll be fine.

“Oh, by the way, Kevin asked for your number,” Minji says the next morning, still sitting in Hanni's bed, nursing a cup of coffee.

“After we basically stole his bottle of expensive vodka?”

Minji shrugs. “He didn't ask for any compensation, just your number.” She takes another sip from her drink, a dog-eared copy of Sherlock Holmes sitting in her lap. For someone who deals with books for a living, Minji's reading diet is surprisingly one-sided. Hanni has only ever seen her read mystery novels and a stable rotation of the same three Japanese authors.

“Sounds a bit like he is threatening us,” Hanni says, plopping down next to Minji with a cup of tea. She never drinks coffee—it upsets her stomach.

“And he said he wanted to take you out for dinner sometime this week.”

Hanni raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t he be asking us for dinner?”

“I guess that's just the power of love.” Minji grins into the half-empty cup. “Makes you ignore all sorts of things.”

“That’s not love. That’s obsession.”

Minji shrugs, then she looks up at Hanni, her expression a little more serious. “I know he looks a bit like a sad white rat but don’t let that guilt trip you into doing anything. He won't die if you say no.”

“I know, I know,” Hanni says dismissively.

“You always know. But you never do.”

Minji squints, and it reminds Hanni of the way her mother did when Hanni swore she didn't forget to take the chicken out the freezer. (She did.)

It’s a bit condescending—like Minji still thinks Hanni is that immature little teenager fresh out of high school. And perhaps worse than that condensation is that Hanni feels part of it to be true—she never really felt like an adult. But that doesn't mean she isn't trying.

“Because I’m busy,” Hanni says, almost defensively. “Really busy.”

And she isn't lying. She has to think about the next meal, about when to take the trash out, and also, taxes, and sometimes the laundry. And if it’s not that, she is busy scrolling through her Instagram feed and finding out that another old classmate just got a boyfriend.

"Well, speaking of busy,” Minji puts her cup aside, scooting off Hanni's bed. “I’ve got somewhere to be soon. Andrew wants to have brunch together.” Then she disappears into the bathroom and Hanni takes a sip from her tea, forgetting it's still burning hot.

“He thinks I am cheating, sort of,” Minji told Hanni one night. They were still in college back then—drunk, stupid, reckless. And Andrew has always been outside of that, outside of everything. “But he knows I’m not. Which makes him even more furious.” 

“You should break up with him then,” Hanni had then said. No answer from Minji.

♡︎

Hanni spends another long day at the dance studio—mopping floors and cleaning mirrors. Afterwards, she sits in the back of a practice room and watches the bodies moving through the music and imagines herself standing on the stage. But lately, she doesn't quite remember what that feels like anymore. 

“Hey, do you have a second?” Hanni lifts her head and sees Ryujin standing in front of her, grinning against the sun falling in from the window.

Hanni sighs. “No, I can't sub in for another ballet class.”

“It’s good news,” Ryujin says, sitting down beside Hanni. “They might use you in the Christmas show.”

“You're joking!” Hanni shoots up, voice cracking from excitement.

Ryujin takes a generous gulp from her water bottle. “Never been more serious in my life.” She grins, a dimple carving itself onto her cheek.

♡︎

“What’s with that energy? Did something good happen?” Minji asks when she sees Hanni standing in front of the publishing company. 

(Minji got the job earlier this month. They threw a whole big party for it. Then Minji started ditching her graphic tees for white blouses and got a pair of new fancy glasses. Hanni still doesn't really know how she feels about that.)

“Isn’t there a nice hot pot place somewhere around here?” Hanni asks, still a little out of breath. She had run the whole way here—uphill, downhill, traffic light, grinning like an idiot as she skipped down the crosswalk.

“What?” Minji raises an eyebrow. “Did you win the lottery?”

“No, even better than that.” Hanni grabs Minji’s shoulders, looking her in the eye. “They might put me in the Christmas performance!”

“Really?” Minji cradles Hanni’s face, her hands warm even in this cold weather. Then she squishes her cheeks together, letting out an excited scream. “Oh my gosh, this is insane!”

“Batshit insane!” Hanni laughs, her breath turning white in the cold air. It's almost winter again, but this year Hanni doesn't dread the cold season. She looks forward to the snow, to the performance, to seeing Minji smile at her in the audience.

♡︎

Suddenly, life doesn’t seem so bad at all. Hanni wakes up in the morning and for once, existential dread isn’t the first thing she feels. Forty days until the Christmas performance, the calendar on her nightstand tells her and she grins at the date before hopping into the shower.

After work, Minji takes her to the movies. And while Hanni snacks away on the over-salted popcorn, Minji falls asleep beside her, head slumping against Hanni's shoulder, like two magnets slotting into place. She wakes up when the credits start rolling and when the lights switch back on, the first thing Hanni sees is that lazy little grin on Minji's face. It's stupid, almost a little endearing.

“You know how much we paid for those movie tickets?”

Minji runs a hand over her face, trying to wake herself up. “Not my fault that the seats are so comfortable.”

On the train back home, Minji keeps fidgeting with her fingers and obsessively checking her phone. When the train comes to a screeching halt, one station before theirs, she carefully looks at Hanni, like she is afraid to meet her gaze.

“I’ve to tell you something, but promise you won't be angry.”

“What? Did you burn the kitchen again?”

“No, I didn't—”

“God, don't tell me you got soup all over the carpet.”

“No, I just—”

“What? Even worse—”

“Hanni,” Minji grabs her by the shoulder. “Just listen for a second, would you?”

Hanni doesn't know if she wants to; she already has a slight inkling of what this could be about. Yesterday, when Minji was in the shower, Hanni saw her phone light up with a message from Andrew. She knows she wasn't supposed to read it, but curiosity got the better of her and she took a peek.

they want a reply by tomorrow evening

Minji chews on her lips, before hesitantly opening her mouth again. “Andrew asked me to move in with him. He said he found a nice place near the publishing company.”

“That’s good news, isn't it?” Hanni tries to laugh. It feels like grinding two unoiled gears against each other.

“Yes, I know, but…” Minji exhales and deflates into the seat like a balloon slowly losing air. “It’s just so sudden. And I don't know if I'm ready. And I—”

“Minji, you’ll be fine.”

“But what about you?”

The train rattles into motion again. Hanni looks out the window. Day melting into night, the setting sun disappearing behind tall buildings. It reminds her of the train rides back in college, where for a brief moment, nothing really seemed to matter, and they talked about the future, like it was just a distant, insignificant star.

But now that future is right at their doorstep, bright and scorching as the sun, glinting off the metal railing and burning in Hanni’s eyes.

“I’ll be fine too,” she finally says, smiling at Minji. “We’ll both be fine.”

Three: Before, During, After.

Everything happens in the blink of an eye. One day, Minji's books lay in a pile in the corner of the living room. The next, the apartment is wiped of all traces of her existence. The only things left now are the oversized T-shirt in Hanni's closet and one loose sock that somehow found its way into Hanni's laundry.

Tonight, there is a party somewhere in Chinatown. Minji was supposed to be there too but Hanni got a message thirty minutes ago that she can't come. Some issues with the moving company, or something. It doesn't really matter—she just isn't there, and Hanni misses her.

“Hey, good to see you here!” It's Danielle. Hanni still remembers her from Kevin's party.

Hanni smiles, relieved to see a familiar face in a sea of strangers. “Good to see you too.”

Danielle is indeed very likable. She laughs a lot—a bright sound like the ringing of bells—and when she doesn't laugh, she wears that perpetual smile, beaming like the sun itself. And she talks in that thick Australian accent that transports Hanni right back to the sandy beaches.

“Well, mate.” Danielle grins, three shots in and eyes dazed. “Wanna dip and grab a drink somewhere?”

“Sure, mate.” Hanni grins back, feeling strangely close to home.

♡︎

The bar is much quieter and more fitting for conversations. There, Hanni learns that Danielle is still in college, and Danielle lets out a surprised gasp when Hanni tells her she already graduated.

“But you look so…” Danielle gestures vaguely with her hands, like she is sifting through her mental lexicon for the right words.

“Young? Childish? Like I haven't got my shit together yet?” Hanni takes a sip from her margarita. “News flash—I’m just a grandma with a baby face.”

“C’mon, twenty-four is nowhere near old!”

“It's never about the actual number,” Hanni says, another sip from her drink. “It’s about how you feel.”

Danielle raises an eyebrow, amused. “And how old do you feel?”

“Sixty-five approximately, been through three divorces and lost all my children. And now I spend my night drinking away all my worries.”

Danielle laughs, her shoulder bumping against Hanni's. It reminds her of Minji—of the nights they spend drinking cheap wine and sticking their heads out the window. And suddenly, Hanni is missing Minji again.

When the bill comes through, Hanni resists the urge to gawk at the number and takes out her credit card, handing it to the bartender. “On me,” she says with an easy grin.

Seconds later, the bartender comes back. Her card has been declined.

“We only take cash or debit,” he tells her with an apologetic smile.

For a moment, Hanni considers dashing out the door and moving to another country—Antarctica maybe. But the next moment, she is back in the bar, sitting under the dim light, staring into Danielle's clueless brown eyes.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she says, face buried in her palm. “I’m not a real person yet.”

Danielle shakes her head with a laugh. “It's fine, I can pay—”

“No, no, no. I'm not letting a college student pay for my drinks!” Hanni snatches the bill from Danielle’s hand. “I’m gonna get some cash from the ATM! Be back real soon!”

Then she runs—into the open street, into the freezing night. Past the park with the duck pond, past Minji's favorite bookstore, past the tall skyscrapers that look down at her with a taunting glint. No ATM. She tries the supermarket where Minji always gets her lunch from. Sorry, we were just robbed three days ago. The train station. Error. And finally a kind old lady points her towards a hotel.

She gets the money, tucks it into the pocket of her jacket, trips over her own foot, onto the hard concrete. Gets up and sprints again.

“Hey, you’re bleeding,” Danielle says with a worried frown when Hanni walks up to her. “Like from your arm or something.”

“Oh, shit.” Hanni glances down at her arm. An open wound right at her elbow. She tries to brush it off—it’s barely a scratch—but Danielle insists that she should get it treated immediately.

“I live close by,” she says, grabbing her bag. “We need to disinfect that first—right, I still have that first aid kit lying around somewhere. And then…” She rambles on in a panicked fury.

Hanni wants to tell her that everything is okay, that a little scratch won't kill her, but at the same time, it feels strangely comforting to know that there is someone out there who cares about her—about a little scratch on her arm.

♡︎

Danielle's apartment is nice and cozy. It feels like home, unlike Hanni's place, which looks like a painting someone took a bite out of. The furniture, the potted plants, even the random figurines—they all look like they belong here, like they will always belong here.

“Wait a sec, I think I must have put it somewhere here,” Danielle says when they are in the bathroom, her features sharp under the fluorescent lights. Hanni notices the tiny moles on her cheek and the way her hair curls at her temples.

“Your eyelashes are really long,” Hanni blurts out when Danielle leans over to put a carrot-themed band-aid over the wound. “Sorry, forget it,” she immediately adds after meeting Danielle's gaze. “I’m… just really drunk right now.”

“Don’t worry, I get that a lot,” Danielle laughs, smoothing out the band-aid. The touch feels warm and comforting. “When I was younger I even had to get them trimmed because they kept poking my eyes.”

“Doesn't sound fun.”

“Yeah, and I've also been told they tickle when I kiss people.”

Hanni chuckles. “Okay, now you're lying.”

“Wanna try?” Danielle grins and it reminds Hanni of Minji again. Lately, everything does, even the smell of wet cardboard.

“Sorry, I just can't get this one person out of my head right now, and… I feel weird doing it with their face in my mind…” Hanni stumbles, before she grabs the edge of the sink. Her head is spinning. “Sorry, I don't know why I’m even telling you all of this.”

“No, no, I get it,” Danielle says. She doesn't seem hurt, or angry—just strangely accepting, like she is witnessing something she has already seen a million times before. “Relationships are just…” A vague gesture—a flick of the wrist, a fist opening and closing, like she is trying to grab something, then she finds the words. “Really confusing.”

“Life is.” Hanni stares at her own reflection in the mirror behind her. She looks like a blur of colors and shapes—smudged lipstick, blood on her cracked lips, unfocused eyes. 

Danielle doesn't say anything; she just looks at Hanni, smiling faintly. I’m here. I’m listening. She tells Hanni in the same way Minji used to.

“Have you,” Hanni hiccups, a small, pathetic little sound, “ever met a person that makes your life exist in a before, during and after? Like… before you knew them you were just waiting for them to arrive. And when they're there, you just live. And when they’re gone… you suddenly forget how to do anything. Like even the laundry—like you know how to do the laundry, but even that you somehow fuck up.”

There is a moment of silence. Danielle looks at Hanni, really looks, like she's peering into the reflections in Hanni's eyes. Then says, like a confession, “I’m still in the during, I think. They're still there, probably sleeping. Wait, I think they just woke up.”

The bathroom door creaks open, revealing a girl with sleep-tousled hair. She looks like a cat that has somehow lost their way into this apartment, curious eyes glancing at Hanni, then at Danielle.

“Morning,” the girl greets Hanni with a small, cautious nod.

Danielle laughs. “It's night, Haerin.”

For a brief moment, Hanni wonders if she and Minji were something like that. Looking across the room and catching each other's eyes. Smiling, like they know something nobody does, and nobody ever will.

“Your stomach just grumbled,” Haerin's voice cuts in again, eyes still on Danielle.

“Hey, don't say that out loud!” Danielle says, clearly flustered. “I’m sorry…” She turns back to Hanni, her cheeks faintly pink. “She’s just really… straightforward.”

And somehow, that leads to Hanni standing in the middle of Danielle’s kitchen at 1 AM, making omelettes for two hungry mouths.

“Haerin knows a bunch of stuff,” Danielle says, her fork cutting into the soft egg. “She also gives really good relationship advice for someone who has never dated.”

“Coaches don't play,” Haerin retorts. Then she looks at Hanni, pointing at the half-eaten omelette on her plate. “Really good by the way. Best omelette I've had in ages.”

“Hey,” Danielle pouts, “I thought mine were the best.”

“Second best.” Haerin grins.

At 2 AM, Danielle gets the brilliant idea of playing Twister in the middle of the living room. To get to know each other better. It ends with Haerin almost breaking her back and Danielle narrowly dodging a tendon rupture.

“God, you’re flexible!” Danielle flops onto the Twister mat after losing the third round to Hanni.

Hanni grins. “Well, I’m a dancer after all.”

“What do you do again? Ballet? Jazz?”

“Modern. And a bit of Hip Hop.”

“Oh, wait Haerin, didn't you use to do Hip Hop?”

“For three weeks in freshman year,” Haerin replies weakly, still exhausted from the game.

“You were pretty good,” Danielle says. “C’mon show us a move!”

“I’m not embarrassing myself in front of a professional.”

“Then Hanni!” Danielle grins up at Hanni. “Show us a move!”

“Me?” Hanni points at herself. Danielle nods enthusiastically. Even Haerin looks at her expectantly. “Uh, okay, I guess.”

She steps back, takes a deep breath, then spins—a pirouette. The world around her blurs for a moment, before coming back with amplified colors. The green carpet, the wooden shelf, the offensive pink of Danielle's furry slipper.

And it’s absolutely ridiculous—Danielle’s loud whistle, Haerin's impressed little claps—but for some reason Hanni isn't embarrassed. It's almost like when she was still with Minji—when she did those silly little dances to the sounds of a broken car alarm and Minji laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever seen in her life.

Four: That's why I have to leave

One week later, Hanni is standing in front of Danielle and Haerin’s apartment with a pile of moving boxes. They had a spare room after their old roommate left, they both adored Hanni's cooking. It was basically bound to happen.

Life settles into a new rhythm. Hanni comes home and finds Haerin studying at the kitchen table. They don't talk much, but Hanni enjoys the silent company. When Danielle returns, smelling like alcohol and fresh plaster, it's almost always already dark. Every now and then, a girl follows her home, but usually, Hanni never sees them more than once.

“You know, I really liked Nancy,” Hanni tells Danielle one morning. Nancy was the girl Danielle brought home last night. She had a kind smile and smelled like freshly baked bread.

“She's nice,” Danielle says, dipping a cookie into milk. “But she said she prefers us being a casual thing.”

“And what do you think about that?”

“I told her I don't do that. I always tell people I don't do that.”

Hanni laughs. “Then picking up drunk girls at parties is probably not the best idea.”

Danielle takes a bite from the soggy cookie. “I know, but I keep telling myself that it will be different this time. That we’ll have breakfast together, and that they’ll realize that I’m actually really dateable.” She sighs, taking a sip of the lukewarm milk. “It just never happens.”

“Quite like a modern-day Sisyphus analogy,” Haerin says without looking up from her book. It’s some sort of ancient Greek philosophy thing. Minji had to read it too for a course back in college, and there is one single line from it that stuck with Hanni—the one Minji read to her one lazy afternoon when they were lounging on their old, faux leather couch.

Love is merely the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole.

Even now, Hanni thinks about it sometimes. When she's sitting at a table filled with people and still feeling strangely hollow. Or when she looks out the window, waiting for something that will never arrive.

And today, she still thinks about it when she stands inside the empty practice room, staring at her own reflection in the mirror. She thinks about dancing, about the feeling of weightlessness, about Minji—about how it's all love.

Then she jumps, leaping across the room—flying—before landing back on her feet.

The ground is cold.

♡︎

Minji visits her on the second week of moving in, a flower bouquet in her arms, and Hanni wants to kiss that stupid lopsided grin off her face. Or punch her. She should flip a coin.

“Wow, can’t believe you're still this messy,” Minji says, before throwing herself onto the unmade bed.

“I’m not messy,” Hanni huffs, slumping down beside her. “I’m busy.”

“But I like your mess,” Minji says, her eyes are amber in the sunlight. “It's artistic.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Hanni says, barely registering the words coming from her mouth. Minji is still so pretty, even with her heavy eye bags and smudged mascara. And Hanni is mesmerized.

“You know, I used to think art is kind of always about finding structure in chaos. Like writing for example—there is a vomit of words in your head and you have to somehow figure out how to get it on paper.”

“And what does that have to do with me leaving my bra under my pillow?”

“Because you’re different,” Minji says, covering her eyes from the sun. “Chaos is your structure.”

Hanni blinks. For a moment, she wonders if this is all just a dream. Minji on her bed, looking at her, sun kissing her skin. But she blinks again and Minji is still there, lying in her bed and looking at her like she always did.

Yet, nothing is the same anymore, and Hanni knows it never will be.

“Do you have time later?” Minji asks. “I’m having dinner with Andrew.”

Hanni sighs, a strange aching in her chest. “I'm not into third wheeling.”

“He asked me to invite you. It's a sort of approval thing, I guess.” Minji sits up and brushes her hair back into place. “He thinks you hate him.”

“I don't,” Hanni mumbles. It's not entirely untrue. “Besides, why does he even need my approval?”

“He basically thinks of you as part of my family. Everyone does. Even my parents do.”

“What? Because we’re both Asian?”

Minji blinks. Then she starts laughing uncontrollably. 

“What?” Hanni scoffs. “Just making sure he can tell us apart.”

Minji wipes away a tear hanging at the corner of her eyes. “I’m pretty sure he knows we’re not related by blood,” Minji says, before her face softens into a smile. “But you know, I always feel like I’ve known you forever. I guess that’s not so different from family.”

A breeze, the curtains dance, Minji’s hair flutters, and suddenly, Hanni feels like she is looking at a memory—something already long gone and only lingering in pieces.

♡︎

When Hanni walks into the restaurant with Minji, Andrew is already waiting for them. He is wearing a suit, smells like razor foam, and flashes Hanni a white-teethed smile when he shakes her hand.

And Hanni really doesn’t hate him. He is nice, soft-spoken, and caring. But he is fine the same way a glass of tap water is—it’s a drink, but ultimately, the blandest and most boring kind.

They sit down, Minji next to Andrew and Hanni across from them. Minji picks up the menu, skimming it before handing it to Hanni. Then she picks up the glass of water, takes a sip, before asking Andrew about his day.

“You know, the usual,” Andrew responds, his voice laced with a sort of warm familiarity, and Hanni feels a stinging pain in her chest.

It's not precisely jealousy. It's just that sometimes she watches Minji smile at him and wonders which version of Minji is the realer one. If it's the one that nudges Hanni's shoulder when they brush their teeth together in the morning, or the one that only Andrew gets to see.

The steak he orders for them is hard as rock, the whole table shaking every time someone attempts to cut into it. Hanni exchanges a glance with Minji, both biting back a laugh as Andrew saws away on his meal with undivided attention.

“Oh, yeah, has Minji told you about Tokyo?” Andrew asks when he finally gets a piece of the meat.

“Andrew, I told you—”

“Tokyo, what?" Hanni asks, her eyes fixed on Minji's face.

Minji avoids her gaze, looking down at the salt and pepper shakers.

“I’m moving to Tokyo for my job,” Andrew says, oblivious to the shift in the mood. “And I asked Minji to come along.”

“I haven’t said yes yet,” Minji blurts out, before catching herself. “I mean—I’m still thinking about it—”

Hanni doesn’t want to hear more. She gets up and simply says, “Bathroom.”

Minji grabs her wrist before she can leave. “Look, why can't we just talk it out like real adults?”

“In the bathroom,” Hanni says, dragging Minji with her.

“I lied,” Hanni says when they're in the bathroom.

Minji sighs. “About what?”

“I don’t like him.” Hanni crosses her arms and leans against the sink. “And you also don’t like him.”

“Who told you that?” Minji asks calmly—like none of this matters—and it makes Hanni furious.

“You did!” she yells. “I was the one holding your hair when you threw up into the trash can and said you would rather die than marry him! Minji, don't treat me like a three-hour brunch friend! I know you better than the back of my hand!”

“Well, I like him now,” Minji says, trying to maintain her composure. But her eyes are getting red. “People change all the time.”

“He doesn’t even know you don’t like steak!”

Minji’s voice grows louder. “And why does that matter?”

“Because—because I know that you hate that soft middle part of cucumbers! And I know—I know how you like your breakfast eggs and what brand of mayonnaise you were obsessed with in freshman year—and how you pretend to like olives to seem more mature! And—”

And I love you.

But Hanni doesn't say it. How can she when Minji is looking at her with that disapproving frown again, like a mother disappointed in their child?

“I think we've been in each other's lives too much,” Minji says after a long silence. “You know, like the salt thing you said. Too much and it will kill you.”

Hanni's jaw clenches. “So you hate me?”

“I don't hate you.” Minji sighs. “I’m holding you back.”

“What do you mean—”

“Paris,” Minji cuts her off. “That internship. Why didn't you accept it?”

Hanni's breath hitches. She tries to say something but the words keep slipping down her throat. Why? Hanni remembers what she told her parents. She remembers what she told her diary. But the truth is—

 “That's why I have to leave,” Minji finally says after a long silence. Then she leaves, and Hanni can only watch it happen.

♡︎

The walk back to the apartment feels like a never-ending uphill. The road in front of her is blurry—she is drunk. She has never gotten drunk on wine.

“We’re almost there,” Haerin says, holding her by the waist. Hanni doesn’t quite remember if she has texted Haerin herself, or if it was Minji who called her after Hanni declined Andrew’s offer of driving her back.

He doesn’t know how to read the air at all, or maybe he pretends to be oblivious, so he doesn’t have to think about what that tense silence means as they finish dinner together.

Up the stairs, Hanni almost throws up. Past the door, into the living room, then Hanni is in her messy, unmade bed again.

“If you lie on the edge and put one foot on the floor, it helps with the spins,” she heard Haerin say. “Danielle always does it.”

Hanni tries it. She does feel a little better.

“Call me if you need anything,” Haerin says, already standing by the door.

Hanni squints against the light that seeps in from the living room. Then she asks, “Did your mom say I love you when she put you to bed as a child?”

“No,” Haerin says, not at all taken aback by the jump in topic. “But Danielle's mother did. And now she does that too.”

“To you?”

Haerin nods.

“And you say it back?”

“Sometimes.”

“And you tuck her back into bed when she comes home drunk?”

“She refuses to sleep when she is drunk,” Haerin says, a fond smile appearing on her face. “So she keeps talking about all sorts of silly things.”

“Like?”

“She once asked me if cows think of us as their children because we drink their milk.”

Hanni chuckles. “Feels like something she would say.”

“Believe it or not, I quoted her in an essay once and got an A.”

“You really love her, don’t you?”

Haerin shrugs. “She’s my best friend,” she says. Simple, easy.

“Alright then.” Hanni snuggles into her pillow, looking at Haerin’s face one last time before closing her eyes. “Goodnight, Haerin.”

“Goodnight, Hanni,“ Haerin says before walking out.

But she leaves the door open and Hanni falls asleep, feeling a little less alone.

Five: Tiny Moments

Two weeks before the Christmas performance, Ryujin approaches Hanni with an expression that looks to be somewhere between a smile and a frown. 

“Sorry…about the Christmas performance,” she says. A pause. No reaction from Hanni. She continues, “But there is a free position in the office. I know it's not really what you're looking for but it pays enough for you to get by and—”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” Hanni feels cold. The heater in this dance room broke a few days ago and they still haven't fixed it.

♡︎

Danielle lets out an impressed little hum when she comes home and finds Hanni making her bed. “You’re cleaning.”

Hanni whips her head around, jeans in her left hand, sock in her other. “I’m not messy. I’m busy.” She sighs, throwing everything into a laundry basket. “Actually… I never make the bed. Minji always made the bed.”

Danielle plops down on Hanni’s bed. And somehow, she doesn't feel at all out of place on top of Hanni's pile of mess. “Wanna talk? Or do you want some happy tunes? To cheer you up?”

“You got anything nice?”

“One sec,” Danielle says before patting into the living room and returning with some vinyls. “The Beach Boys? Bowie? Oh, wait, I think we got the SpongeBob soundtrack too.”

“Just…” Hanni lets out another long sigh. “I’m kinda temporarily fired right now. And I probably can’t pay rent this month.”

“Funny thing,” Danielle says, rolling into her stomach. “Haerin and I actually talked about this last night. Like how we shouldn't make you pay rent because you're doing all the cooking. Oh—and another thing.” Danielle sits back up, eyes following Hanni, who is still aimlessly moving around the room. “It's sort of hilarious. Wanna hear it?”

Hanni raises an eyebrow. “How hilarious?”

“Haerin thinks we're totally gonna end up together.”

Hanni whips her head around. “What? You and me?”

Danielle shrugs. “Yeah, she thinks we are the same person in different fonts. And I mean I was trying to hit you up at some point but I'm totally over that right now,” she says, before her voice gets a little softer. “You know, I really like you. And Haerin also does. So you could totally just stay without paying rent.”

“I—” Hanni looks down. She suddenly doesn't know what to do with her hands. “I don't think I can do that. I don't want to owe you guys anything.” Danielle opens her mouth, a protest hanging by her lips, but Hanni cuts in again, “Also, I just think I need some time on my own. Like just… reorganizing myself.”

Danielle sighs. “I see.” Then a faint smile. “Well, then. We’ll see each other again? After Christmas?”

“We’ll,” Hanni smiles back. “Definitely.”

♡︎

Hanni gets on the flight back home. She sleeps, has a dream she remembers in pieces—a white dress, maybe a wedding—then she wakes up again.

It's summer in Melbourne. Her parents pick her up from the airport, wearing sunglasses and straw hats. Hanni laughs when they wrap her into a big hug.

“Welcome home,” she hears her mother say and tries not to cry like a baby.

The days leading up to Christmas dinner are always stressful—her mom shouts at her dad for forgetting the rice paper, then the cookies burn in the oven. Hanni is standing by the kitchen counter and chopping up the carrots when she hears her dad yell, “Has someone seen the car key?”

“They’re gonna get a divorce,” her little sister whispers.

Hanni glares at her. “Go play with your Barbie Dolls or help out,” she hisses.

Later when they are decorating the Christmas tree, Hanni finds a little clay figure in the box—it looks like it's having an identity crisis between a bear and a dog.

“You still have that laying around?”

Her mother lifts her gaze, looking at the ornament in Hanni's hand. “Oh, right you and Minji made them for us, right?” She picks it from Hanni's palm and hangs it on the tree. “We were kind of hoping you would bring her over again. She was a great help with the barbecue last time.”

The image pops into her head immediately—Minji standing by the grill, her face obscured by the smoke. She coughed, once, then again, before she caught Hanni's eyes across the yard, grinning like an idiot.

Then the memory dissipates, and Hanni is staring at the fairy lights wrangled around the Christmas tree.

“She's moving to Tokyo soon,” Hanni says, like it doesn't hurt to even begin the sentences.

“Oh, well, but maybe she'll come back to visit you sometimes?” Her mom's voice softens, almost like she is sensing the sadness in Hanni's eyes—but not really grasping the weight of it.

“Yeah, and we can always video chat,” Hanni says, trying to get the topic behind her. “It's the twenty-first century. We'll figure something out.”

 Then it's Christmas already—barbeque, old boyband songs, and relatives she barely even knows the names of. There are a lot of them, everywhere, but this is the one time in the year where she likes to pretend that being around people automatically makes her happier.

“And oh, did I tell you guys, Minh’s wife is pregnant!” announces one aunt proudly at the dinner table.

“Wow, that's wonderful,” Hanni’s mother replies, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Isn’t he also getting a raise?”

“Oh, yes, did I tell you? Right, I didn't yet…”

Hanni tunes out the rest out—it’s the same spiel every year. Her mother once said that this is her aunt's way of reliving her glory days. Hanni just thinks it's kind of sad how she barely knows anything about her aunt except for what her son is up to.

Hanni looks over to her sister instead, who is drawing a line on a piece of paper. She's been keeping count of something since the start of dinner.

“Watcha doing?” Hanni asks.

Her sister looks up, then whispers, “I count the times every time someone says something politically incorrect.”

Hanni bites back a laugh. “Wanna add when someone mentions marriage or kids onto the list?”

Her sister rolls her eyes. “My hands are gonna fall off if I do that.”

They unpack the present together in the living room later in the evening, though there isn't much for Hanni to unpack since all she gets is just red envelopes, since her whole family has collectively decided that any person over the age of eighteen is too old for any sort of Christmas whimsey. But Hanni isn’t complaining—they do live in a capitalistic society after all.

“Oh my god, it's the helicopter Barbie!” her little sister exclaims excitedly before immediately steering the doll towards the fireplace. Hanni only barely manages to catch it before it could perish in the fire.

“So why are you still chilling in the kids’ corner?” One of her younger cousins asks. Hanni ashamedly has to admit that she doesn't remember his name. But his face seems familiar. Maybe he was the one who pissed on their front porch when he was three.

“What do you mean why?” Hanni grins, pointing at herself. “Do I not look like a child?”

“You look older than my sister,” he deadpans. “And she is getting married this year.”

“Hey, that's mean,” the girl sitting beside him interjects. What an angel. “Maybe she just has a really old face.” Okay, Hanni takes it back.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Another tiny voice chimes in.

And suddenly, Hanni is surrounded by a bunch of kids who are staring at her like a newborn giraffe in the zoo. Then they start to bombard her with questions. What do you do? Where do you live? What do you eat? They progressively get more and more unhinged until one kid blurts out, “My mom said she thinks you're a lesbian. What does that mean?”

Hanni blinks. “A what?”

“A lesbian,” the kid repeats.

“Isn't that a cookie?” asks another one.

“That’s Leibniz…” Hanni says. She doesn't know if she should laugh, or cry, or throw herself into the fireplace.

“Okay, so what is a lesbian—”

The sound of a saxophone puts Hanni's misery to an end. She lifts her gaze and sees her father holding the instrument, playing the first few notes of jingle bells. The crowd of kids around her immediately dissolves, instead gathering around her dad. Her sister is the only one who stays.

“Ugh, he’s doing it again,” she groans, before turning towards Hanni. “By the way, I support you. Love is love.” Then she runs off before Hanni can even begin to explain herself.

Christmas dinner ends with Mariah Carey’s high note on the saxophone and someone slipping and smashing their face into the cupcakes.

After cleaning up the mess and sending all their friends and relatives off, Hanni's mother turns towards her with a serious expression and asks, “Hanni darling, can we talk?”

(That line hasn't been dropped since Hanni was eight and lied about a stomach ache to stay home.)

Hanni swallows. “Uh… about?”

“You know, you and Minji…” Her mother sighs. “I know that long distance relationships can be—”

“Wait, wait mom,” Hanni cuts her off, sensing something wrong in the tone she is using. “Me and Minji?”

“Yes, you and Minji,” her mother echos, raising an eyebrow. “Wait… Don’t tell me you guys already broke up?”

“Break up—”

Oh god, Hanni thinks, don't tell me she thinks we were dating.

Her mother lets out a sigh. “It's fine,” she says, grabbing Hanni's hand. “You can talk to mom about anything.”

“Mom, I’m not—I wasn't—” Hanni stumbles over her own words like she is speaking for the first time in her life. “What makes you even think—”

“What a pity.” Her mother shakes her head with another sad sigh. “It’s not often that you come across love like that.”

Hanni blinks. Everything about this situation feels absolutely ridiculous, but for some reason, that last sentence refuses to let her go. Love like that.  And before she knows it, she is already asking, “Love like what?”

Her mother sits her down at the couch, the light from the fireplace warm against her skin. “Well, remember that one time you fell asleep when you were face-timing me?”

Hanni nods.

“And how Minji took off your glasses and wrapped you into a blanket and ended the call for you?”

Hanni's heart stops for a moment. She remembers. How Minji casually mentioned it the next morning. You were drooling in front of the camera, she said with that big stupid grin, and that was it. But now, she is sitting in the living room with her mother and suddenly, it comes back at her with a crushing weight.

“You know, love isn't always something grand,” her mother says, smiling as she runs her thumb over the back of Hanni's hand. “Sometimes it just lives in these tiny moments.”

Six: Paris

An old friend from high school invites her out for dinner. It's at a fancy Italian place with a name Hanni can't pronounce. When she arrives, she realizes that she doesn't know most of the people sitting at the table.

“Well, hey girl. Long time no see,” Yunjin grins up at her, then points at the girl beside her. “My girlfriend. You haven't met her yet. She does ballet in Paris.”

Hanni ends up getting seated next to a guy she has never seen in her life before. He is wearing a suit and speaks in a very posh accent. A lawyer or something—Hanni didn't really catch it over the strangely loud jazz music.

“So what do you do?” he asks Hanni after taking a sip from the wine.

“It’s… kind of hard to explain.”

“Oh,” he raises an eyebrow, “because of confidentiality stuff?”

“Uh…no,” Hanni says, shooting glances at Yunjin, who only has eyes for Kazuha. “I mean, I dance, but I don't really do it.”

“Oh,” he says. The conversation dies there.

“How's Paris?” Hanni hears someone sitting at the other end of the table ask. She doesn't recognize the voice.

“Pretty okay,” Kazuha says. “But it can get pretty intense at times.”

“And the Eiffel Tower honestly isn't that spectacular,” Yunjin adds. “But I guess it's alright if you like tall buildings.”

“Right, I've also been to Paris once,” someone else chimes in. “The air is quite artistic around there.”

“Have you ever been to Paris?” the guy next to Hanni asks, trying to strike up another conversation.

“Almost, I guess,” Hanni says. Her pasta is growing cold, but she doesn't really feel hungry.

“I think you should visit Paris someday. It really fits your vibe. Like sort of a cross between hopelessly romantic and existential dread,” Yunjin says while handing Kazuha a breadstick. “Kazuha’s apartment is empty till the end of January. You can stay there if you want to.”

Later, when half of the people are gone, Hanni finally manages to have a half-decent conversation with Yunjin. It's mostly a lot of old things—there just aren't a lot of new things.

“And you?” Yunjin asks when Kazuha is gone to the bathroom. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

Now that they are sitting closer, Hanni gets a better look at her features. They look a bit sharper now that she is older, but still unmistakably Yunjin.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships and love lately… and how it’s all these different things… tiny moments, completeness, salt… and how too much is bad, but how it’s just everywhere,” Hanni says, feeling a little dizzy from the wine.

Yunjin raises an eyebrow. “Uh… so, not seeing anyone?” 

Hanni takes a sip from her drink. She thinks about going home. But then the words pour out of her.

“You know that feeling when you’re with someone, and you love them and they know it, and they love you and you know it… but it’s a party… and you're hiding somewhere and having stupid conversations… or you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes… and it’s strange because it just happens…. like somehow you always find each other… And it’s funny and sad, but only because this life will end, and it’s this secret world that exists right there in public, unnoticed, that no one else knows about. And you know it will always be there waiting for you. That’s… That’s what I want out of a relationship.”

Yunjin blinks. Hanni doesn't think she understands. 

“Right, sorry,” Hanni says, sighing. “I’ll go to Paris. Soon. Maybe next week.”

“Uh.. right. Paris,” Yunjin manages after a long silence. “Also… really profound stuff you said. Like kind of…Salley Rooney… no wait, who was that book by that I recently finished? Anyway, I think you should write a book or something. I would totally read it.”

♡︎

The plane to Paris takes off at night and when they land, it’s snowing outside. Hanni bought the plane ticket with the money she had got for Christmas. She should have probably saved it for something more useful. But maybe this is the last time she gets to be stupid.

Just like most things in life, the Eiffel tower isn't nearly as impressive as you imagine it to be. Hanni snaps a picture, sends it into the family group chat and forgets about it again.

On her way to the apartment, she passes by a bookstore. There is an anniversary edition of Sherlock Holmes on display. She instinctively thinks about getting it for Minji as a sort of late Christmas present, before laughing at the stupidity of the thought.

Minji is probably already somewhere in Tokyo, sleeping, because it's night over there.

Still, she walks into the store and gets a few postcards. One for her family, one for Haerin and Danielle, and one as a keepsake for herself.

Kazuha’s apartment is quite spacious and rather minimalistic. White and gray decor, a bed, a small kitchen area, a bathroom and a big window with a good view on the busy street beneath.

Hanni closes her eyes and lets a breeze caress her cheeks. She tries to imagine a life in Paris—meeting new people, learning a new language, dancing on stage. But then, all of a sudden, she is thinking about that apartment right across the Korean takeout place again.

The rest of her time in Paris passes like a sluggish morning after a drunken night—time stretches and clips, and then it's the last day already. She has lunch at a Korean place, because that strange craving for it just refuses to die. The Kimchi stew is watery, the rice cakes overcooked—it’s quite a depressing meal that makes her miss Minji even more. 

The unfamiliar roads and alleyways then take her to a park with a duck pond. Hanni sits down on a bench, watches two ducks fight over a breadcrumb, before deciding to write her postcards.

In the middle of writing Haerin and Danielle's, her phone starts ringing.

It’s Minji.

Hanni watches it ring. Once. Twice. Then she finally caves in.

Silence. A soft sigh.

Then Minji's voice seeps through the speakers.

“How… have you been?”

“Good,” Hanni says. “Really good.”

“Right…” Another sigh. “Sorry, by the way. For missing the Christmas performance. I know we're kind of not on speaking terms right now, but… still.”

“It’s fine… I wasn't… well…” Hanni thinks about telling Minji the truth, but decides that that will probably ruin the mood even more. So she goes with a lie. “I tripped and it was pretty embarrassing. I’m glad you weren't there.”

Minji chuckles. “I’m sure it was just a slight stumble. You always beat yourself up for the smallest things.”

Silence again. A cold wind blows by. Hanni scratches the corner of her dry lips. Then she thinks of something to say.

“Wanna hear something hilarious?”

“What?”

“My mom thought we were dating. And now she thinks we broke up.”

“What?” Minji laughs. “Because you brought me over for Christmas last year?”

“Not exactly. But yeah, maybe. Kind of. I think.”

“So you're back with your family right now?”

“I’m… yeah, I guess.” Hanni decides that this is easier than explaining why she is in Paris right now. “And what about you? How’s Tokyo?”

Minji responds after a long pause. “I’m… still in New York. I’m leaving tomorrow night. So I thought we could have brunch together before that, or something…”

“Oh.” Hanni looks up to the sky. It's snowing again. She takes a deep breath. “Sorry… I’m kind of… I would love to but—but I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

“Right… since you're with your family and… I know I was being a dick,” Minji says, her voice growing quieter, until all that's left is a soft tremble. “The bathroom thing… I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“No, it's not—” Hanni bites her lip. “I was being childish. It's not your fault… and Tokyo… I think you’ll like it. Like you did that Japanese course back in college…and you keep reading those Japanese books…”

“Right.” Minji laughs.  “I mean, I’ve been to Japan. I like it there… I just never thought I would really live there someday. It's sort of really exciting, but also… scary?”

Hanni laughs. “You’ll be fine.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be fine too.” Hanni exhales. “Eventually.”

Silence. Minji doesn't say anything. Hanni takes another deep breath.

“So, okay, I’m going to say something now, because sometimes it's good to do what you’re supposed to do when you’re supposed to do it. But sometimes you just miss the right timing and you have to do it while you're freezing your ass off in the middle of nowhere. And I don't want you to feel obligated to say anything back, so I'm gonna hang up right away. I love you, Minji. Bye.”

Hanni hangs up. A duck is quacking somewhere in the distance.

Seven: That's fine.

Hanni accepts that position in the office at the dance studio. It's mostly just a lot of taking phone calls, writing emails and scheduling things—something Minji has always excelled at and Hanni is only slowly learning.

The job pays decently enough that she can afford a small apartment for herself. It's nothing fancy, but there is a park nearby, so when spring breaks through the icy winter, she wakes up in the morning to the chirping of birds.

She still teaches sometimes, mostly it's just children, but it's fun—especially if she gets to make her own choreography. The kids are nice, maybe a bit noisy with all the questions about her private life, but she likes watching them laugh and joke and feeling proud for getting the shuffle down.

“Hey, are you free this Friday?” Danielle asks on the phone. “Some of my pieces are gonna be at this really cool student exhibit. You definitely should come.”

“I’m…” Hanni flips through her calendar. No classes. No office duty. “Actually free for once. Wanna go on a drink afterwards?”

“Of course!” Danielle exclaims enthusiastically. “But the drinks are on me this time!”

♡︎

When Hanni arrives at the exhibit, Danielle and Haerin welcome her with one big hug. It feels nice. The last time Hanni had been hugged that tightly was still by her parents.

“Minji once asked me if I would recognize her arm,” Hanni says as they’re standing in front of Danielle's work—a limestone statue that looks like it has just been unearthed from ancient ruins. “I told her I wouldn't. I think that might have been a lie.”

It's been months already since she last saw Minji. Most of the days, she doesn't think much about her anymore—just sometimes when someone makes a coffee in the office or lights a cigarette by the window, she feels something pinch her heart. But it's gone as soon as it's there, and then her day continues like it always does.

“I’ve actually…” Danielle starts a sentence that Hanni doesn't hear the rest of. Because in that same moment, Hanni sees Minji walking by, holding a glass of champagne, hair up in a half ponytail. She looks more mature, more like an adult, and even further away from Hanni than she once was.

Then she looks across the room, her eyes meeting Hanni's, and suddenly, Hanni feels like the world is spinning around her—without her.

Danielle is saying something again, maybe asking a question, maybe just talking to Haerin. Hanni doesn't know. Minji just smiled at her.

“Long time no see.” Those are the first words that come out of Minji's mouth when she approaches them. Hanni wants to run, but she doesn't. There are always these few things in life you can never escape no matter how hard you try—either you learn to live with them or you perish together. And Hanni isn't exactly a fan of violence.

Danielle greets Minji back with a bright smile. Haerin just nods, like she always does. And when all their eyes are on Hanni, she only manages a short and dry, “You look… sophisticated.”

They don't talk much after that. Actually, not at all. Hanni thought it would have been easy, falling back into a familiar rhythm with Minji, since they’re technically still friends. They like each other's Instagram posts and, well… that's kind of all they do. So maybe they’re not really friends anymore. Who knows.

They go out for a drink afterwards. Danielle invites Minji and she surprisingly tags along. Or maybe it shouldn't be surprising since Danielle is always on good terms with everyone. And it also shouldn't be a surprise that Danielle starts serenading the entirety of the Hairspray musical to Haerin after one and a half drinks. It’s weird, almost romantic—Hanni knows Minji can't stand it.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Minji whispers to Hanni halfway through (It's) Hairspray and Hanni takes it as an invitation to follow her out.

Outside, the night has already started to set. Hanni watches Minji flick the lighter open, the flame dancing in the air. The alleyway is only lit by one lonely streetlight. The silence stays for a moment longer, before Hanni cuts through it.

“I didn't think I would run into you.”

Minji exhales the smoke. “Ditto.”

“I live here,” Hanni says, kicking a pebble at her foot. “You live in a different time zone.”

“A fourteen hour flight is really not for the weak.” Minji laughs through the cloud of smoke hiding her face. “But the peanuts were good. And I watched a movie. I mean, half of it. I fell asleep in the middle.”

For the first time today, Hanni lifts her head and looks at Minji—right into her eyes, at her own reflection in that pond of warm brown. “You haven't changed at all,” she says.

Another cloud of smoke. “But you have,” Minji says.

“You think so?” Hanni looks down at herself. She’s wearing a white blouse that has gained a mysterious stain. The high heels on her feet are hurting her toes.

"Definitely." Minji nods, laughing. “Old you would have totally ran away the moment she saw me. And we wouldn't be standing here and having this conversation.”

“I’ve just… stopped running so much, I guess,” Hanni says. “I walk a lot more now. Morning walks are nice. With music and stuff.”

“Does you good.” Minji grins. It’s still that same stupid grin. “You were always in such a hurry to get everywhere.”

“And you? How have you been?”

“Good, I guess,” Minji says, taking a final drag from her cigarette before crushing it. “I… think I’m gonna go back in. It's getting really cold out here.”

 That was a conversation. Maybe the last, maybe just the beginning. Lately, Hanni has learned that having hope is good sometimes.

The night ends like they usually do when Danielle is involved—a chaotic mess that, for some reason, feels oddly comforting. They drink a lot, especially Minji. “I haven't in a long while,” she slurs into Hanni's ear when they are on the dancefloor and Hanni is just trying to stop them both from falling. She can hear Danielle's laugh somewhere in the distance, can smell a hint of Haerin's favorite perfume, can feel the burning heat of Minji's body. It's too much, and yet never enough. But everything ends. So that something new can begin.

“Hey, Hanni!” Danielle shouts when she's in the cab, arm lazily dangling out the open window. Beside her, Haerin is holding a paper bag in her lap and trying not to vomit.

“What?” Hanni shouts back, trying to balance Minji by the waist.

Danielle grins. “Nothing!”

Then the cab disappears into the traffic, and Hanni watches until it's just a yellow dot in the distance. Beside her, Minji is slurring something incomprehensible. It sounds like a name.

They end up in Hanni's apartment. Minji is now kneeling on the tiled floor inside the cramped bathroom and Hanni holds her hair back as watches Minji empty her guts out.

When the vomiting finally stops, Minji looks up at Hanni with those trembling eyes

“I lied.”

“About what?”

“About everything.”

A pause.

“And I miss you.”

Hanni’s hand trembles. Her heart stops. Then pumps again.

“I miss you too,” she says on the third beat.

Minji shifts, leaning her forehead against Hanni's shoulder.

“I think I never knew what I really wanted,” she says, almost in a whisper. “I mean, I kept telling myself I just wanted to be… you know, an adult. Like a job and an apartment and a stable boyfriend or whatnot.“

Hanni rests her palm against Minji's back. She feels Minji nuzzle her head against the crook of her neck.

“But then I had it. Hell, our apartment in Tokyo even has a toilet with a bidet. Don't laugh—that thing is life-changing.”

“Sorry.” Hanni bites the inside her cheeks, stopping herself from laughing. “Continue, please.”

“You know, the other day something funny happened to me on the way to the convenience store. And I went home and told Andrew about it. But when he looked at me with that polite smile and told me how wonderful that was… I thought about you… and how I wished you were the one sitting in front of me, sipping on that stupid cup of tea, because I know you would have laughed… and I miss your laugh, I miss being stupid, I miss us.”

Hanni doesn’t say anything. She just gently pats Minji’s back and waits for her to calm down.

“Fuck, I’m tired,” Minji finally mutters.

Hanni exhales softly. “Let’s get you to bed then.”

Hanni’s bed is too small for two people, their bodies too close to be comfortable. Heartbeat against heartbeat, breath against warm skin. Minji is wearing the oversized T-shirt she left with Hanni when she moved out.

“You still don't make your bed,” Minji mumbles, staring at the pair of socks lying at the corner of the bed.

“Chaos is my structure,” Hanni says. 

A soft huff of air. It almost sounded like a laugh. “I guess that’s why I always felt sort of jealous towards you,” Minji says softly. “You just... move forward, no matter what. And when you fall, you get up and then you’re running again, or well, it’s walking now. That’s why you’ll do great anywhere.”

Silence. Then the rustle of sheets. Hanni shifts and turns to look at Minji.

“I was in Paris, actually. When you called before leaving for Tokyo…”, Hanni begins. “And I was staying in this nice apartment with a great view and I started imagining how life would have been if I had gone to Paris. But I realized that it wasn’t what I wanted.”

Minji shifts, now facing Hanni too. In the dark, her eyes catch the silver light of the moon. “What do you want then?”

“This is good, I think,” Hanni says, her eyelids feeling heavy. “Enough for me. Just… existing, and not really knowing what I’m going to have for breakfast tomorrow.”

Hanni almost thinks Minji is asleep, but then hears her say, “I think you should have French toast. For breakfast.”

“We don't have eggs.”

A long, judging silence before Minji speaks again.

“What do you have?”

Hanni thinks. Her mind is blank.

“Microwave… lasagna, I think?”

“You’re a helpless case.”

“Yeah, right.” Hanni exhales. “Despite everything, I'm still me.”

A car, a barking dog. Silence again. The last thing Hanni hears before falling asleep is Minji's voice.

“That's fine, I guess.”

♡︎

Hanni wakes up the next morning and the bed still feels warm from Minji's body. But Minji is nowhere to be found. Not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, not anywhere.

Then Hanni hears a car outside. She rushes to the window and sees Minji stepping into a cab.

“Minji!” she shouts with all her might, but her voice gets drowned out by the garbage truck. And then the car drives off, and the air smells like rotten food and wet cardboard again.

Minji left her a note on the table, right next to a brown envelope.

I wanted to make you breakfast but your fridge is absolutely empty. But you never trusted me in the kitchen anyway, so maybe it's for the better.

Anyway, I found this lying around at my place. It’s not quite finished (and frankly a bit embarrassing), but I thought you might wanna read it anyway.

Hanni carefully opens the envelope, takes out the stack of paper and starts reading.

There is a Post-it note on the last page of the screenplay.

It reads: Maybe love isn’t just the desire and pursuit of the whole. Maybe

Hanni stares at the fragment of a sentence, the paper rustling in the wind. She wonders what Minji would have written. But maybe she already knows the answer—maybe it's just there, in the gaps between the letters, soaked into the paper like ink.

Epilogue: Your person in this life

It’s Christmas again. This year, Hanni spends it standing behind the curtains and watching the dancers on stage—a smile cracking her face when she sees Haerin and Danielle sitting in the front row, their eyes wide in amazement.

After the performance, they throw a big party at the dance studio. The room is overcrowded with people. There is a Christmas tree in the corner, branches hanging low with the weight of the ornaments.

“I knew it was a good idea to let you help me with the choreography,” Ryunjin says, a big grin on her face as she clinks their champagne glasses together.

Hanni laughs. “Glad my sporadic inputs were of any help.”

On the other side of the room, a laugh seeps through the warm air. Hanni looks over and sees Danielle and Haerin talking to someone—tall, black frame glasses, long hair tied into a ponytail. From a distance, Hanni can’t really make out what their conversation is about. But she thinks she hears her name. The woman laughs again—careless, almost childish. Then she glances over, her eyes meeting Hanni's.

The world keeps spinning—around them, without them. A tiny moment. A secret world.

And Hanni smiles back.