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It was raining. That’s the first thing he noticed as he opened his eyes.
The street is empty, he realized. There was only the smell of rain, the vastness of the park in front of him — he didn’t remember it being so big — and the small convenience store on the corner of his dorm building at university, the same one he used to visit nearly every day when he was a young adult.
That was— what, twenty years ago, at least, if he remembered correctly. He glanced into the store — also empty. He looked back to the street, and thought that this was a precious memory for him. But why couldn’t he remember it specifically?
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”
A small voice startled him, and he noticed a small child, a little girl, sitting beside him on the bench, watching the rain as she drank banana milk — he remembered the brand. It was someone’s favorite back then.
But who…?
“Ah, you scared me,” Ikjun said, his palm reaching for his heart. “What do you mean, weird?”
The little girl barely gave him a glance, focusing on her banana milk for a little bit. Her cheek was smeared with chocolate, and it reminded him of Uju.
“This place,” she said after a moment. “It’s weird.”
“Ah, yes,” he agreed, watching the rain, feeling a little calm besides everything. “Why, though?”
“I think it’s your past,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now we’re kinda stuck here. It’s weird.”
“I don’t remember you from my past,” he frowned.
“That’s because I’m in your head,” she explained, rolling her eyes, looking too much like someone he knew, but couldn’t figure out who. She had kind eyes, short hair, light pink sunglasses with daisies on them that made her look adorable — her nose reminded him of someone too. She couldn’t be more than six years old. “I don’t really exist, you see.”
“What are we doing here, then?” He asked, a little impatiently.
She shrugged. “I dunno about you, ahjussi. I’m having banana milk.”
Ikjun shook his head. Scratched the back of his neck, feeling a little restless. More than usual, in his case. He was well aware of how smart and wise children could be, having raised Uju since birth. This girl would probably be good friends with him in a jiffy, being such a know-it-all.
He stood up.
“Alright, then.”
“He has a concussion, but the bleeding seems minimal,” Songhwa frowned as she stared at the exam results. “What about the bleeding in his thorax?”
“His spleen has been ruptured. Professor Yoon is preparing for surgery,” Jang Gyeoul told her. “I know it’s not ideal, considering the concussion. But it’s necessary.”
Songhwa felt as if in some kind of stupor. She couldn’t quite believe in what she was hearing. It was as if something bigger than her was leading her, telling her what to do and what to say. She felt lost — in a way she had never felt before.
There were risks. The concussion itself wouldn’t be so worrying if it wasn’t for the other problems — she could barely guess how his car ended up in, considering how Ikjun hit his head and got stuck in the car after being hit by a drunk driver. On his birthday — it was his still his birthday. They would celebrate it properly tomorrow. Maybe he’d even wear her present. Maybe she’d have told him—
No. He would get past it. They’d have more to hold onto. She had to have faith. She must.
“We’ll monitor him after the surgery. We've asked your department for a resident to be there too,” Dr Jang mentioned.
At that, she reacted. “No, I’ll do it. I can monitor him during surgery and after— after.”
Ikjun's resident nodded. Songhwa’s eyes focused on the patient’s name on the file. She traced the letters with her fingers.
Lee Ikjun.
This couldn’t be the end. She wouldn’t allow it.
Ikjun exited the convenience store soon enough, considering there was no one inside and only a myriad of ice creams, corndogs and banana milk there. He sipped his drink slowly — it reminded him of high school and university all at once — and saw the same little girl sitting on the bench, watching the rain.
“Doesn’t look like it’ll stop anytime soon,” he commented, sitting on the other side of the same bench.
“I like the rain,” the little girl said. “I don’t mind waiting. Do you?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think there’s anywhere for me to go anyway.”
It was weird, though. It felt as if he was needed somewhere. He knew Uju was at home with Wang imo, so that was not it. The hospital wasn’t calling him. He wouldn’t have any band practice this week.
“She’s waiting for you,” the little girl said, her eyes wide as she spoke. She was serious in a way that Uju never was — quiet, measuring her words.
“Who?” Ikjun asked.
“The one you’ve waited for,” the child spoke again, then pointed at the park in front of them. He followed her gaze, focusing on the small flowers on a bush not far from them. Yellow, orange, and pink, already closing with the rain.
Chae Songhwa.
The name crossed his mind instantly, and he remembered all at once. The banana milk she used to drink during their university days. The convenience store they’d meet at before going to the library to study. How she’d sometimes give him an ice cream because she got there before he did. Her furtive glances at him during class, when he’d teach her the bass. His furtive glances at her when she wasn’t looking. Twenty years ago, fifteen years ago, ten years ago. Yesterday.
He shook his head. He knew his feelings and knew how deeply they were rooted. This was a bit much, considering he was well aware that they’d remain friends forever.
“We haven’t made any plans,” he told the small girl. She was swinging her legs back and forth, sighing as she watched the rain. “I’m sure she’s not missing me yet.”
The little girl gave him a side glance. “Are you really sure?”
Ikjun hummed. “Last time we spoke, she was going home. She’s probably asleep.”
“Are you really sure, though?” The child asked again. She stood up and held out her palm in the rain, catching a few droplets.
He shook his head. He remembered a younger Songhwa doing precisely that — arm stretched out in front of her, a soft smile on her face, her big glasses on the end of her nose making her adorable. She was his first love, and he remembered realizing it that day, in front of this convenience store, when she offered him a can of coffee from the store and felt shy in doing so. He had liked her on their interview day for school, and his heart had beat fast on orientation day, but that day, in front of the store, that was when he knew it wasn’t just infatuation. It wouldn’t simply be away.
The little girl in front of him could perhaps be a mini version of her — her easy smile and careful eyes. But the same bright, smart look on her face. She was cute.
Uju would definitely like her a lot.
“I think she’s waiting for you.”
Ikjun shook his head. “I’m sure she’s not that eager to see me. Same as any of our friends.”
“But she’s different, no?”
He nodded. He could never deny it, not nowadays. Back then it was easier, for the sake of friendship, and their band. Now it was much harder. He knew Songhwa better — he knew her many qualities by heart, and didn’t even mind her many faults. Even those were dear to him. He spent far too long pretending this feeling was in the past.
“Yes,” he told her, unsure of why this child was getting so much out of him. “It’s a privilege to be her friend. That’s more than enough for me.”
The little girl rolled her eyes, focusing on the droplets on her palm.
“Is it really?”
Ikjun sighed. “Shouldn’t you go home? Your parents are probably waiting for you.”
She turned to look at him, then gave him a smile, eyes twinkling. “It’s not my time yet. I’m stuck here for a while.”
“Is this like the middle? In between before and after-life?” He scrunched up his face. “Maybe I should have gotten into religion like Andrea or Songhwa. This might have made more sense then.”
The child laughed. “You’re kinda weird.”
“Now that’s just offensive.”
She laughed again.
“Hey, do you want me to get you an umbrella?” Ikjun offered. He saw one inside the store just now.
She shook her head impatiently. “I like the rain, ahjussi. And I can’t go yet, I’ve told you.”
Ikjun sipped his banana milk slowly, shaking his head. Songhwa would probably do just the same in this situation. Sometimes, during summer, she didn’t even mind an umbrella.
“My friend likes the rain too,” he found himself saying, suddenly wishing Songhwa was here. She certainly would have picked more than just one snack from the store. “Rain and coffee. That’s the perfect combination for her. And a car ride in the rain after work hours.”
“And you,” the little girl said, giggling.
Ikjun shook his head, feeling a little flustered. “And sujebi, more like.”
The child huffed. “She hurt you.”
He blinked slowly. “Yeah, well… I hurt her first. A lot of times, I think.”
“That’s not cool,” she tutted. “You should apologize.”
“It’s in the past now. She’s my best friend,” Ikjun took a deep breath. “Are you sure your parents aren’t waiting for you somewhere?”
She nodded slowly, taking off her glasses to open and close them, a little restless. “I’m the one waiting for them, I think.”
The rain still poured. The little girl went back to jiggling her legs back and forth on the bench, and he finished his banana milk.
“I think I’ll go get a snack,” she told matter-of-factly, slipping inside the store again.
Lightning struck, not far from where they were.
He looked almost normal. Like he was sleeping.
Songhwa realized she hadn’t seen him asleep in so many years. Maybe since university.
Ikjun looked peaceful, despite everything. His head was bandaged from the blow he had suffered, and she was sure he’d be aching to take it all off as soon as he woke up. She reached for his hand, quietly, slowly, too worried to do more than even squeeze his palm, which was despite of everything warm against her hand.
This… this was stuff her nightmares were made of, she realized.
Songhwa took a deep breath. It would be okay. It had to.
The ICU door opened, and she looked away from Ikjun to see Jeongwon, Junwan and Seokhyeong, all sharing the same worried looks. They had been waiting for the surgery to finish, she knew, but she had been too busy assisting then monitoring Ikjun to leave.
“How is he?” Jeongwon asked first.
Songhwa stood up, letting go of Ikjun’s hand, moving towards the foot of the bed, letting their friends come closer.
“We were able to reduce the swelling in his brain, but we had to put him in an induced coma for a while,” she spoke. “It’s protocol because of the surgery in his thorax. If everything goes well, he’ll probably be able to wake up tomorrow.”
“Professor Yoon said they managed to repair his spleen,” Junwan said. “Said the surgery had no complications.”
She nodded. “Yes. His prognosis is all good.”
Her friends nodded. The beeping of the machines attached to Ikjun’s body prolonged the silence. She stared at the monitor a little blankly, wanting time to go by faster, for him to wake up, for her to talk to him again, to look into his eyes - anything.
“How are you?” Seokhyeong asked.
Songhwa looked at him, feeling a little caught. “I’m okay.”
“You aren’t on call, are you?” Junwan questioned her.
“No, I was just working late when they brought him in,” she told them, not mentioning the fact that she had been too shaken to even consider operating then. “I’ll keep monitoring him until he wakes up. I’ve changed shifts tomorrow with Professor Son too, so I’ll be able to stick around.”
“We can stay, too,” Seokhyeong said. “You’ve been up for over a day.”
She shook her head. “No, I want to be here. It’s fine.”
They nodded, no longer insisting.
“What is your best friend like?” The little girl asked while eating an ice cream.
The question caught him by surprise. He couldn’t even begin to describe Songhwa immediately. Once upon a time, he had called her neat and cute, and those characteristics still remained, but there was so much more than that.
“She… wears glasses, like you. Though I think hers is more of a necessity than a pretty accessory like yours,” Ikjun offered, and the child laughed. Her sunglasses were now resting on top of her head. “She’s a very good person. She’s an amazing doctor, probably the best I’ve known. She laughs at all my jokes, even when they’re not funny. And her favorite ice cream is the one you’re eating now.”
“Really? This is my favorite too!” The child said, eyes gleaming. “I bet she’s fun.”
“Mmm, she’s great fun,” he continued conversationally. “She can eat four hamburgers when she wants to, but she can’t hold her drinks well, which is cute. In fact, the only times I’ve seen her let someone start eating before her was when she cared for Uju. Ah, that boy might be her weakness.”
At this, the little girl giggled. Ikjun looked a little bewildered. He didn’t mean to make a joke, it was just a statement. Still, the child laughed and laughed, obviously finding it all very amusing.
“Ahjussi,” she said after her giggles diminished, “are you sure it’s this Uju that is her weakness?”
“Ah, he’s my weakness too. And he knows it, smart boy,” Ikjun said fondly. “She likes children.”
The little girl narrowed her eyes. “I think she likes you.”
“Of course she does. I’m her best friend, and Uju is my son so of course she likes us both. We can be pretty charming when we want to. I think you’d be good friends with Uju,” he tells her. “What’s your name? Maybe I can arrange a play date when we’re out of here.”
The child pondered his words. “I don’t have a name yet. I’ll come when the time is right, and when my parents are ready. Like… the rain you and your friend love to watch.”
Ikjun’s eyebrows shot up as he listened. He tried to remember better how he got here — he had spoken to Songhwa on the phone, and he was curious about the present she had bought him. But he was stuck in that stupid dinner… then he got here.
“I see. That might be some time yet, huh?”
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. But I know one thing. Can I tell you a secret?”
Ikjun nodded.
The child’s eyes twinkled as she gave him a smile. “My eomma is ready.”
He widened his eyes. “What about your appa?”
“I think he’s a little slow,” she sighed, giving him a side-eye.
Ikjun laughed. “Men are a little slow, that’s true.”
Songhwa stared.
At the monitors, at the drip of the medication bag, at Ikjun’s immobile form.
The previous hours were a mess, confusing her as the events replayed in a weird, slow motion inside her head. Ikjun in the ER, being examined. His hands not gripping hers. His eyes unresponsive.
The surgery, the induced coma, the night that followed. It was nearly seven in the morning now, and she hoped — she hoped so, so bad — that he would wake up soon, crack a joke and be his usual self. She thought about Uju, who was possibly still asleep, about Ikjun’s parents, who might still be unaware of what happened. And about Iksun, who would probably be due to arrive soon and Songhwa would have to tell it all over again.
She rested her elbows on his bed, and held her head in her hands. Her neck hurt a little, not from work, from sleeping in this chair, watching him.
“Ikjun-ah,” she whispered, realizing this was the first time she had ever spoken to a patient in this situation. But this wasn’t just a patient. It was him. “Whenever you’re ready, okay? You can wake up. We’re waiting for you.”
No response, of course. Not that she had expected any.
Not caring if anyone would be watching from outside the ICU room, she took his hand. Traced his fingers softly, then laced their hands together in an intimate embrace. It didn’t feel weird. It felt right.
“I was really looking forward to seeing you today,” she told him softly. “I hoped you’d like your gift and that— maybe we could have dinner later and talk. That’s okay, though. We can do what when you’re better.”
She sniffed a little, trying to think like the neurosurgeon she was. The surgery went well. The swelling diminished. He’d probably wake up soon and feel nothing except for a light headache in the first few days. He’d be dying to be discharged soon, she knew it.
But every brain surgery had risks, however minimal they might be, even if his had been the simplest kind. And she was trying not to go over those.
“Just get better soon, okay?” Songhwa said, wiping her cheek, realizing a few stray tears had fallen from her eyes. “I can’t… I don’t want to imagine life without you, okay? You need to get better. You’ve waited a long time for me. I don’t mind waiting for you now. Alright?”
The regular beeping of the machines were the only noises that answered her. And that was okay. His body was healing to get back to her.
“I just want to talk to you again,” she whispered. “I want to laugh at your silly jokes and be mad when you mess up with my desk and— I need you to wake up so I can tell you that I…”
She looked down at their hands, at his limp fingers against hers. The beeping from the machines did little to muffle her sobs.
“I love you,” she whispered, very quiet. “I need you to wake up so I can… show you and tell you that.”
Songhwa took a deep breath, caressing his arm softly with her other hand.
“Please come back, Ikjun-ah.”
“So what will you do when you get out of here?” The little girl asked. Now she’s eating a corndog from the store.
Ikjun pondered. “I’ll take Uju to Lotte World. He’s bigger now so I think he’ll be able to appreciate it better. Ah, talking to you makes me miss him.”
“Lotte World sounds fun,” the child sighed.
“Maybe I’ll ask Songhwa along. She loves rollercoasters,” Ikjun continued. “I’m sure your parents will take you one day too.”
She nodded. “What else?”
“We have a band practice coming in two weeks, I think,” he said. “Maybe I’ll even let Songhwa sing a line.”
At this, the child’s eyes sparkled in excitement, and she stood from the bench, still clutching the half-eaten corndog.
“I love singing!”
“So do I!” Ikjun smiled. “Sing something then.”
“Can I? Okay,” the girl cleared her throat and started, “Birds, birds, blue birds, do not disturb the green-bean fields—”
…And that was awful. Ikjun tried to hide his frown by clapping. “That’s awesome! I hope your parents enroll you in singing lessons.”
“Really? That sounds so cool!”
“It doesn’t do miracles, but— I’m sure you’ll be awesome,” Ikjun said, giving her his two thumbs up.
“I think I’ll take after eomma,” the child said. “She loves singing too.”
“Does she sing well?”
“I think so, sometimes,” she told him. “She really should be your band’s vocal-list.”
Ikjun smiled at the child’s pronunciation, shaking his head slowly. She went back to eating her corndog. Funny, she ate it just like Uju — except quicker, like Songhwa.
He watched the child. Her doe eyes and easy smiles. That twinkling gleam in her eyes when she’s excited.
It hit him suddenly.
“What’s your eomma’s name? Do you know it?” He asked.
She finished munching the corndog quickly and nodded. “Don’t you know it too? You’ve been talking about her since you got here.”
“But…”
“I told you my Appa is a little slow,” she shrugged. “Only, you’re not him yet. You will be — when you’re ready.”
She finished the corndog, leaning against the bench and letting out a satisfied sigh.
“Are— are you my future?” Ikjun asked. “This is a place from my past and you— part of my future?”
She shrugged. “I’m only in your head, ahjussi. I told you!”
“So this isn’t real,” he noted, looking around again. The rain, the convenience store. The little girl sitting on the other side of the bench. He stood up. “You’re just a— subconscious thought in my head?”
The child shrugged again. “I dunno. Maybe I’m just hope. Or a dream. Or nothing at all!”
Great. He had to be hallucinating. That was the only possible explanation.
But the little girl giggled again, and Ikjun had to laugh because she was funny and cute — so much like Uju. But the rain was real. Everything felt real here. He couldn’t understand; could he perhaps find a way out on his own will? Would it just fade away?
“Aish, I need Songhwa to teach me some brain lessons,” he muttered. “Though this is more the psychiatric field than neuro. I think.”
“There you go, talking about her again,” the little girl laughed. “You don’t need her now because she’s right there!”
Ikjun looked around. There was no living soul — only rain, him, and the child he more or less created in his head and befriended. Did this mean he needed to mature or something? Did he need to schedule a psychiatric consult? Maybe therapy would help too…
…love you.
“What was that?” He said, turning around so quickly he felt the muscles in the back of his neck snap. “Ouch.”
“That’s her! I told you she was right there,” the girl said, crossing her arms. “I think you’re ready to go now.”
“What?”
Please come back, Ikjun-ah.
“See? I told you,” the little girl said again. “Go on, then.”
“Where?” He asked, bewildered. The back of his head still hurt from earlier. And there was a tingle in his hand…
She simply pointed towards the rain.
“Will I see you again?” Ikjun asked. “We had a nice chat, I think.”
“Maybe,” she shrugged. “When you’re both ready, remember? But if we do…”
“What?”
“Take me to Lotte World, and buy me lots of ice creams!” She said, giggling whilst making a flower petal pose with her hands under her chin.
Her eyes looked so much like Songhwa’s then, for some reason.
He shook his head.
“I’ll do that and I’ll even buy you lots of burgers and corndogs— but also healthy food, you know!” He reminded her. “Hey… What will you do when you get out of here?”
The child pondered, pursing her lips in a pout. “I think… I’ll just want to be with my eomma at first.”
Ikjun laughed. “That’s a good place to be.”
“Now gooo!” The little girl shooed him. Bossy, just like Uju.
“Alright, alright… I’ll… be seeing you, I guess. Goodbye!”
“Bye-bye!” The child said back, happily waving both hands at him.
He waved back, still bewildered, still a little shocked, and turned around. He watched the rain and set his eyes on the small, colorful flowers of the park ahead of him and stepped ahead, feeling the rain on his face.
Songhwa took a deep breath, trying to control herself. She usually excelled at this— hiding her emotions when she must. And even though there was no one here, no one watching her, the other interns and residents were too busy with their own patients, she felt the need to be guarded.
She needed to focus. Ikjun was her patient. He needed her focused.
But then she felt it — a slight grip against her fingers.
She looked at his face — nothing.
But the grip was suddenly stronger, and she held his hand more tightly.
“Ikjun-ah,” she called, watching as his eyes, still closed, moved.
She stood up, though she didn’t let go of his hand. The beeping monitors were all accordingly — there was no emergency, he was simply responding to her.
He opened his eyes, meeting hers slowly.
He woke up.
“Ikjun-ah,” she called again. “Do you—”
“Chae Songhwa,” he muttered tiredly. “I had the weirdest dream ever.”
She took her light pen out of her breast pocket and turned it on, checking his pupils. All fine.
“You were there— kinda,” he slurred, probably a little high on painkillers. “There was this girl…”
Songhwa bit her lower lip, a little amused, as he spoke. She pinched his arm lightly.
“Ow,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.
“I was out here worried sick and you were dreaming about girls?” She tried to joke, but her voice sounded small even for her ears. “Can you lift your right arm?”
She watched as the fingers on his left hand twitched and he raised his arm, almost too quickly, and before she knew it he had his palm softly caressing her cheek.
“Don’t cry,” Ikjun said, and that was when she noticed that she had, indeed, been crying. “Hate it when you cry.”
She grasped his hand in hers, slowly putting it down. He needed the rest. “I’m just relieved.”
“It wasn’t— girls. It was a little girl in my dream,” he slurred. “She looked a lot like you— remember that chocolate ice cream… the you liked so much when we were in university…”
“You’re not making much sense,” Songhwa said, a little concerned. She checked his pupils again. “Do you feel any pain?”
“Yah. That hurts, you know!” Ikjun complained. “I have a bit of a headache... Wait, what am I doing here?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” She questioned. Even if his surgery had been almost simple — as far as brain surgeries go — anything might be a symptom.
“Ah… the team’s dinner on my birthday. I’m still curious about my present,” he said, his voice sounding a little better. “I was leaving and then, uh…”
She let out a breath, relieved. “Okay. Okay, this is good. You can see me fine, right?”
Ikjun nodded slowly. Then he gripped her hand again, and she realized she hadn’t let go yet.
“Best sight to wake up to,” he muttered.
Songhwa let out a laugh, shaking her head softly at his antics. He might be a little high from the medicines and still recovering from surgery, but…
He was definitely still her Ikjun. He came back to her.
“I should update your file,” she said weakly. “And call Professor Yoon and Gyeoul.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“But… I guess we can stay like this for a little longer,” she concluded, sitting back on her chair. “Just for a bit.”
He gave her a smile, and she replied with one of her own, asking about his senses, pinching his leg, answering his questions.
All while still holding his hand.
Ikjun smiled as he turned the pages, looking on fondly at the baby and the three older siblings around her. It had been ages since he mentioned to Songhwa that he wanted to see her baby pictures, and thankfully, her mother took his hints fairly quickly, going so far as giving him an old family album to check.
“She was the biggest of my babies,” Songhwa’s mother, Kang Aesim, gushed next to him. “No wonder she was my last. She was so chubby, I thought she’d be taller than her brothers.”
“Eomma, really,” Songhwa complained on his other side, barely checking the pictures.
“But she ended up being almost as short as I am,” her mother sighed. “She was beautiful, though, wasn’t she?”
Ikjun nodded happily as he took in a photo in which Songhwa was no more than four years old, smiling happily while pretending her oldest brother, probably around twelve, was a pony. She was adorable and utterly herself, even nowadays — he could see that same glint in her eyes whenever she was up to something, like buying something she did not need through the internet or giving Uju more sweets than he had allowed after dinner.
“I’m sure she would have beautiful babies,” her mother sighed again, just as Ikjun expected Songhwa to—
“Aish. Eomma!” Songhwa exclaimed, cheeks on fire beside him. An entirely too funny sight.
“I’m just saying, that singer the other day got pregnant at 44 naturally—”
“Eomma—”
“I agree with you, Eomeonim,” Ikjun interjected, knowing how easy it was for Songhwa to lose her patience with her poor mother. “If she chooses to have children, they’ll be lucky to take after her.”
It was a diplomatic response — he and Songhwa hadn’t really discussed the future like this, having been together only for a few months. He knew her instance on marriage, and he knew she was fine without children. He had her — that was way above his biggest dreams, once upon a time — and he had Uju, so he felt the discussion wasn’t really up to him anyway.
But it did appease her mother, who smiled brightly at him and turned the page again. He exchanged a glance with Songhwa, petting her thigh under the photo album, and she gave him an almost shy smile.
“Oh, this is her first day at kindergarten,” her mother explained with fond eyes. “She was so excited. It’s like she knew how much she’d love school forever.”
Songhwa shook her head slightly in embarrassment beside him, but he was too focused on the photo to mind. In the photo, she smiled brightly, one of her front teeth missing — an accident her mother had told him before — with her hair tied back in a red ribbon, and bright eyes, so much like the ones he loves to stare at nowadays. But they also reminded him of someone else…
She hadn’t changed all that much, really. She is a beautiful woman, and she was a very cute child. But her eyes, they just reminded him so much of—
I’ll come when the time’s right. And when my parents are ready.
He looked at Songhwa, bewildered. He had listened many times of how he spoke nonsense about the dream he had whilst in a coma, with the guys teasing him endlessly about it. By the time he got cleared out of the ICU, he had completely forgotten about it. Now, he remembered it slightly: there was a vague notion of rain, ice creams, and a child’s laughter.
Seeing this photo album brought it back suddenly. All because of a pair of wise, gentle, mischievous eyes.
“What?” Songhwa asked, bumping her shoulder against his. “I was cute, wasn’t I?”
“Effortlessly so,” he said quickly, meaning it with all his heart. “I thought Uju was cute because he took after me. You are on a whole new level.”
Songhwa laughed, smacking his arm softly. “Yah, stop teasing me.”
“I’m serious. You were the cutest child ever,” he shook his head. “Ah, Chae Songhwa, really, I bet no one resisted your cuteness.”
“There’s still time for you two to make another one of those,” her mother chimed in cheekily, and that was enough for Songhwa’s cheeks to blush again, and this time he knew her patience had been worn off for real. It didn’t take long for them to finish the album afterwards, and then she decided to leave by saying they both had work in the morning.
A white lie, considering they both had the Saturday off and weren’t on-call. He knew better than to argue.
They had settled comfortably in his car and he was steering them away from her family’s house when she sighed and relaxed in her seat.
“I’m sorry about that,” Songhwa said. “I think my parents have been rooting for us for a while. Eomma never said that stuff to any of my boyfriends.”
Ikjun winked at her. “She knows how special I am.”
“And Appa taking you to his library and showing you his latest purchases? I don’t think he’s ever done that before either. That’s like sacred ground,” she shook her head. “Still, talking about children— she never even told me that stuff. I didn’t know she felt that way. I mean, she has four grandchildren already, and you know they loved meeting Uju.”
He shrugged. “My parents are like that, too. I think it’s because Iksun has been adamant that she won’t have children. They think I owe them one or two more or something.”
She laughed at that. “Even with Uju?”
“Yah, my mother kept saying a bigger gap between kids is the best. So parents can raise them properly,” he rolled his eyes. “Can you believe that? They got into that ever since I got divorced. Talking about what a great big brother Uju would be.”
Songhwa laughed again, and he chanced a look at her briefly as he drove. His hand lazily rested on her thigh, and she covered it with her own, squeezing slowly.
“Well, they’re not wrong at that,” she said softly, looking outside her window. “My sweet Uju would be a great brother. I’m sure of it.”
He stopped at a red light and met her eyes. They were twinkling a little, teasing him. So very much herself that it was troubling to think of a possibility so vividly — of a little girl with her eyes and smile and wit. He wanted so badly for it to be true. But maybe… not just yet.
They weren’t there yet. But they weren’t denying it either.
He pressed his lips against the back of her hand, and she bit her lower lip without pulling her gaze away, and he thanked the stars that Uju was in Changwon tonight so they could have some proper alone time. Somewhere around them, thunder could be heard. It would rain soon, somewhere far away.
Practicing would never hurt, in case they ever became ready for it one day.
It was raining outside.
He hadn’t noticed it until she pointed it out to him.
Thankfully, this wasn’t an ICU room, just a regular private room in the hospital. And there were windows and the soft patter of rain against them.
This time, it wasn’t him on the hospital bed; it was Songhwa, looking every bit precious as she’d always been, only a little more ethereal. He found he was even more in awe of her now. He had crushed on her, fallen in love with her twice, had become smitten and completely devoted to her, but this feeling, this awe… it was a little new.
Especially when she was holding that tiny bundle in her arms like this. A small head full of her could be seen from where he was standing, a small hand peaking from under the blanket.
“Should I open the window?” Ikjun offered.
Songhwa looked up from the baby to him and nodded excitedly. “Just a little bit. It shouldn’t bother her, right?”
“Nah. I bet she loves the rain,” he said with a certainty he didn’t know where it came from. With parents like them, their baby was bound to love the rain too. He walked towards the bed again as Songhwa adjusted the baby to face him. She was wide-eyed, their little Byeol, and looking pretty much a mix of her lovely mother and her big brother at the young age of barely three hours old. “How are you feeling?”
Songhwa took a deep breath as he tucked a strand of her long hair behind her ear.
“Happy. Sore. Worried,” she said finally, looking up at him with misty eyes. “I suppose that’s normal. You’ve done this before, so tell me. When do I stop worrying about every disease she may catch? Why do I want her back inside my belly so I could protect her?”
Ikjun smiled. A healthy, nearly uneventful pregnancy that had Songhwa glowing and handling things so naturally that he wondered how even growing a human being was almost simple for her. But he knew her worries and her insecurities, just like she knew his. Having done this before… it was truly no help.
“Pfff, I’m hardly an expert. This is only my second time. And the answer is never,” he replied, and Songhwa laughed. He sat by the bed, watching his girls — his girls. “She’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
Songhwa leaned in, and they exchanged a soft kiss.
“Thanks for doing this with me,” she whispered.
“You did all the hard work,” he shook his head. “I practiced cheering you on, but I think I was too worried when the time came.”
“You cheered me on. You made me laugh and you let me nearly break your fingers,” she said.
“Can’t believe we made this tiny baby,” Ikjun said, still in awe. “She has such wise eyes, did you notice?”
Songhwa rested her head against the pillows and laughed. “You can tell already?”
“This one could go to Mensa. I can feel it,” he half-joked. “You did wonderful, my love.”
“Yah, I didn’t do it alone. Though not being able to tie my shoelaces were annoying,” she sighed. “I think we make a good team.”
“Ah, that we do,” he agreed easily, smiling as the baby wrapped her wrist tightly around his little finger. “We’re two against two now. Team’s complete all around.”
“And speaking of team… when is Uju coming?”
“Iksun is bringing him later on the evening, to give you both a little time,” he told her.
“Good. That gives us time to name her. We shouldn’t introduce them with her nickname. She should have a proper name now,” Songhwa decided. “So we had two options…”
“It’s kinda chosen already, my love,” Ikjun looked pointedly at the rain outside.
“So you agree?” She asks, that mischievous glint in her eyes.
He hummed his reply.
“Seowoo-ah,” Songhwa tried out, and he watched at the way mother and baby stared at each other. “Do you like your name? It’s just like the rain outside, you see. Eomma and Appa love the rain.”
Ikjun smiled, not trying to disguise the tears filling his eyes.
Timing was a crucial thing to all relationships. And he and Songhwa, they got it right. He remembered her confession in his car that rainy night and so many moments that led to this, right here, through so many years of friendship and romantic relationship.
He caressed the baby’s tiny head in his palm, and whispered to her:
“Thank you for waiting for us, Seowoo-ah. We love you very much.”
Songhwa sniffed a little in front of him, and before she could blame it on the hormones, he kissed her again.
The two of them had always waited for the perfect time, and it came.
It finally came.