Work Text:
March 18, 1943
Somewhere North
Dear Riki,
I hope this letter actually reaches you.
I don’t know if writing to someone I only met for an hour is foolish, but the alternative, pretending that hour didn’t happen, felt even more ridiculous.
So here I am.
The trains took us farther north than I expected. Everything here is gray. The sky, the roads, even the trees look tired. Snow still clings to the ground in places, though it’s supposed to be spring.
Sometimes when the wind blows across the camp, it makes a sound that reminds me of the station that day.
Crowded. Loud. A little desperate.
But in the middle of that chaos, you were standing there holding that tiny suitcase like you were trying not to run away from the whole world.
I keep wondering where you are now.
Did your train arrive safely? Did you find your family?
I hope wherever you are, there’s a bakery nearby. Someone should still be making bread in the world.
You asked me what the ocean was like.
Today during drills, I tried to remember it properly. The way the water stretches forever, like the world doesn’t end after all.
When the war is over, I’m going to keep that promise.
Even if it takes years.
Even if we have to cross half the world.
I’ll meet you at the ocean.
Until then, please stay safe.
--Sunghoon.
April 2, 1943
Evacuation Zone, South Coast
Dear Sunghoon,
Your letter arrived yesterday.
For a moment I thought it must be a mistake. Who writes to someone they met for one hour?
Apparently you do. And now I suppose I do too.
My train did arrive safely. The journey took two days because the tracks kept closing for military trains. We spent hours sitting in the dark while soldiers passed us heading north.
I kept wondering if one of those trains carried you.
My aunt and I are staying in a small coastal town. You’ll be pleased to know there is indeed a bakery nearby.
The owner lets me help sometimes when the mornings get busy. The smell of bread still fills the street before sunrise.
You were right about something.
The ocean is loud.
I saw it for the first time three days ago. At first, I just stood there, because I couldn’t believe something so enormous existed. It felt like the edge of the world and the beginning of it at the same time.
I thought about you.
About that strange hour in the train station when two strangers told each other things they had never said out loud before.
Sometimes I worry I imagined it.
But then your letter arrived, so I suppose it was real after all.
Please be careful, Sunghoon.
You promised to meet me here someday.
I intend to hold you to it.
--Riki.
July 9, 1943
Dear Riki,
Your letter about the ocean made half my unit jealous.
Most of them haven’t seen it either. When I read your description out loud, one of them, Heeseung, said you must be a poet.
I didn’t correct him.
Life here has become strangely routine. Wake up before dawn, march, train, wait. War is mostly waiting, it turns out. Waiting and writing letters.
I’ve begun to notice small things because of you.
Yesterday the sky turned orange at sunset, and for a moment the whole camp looked almost peaceful. I wonder if the ocean turns that color too.
There’s something else I should admit.
At first I wrote because I didn’t want that hour to disappear. Now I write because I look forward to your replies more than anything else here.
It’s strange, isn’t it?
Two people who barely know each other exchanging pieces of their lives across hundreds of miles.
But when I read your letter, the world felt a little less frightening.
You asked me once if I was afraid. The answer hasn’t changed.
But now I’m also afraid of something else.
I’m afraid that when this war ends, I’ll arrive at the ocean and you won’t be there.
So please promise me something.
No matter how long it takes, wait for me.
--Sunghoon.
August 3, 1943
Sunghoon,
You once said you weren’t brave.
I think you lied.
You’re much braver than you pretend to be.
I read your letter three times before answering because it made my hands shake.
You asked if I would wait for you.
The truth is that I think I already am.
Every morning when I walk past the ocean, I imagine someone standing at the far end of the shore.
It’s ridiculous.
But that image has become my favorite part of the day.
War has a strange way of shrinking the world. My whole life right now exists between the bakery, our little house, and the stretch of beach outside town.
And yet, somehow, you’re part of it.
A soldier hundreds of miles away who once mistook me for someone else.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t spoken to me that day.
I think the world would feel quieter. And much lonelier.
So yes. I promise.
When the war ends, I will be standing by the ocean.
Waiting for someone who once shared an hour with me in a train station.
Come find me.
--Riki.
December 21, 1943
Riki,
Winter has returned.
The snow here is deeper than last year, and the nights are so cold our breath freezes in the air.
But today something strange happened.
For the first time since arriving here, I felt certain that I would survive this war.
Not because the fighting has slowed. Not because things are easier. But because I refuse to break a promise to you.
You see what you’ve done?
You turned one hour into a future.
When I close my eyes, I can almost see it.
The ocean. The wind. You standing there pretending not to look nervous.
And me walking toward you like it’s the most important journey I’ll ever make.
Riki…
If the world had been different, I would have asked to see you again the very next day. I would have walked you home from the station. Maybe bought bread from your aunt’s bakery.
Instead, we were given one hour.
But somehow, that hour became everything.
I think I fell in love with you in the middle of that train station. And if fate is kind enough to let us meet again…
I intend to tell you that in person.
Stay safe by the ocean.
Wait for me.
Always, Sunghoon.