Seven Thursdays
Seven Thursdays, Seven Coincidences
Im Hyunsik x OC
(previously uploaded under killingmebtob, this is a revised edition)
Thursday, 5 October 2017
"Believe in me and wait. I promise... I'll come back to you..."
I can barely hold back from rolling my eyes at the cliché dialogue. Sometimes, I really question my editor's intentions. For the nth time today, I wonder how she expects me to gain inspiration from a coming-of-age novel but then again, she knows best when it comes to melodrama. Sighing, I return to the passage, fervently hoping that something interesting will come up to distract me from the cold. It is now the middle of autumn now and I did not expect it to be chilly this afternoon in the park, especially after the weather forecast earlier.
"Hi, sorry is this seat taken?"
A low voice interrupts my thoughts. Without looking up from my book, I shake my head while gesturing to the stranger to take a seat. With a murmur of thanks, he sits slowly and softly as if he is afraid of interrupting me again. Cute, my mind whispers before I lose myself to the story, the ambient noise as a wonderful soundtrack to accompany me.
It is only moments later when I notice that the sun is setting. I barely registered the stranger leaving but then again, he had been very quiet. I keep my book in my bag before bringing my hands up to my lips to blow on them. As I am about to leave, I notice a pack of new hand warmer by my side. Did he leave it behind by chance? Or did he notice that my fingers are freezing? Smiling to myself, I thank the stranger in my heart while I take the pack.
I guess my questions will remain unanswered, I think as I walk away from the bench.
It takes one Thursday to cross paths.
Thursday, 12 October 2017
I find myself at the park again, sitting on the same bench while writing out a brief plot for my new idea. It is not much but definitely better than last week. I smile to myself as I recall the act of kindness last week. I guess chivalry is not really dead, I think wryly.
As I write, I hear the crunching of leaves which make me look up to see a person approaching the bench.
"Hi again. Is the seat taken?"
A familiar voice breaks the silence around me. Finally, I am able to put a face to the kind stranger from last week. He is pretty tall, his black coat accentuating his silhouette. His messy black hair almost covers his eyes which light up as he smiles.
"No, it isn't," I answered, still reeling from the surprise that I am seeing him for the second time in the two Thursdays I am here.
With a muttered thanks, he sits and relaxes against the bench. Crossing his legs, he takes out a notepad before plugging in his earphones. A look of concentration crosses his face as he writes. Soon, he looks as if he had lost himself to the music as he remains engrossed in his work. I catch myself studying him, mentally berating myself for staring. All of a sudden, I remember that I have to thank him for the hand warmer. However, I hold back for I did not want to disturb him. Maybe later, I think and I turn to write.
Later finds me nearing sunset. I hear him moving as he starts to pack his things. Gathering up the courage, I clear my throat before turning to him.
"Hey, umm... thanks for the hand warmer last Thursday," I croak out, my throat dry from not talking for an hour.
He looks up, as if my voice had jolted him from his task.
"No worries, I have a lot on me," he answers.
He breaks into a smile and the corner of his eyes crinkle along with his smile lines, making his smile contagious to those around him. I can only nod, unsure of how to respond. As he stands, he suddenly turns to me and hands out a new pack of hand warmer.
"It's going to get cold tonight. Keep warm yeah?"
With a parting wave, he turns around and leaves.
It takes two Thursdays to smile.
Thursday, 19 October 2017
Perhaps my continued fascination with the park is that it is a good place to observe humanity's interesting antics. It is one of the few moments where their uninhibited emotions are clear on their faces as they enjoy themselves.
"Maybe I can use that little boy for a character model," I mumble to myself while scribbling in my notebook.
Satisfied with what I had written, I look up only to see Mr. Stranger approaching my vicinity. He is certainly a good model, my thoughts creep up before I dismiss them.
"Hello again," he greets as he stands before the bench.
"Hey, and no this seat isn't taken," I respond while moving my things away to make room for him. I close my notebook and place it by my side.
Chuckling, he takes off his bag before sitting carefully at his usual space.
"I've come prepared today," I remark, indicating to the hand warmer on my lap.
He gives a small laugh in his low voice and I grin along with him. There is really something about this stranger that lights up the atmosphere around him. He leans back and breathes in deeply as if he is soaking up the atmosphere around him.
"You're not reading today?" he suddenly asks, breaking the momentary silence.
"Yeah, not today. I'm collecting materials instead."
"Materials?" His eyes narrow, clearly confused about the term.
I grin while gesturing to the people around us.
"Yeah, materials. Everyone here is a potential subject."
He nods, finally understanding what I am referring to. He crosses his arms behind his head as he observes his surroundings.
"You're a writer."
It is not a question and I just incline my head in return. With a heavy sigh, he tilts his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. I glance at his calm face, a question lingering at the tip of my tongue.
"Are you a writer too?" I blurt.
With his eyes still close, he smirks and mumbles, "Somewhat, I guess."
All of a sudden, his phone rings. He sits up, excuses himself as he leaves to take the call. I take the moment to register our conversation, rolling my eyes at his last cryptic response. He comes back soon, an apologetic look on his face.
"I have to go now," he starts as he takes the bag that he had left on the bench.
I nod in response as I wave him off. As he adjusts the bag on his shoulders, he appears to remember something and starts to dig in his coat pocket. He takes a pair of gloves out before turning to me.
"See you around," he says clearly as he offers the gloves to me. "Take care of yourself, yeah?"
I accept them hesitantly, confusion and questions clear on my face.
"Don't catch a cold. Thursdays will be boring without you," he answers, grinning with a mischievous glint in his eyes before walking away.
Leaving me sitting on the bench holding the pair of gloves in my hand and a million questions running through my head.
It takes three Thursdays to talk.
Thursday, 26 October 2017
On Thursday, I find myself staring at a familiar handsome stranger writing on the bench. This marks our fourth meeting and I still don't know anything about him, I think dryly. As if he senses my approach, he looks up from his work and his face break into the warmest of smiles as he notices me. He shifts his bag to make space. Wordlessly, I walk up and take my place next to him. Somehow, this is beginning to feel like a routine.
"Thanks for the gloves last week," I start as I hand them to him.
"No worries, I'm glad you look well," he responds before returning back to his writing.
Despite it being our fourth meeting, there is something comfortable about meeting him here to the extent that I have started to look forward to Thursdays. A calm silence settles between us as we each turn to our own individual task. Once in a while, I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He does not write much but he plays with his pen a lot by tapping it against the armrest in a constant rhythm. Sometimes he murmurs under his breath and gets ready to write, only to shake his head and continues tapping. I smile to myself, acknowledging that I do enjoy this weird company that we share.
"So, I tried to look you up..." he remarks all of a sudden, pulling me away from my reverie.
I frown at his revelation as I try to recall the instance that we introduce ourselves.
"I didn't tell you my name," I counter.
He laughs softly as he points to the notebook on my lap. On the notebook, my name is spelt out clearly in cursive, a grim reminder of that one attempt where I had considered calligraphy as a job switch.
"That's a little sneaky and creepy actually," I respond.
Like a defence mechanism, I turn the notebook face down. He laughs louder now and apologises.
"I wanted to ask you last week, but work pulled me away. I'm sorry," he supplements, the ghost of a grin flittered across his face.
I tried to maintain my frown but I crack a smile at his embarrassed expression.
"Good thing I'm in a good mood today," I smirk, turning away from him to focus on the people before me.
"Oh, why so?"
Someone is chatty today. I keep my notebook in my bag before replying to his question.
"My editor gave me the green light to start on a new novel."
His smile widens as he offers his hand to me. "Congratulations! So what is it going to be about? Another thriller?"
"Nope, I choose to experiment on melodrama instead, with a mix of science fiction," I reply, secretly amazed that he knows my recent works, even if it had been an online name search.
He considers my response, nodding as if in agreement with my choice of direction.
"So who and what are you? You already know who I am and I think your introduction is way overdue," I ask, turning to face him fully.
He turns as well, placing his arm on the headrest, a serious look on his face as he contemplates my question.
"Well, I'm a composer and lyricist. But I'm not as big as you."
I raise an eyebrow at the obvious downplay of his abilities.
"So what have you composed?" I ask, a weak attempt at making him reveal himself.
"Few things here and there," he replies in a tone that implies he does not want to continue.
Shrugging, I look away from him. Secretive fellow.
Silence blankets us for a moment as I catch a scene in front of me. With a burst of inspiration, I am about to take my notebook when he interrupts me.
"You're not curious about my name?"
I cock my head at the question, my eyes glued to the family that I picked out.
"I'm just assuming you don't want me to know," I state, ignoring his chuckle at that answer.
"So what are you writing now?"
"Hmm... character profiles. The park is a good resource for that," I answer distractedly as I fix my gaze on the way a mother picks her child up after falling.
"So am I a part of that resource too?"
Pause.
I stop writing, my hand lingering in the air as I consider the implication behind his question. Deciding not to think too much on it, I turn to him to meet his eye and shrug.
"Maybe."
A moment of uncomfortable silence stretches between us as we both hold each other's gaze. I remain transfixed, not daring myself to look away from him. At the same time, there is a weird and indescribable look on his face, as if he is holding back from saying something. Fortunately, his alarm beeps and shatters the awkwardness that had settled between us. He looks away first and reaches for his phone. Sighing, he keeps his phone away and starts gathering his things.
"See you," I say weakly, still uneasy with what had transpired. He nods in reply and turns to walk away. However, he stops and faces me.
"I'm Im Hyunsik by the way, to answer your other question."
It takes four Thursdays to get to know one another.
Thursday, 3 November 2017
"So... you're the genius composer."
Hyunsik widens his eyes before grinning, remembering that he had told me his name last week.
"Guess we're even now since you looked me up. I'm actually surprised you didn't know me beforehand," he admits shyly while sipping his coffee.
He had arrived a bit later than me today, with two cups of hot coffee in his hands. He gave the excuse that the barista had given him an additional one as a mistake but even that lie sounded weak to my ear. I am thankful for his sweet gesture though, it really is getting colder with autumn ending so soon.
"Sorry, I don't really listen to music much," I apologise, a little embarrassed at my ignorance.
I remembered feeling extremely shocked when I had looked him up after last week. I did not expect him to be that famous as he did not even give any indication of it. He shakes his head, saying that it is nice for a change to not be famous to someone.
"How's your writing going?" Hyunsik asks after a while.
I look up from my notebook and smile happily as I recall my progress.
"It's going great! I'm thinking of exploring the idea of interconnectedness, like I want to experiment writing multiple perspectives and linking them up to a singular major event. I think it's really interesting to show how coincidence brings people together sometime later in the future."
He meets my eye from the corner of his, the sides of his lips pulling into a smirk as if he finds something humorous in my ramble. However, he holds his gaze a little longer than necessary. Slightly uncomfortable, I look away and ask about his group's comeback.
"Soon... that is provided I get the song ready on time," he sighs. He runs his fingers through his hair as a gesture of exasperation.
"Is it something like a writer's block?" I asked, uncertain about the differences between our professions.
"Something like that, yeah. The song is actually ready but I think I should modify the bridge a little," Hyunsik admits before releasing a heavy sigh again.
In a moment of craziness, my hand reach out to pat the hand on his lap as a sign of comfort. He stiffens at the contact and I am about to pull away when he actually holds it in place with his other hand.
"Your hands are cold," he murmurs while giving my hand a squeeze.
I freeze, my stare burning on our contact. A million thoughts run through my mind yet I am unable to decipher any of them. Instead, my senses are heightened on our touch, on the feeling of his warm palm against my skin... on the heat that we share. I am at lost, torn between what I am supposed to do and what I really wanted. Do I pull away even though a part of me is relishing this? How do I...
Before I can even make sense of my internal conundrum, Hyunsik returns my hand to my lap but not before giving it a lingering pat.
"When will your book be published?"
His voice fills the silence between us. It takes me a moment to find my voice to respond.
"In six months, if everything goes alright," I whisper shakily, still reeling from what had happened.
"That means we have at least six months to continue meeting like this."
I look at him in askance, my eyes widening at his statement. When he offers no inclination of continuing, I ask, "Why so?"
"Because you said I may be a resource for your book," he grins as he recalls our last conversation.
I break into an awkward smile, still unsure of the hidden implications that surround this enigmatic man.
"Why do you come here every Thursday?" he asks, curiosity lacing his tone.
Leaning against the bench, I take a moment to consider my reply.
"I think it's because Thursday is a random day of the week. It's a day before the weekends and it's also the last day of the weekdays. I don't know honestly, maybe it's a good day to wind down. What about you? Why are you here on Thursdays?"
Still smiling, he mimics my position. "Same here I guess."
"What a coincidence," I say softly, a ghost of a smile teasing on my lips.
"Or maybe it's because I just want to keep sharing conversations with you."
Startling, I turn to him, searching on his face, and in his eyes, for his intentions behind the loaded statement. He stares back, confidently meeting my gaze. My breath hitches up in my throat as he drops his guard for a moment, revealing a glimmer of the truth. All too soon, he hides his emotions and fixes me a small smile.
"You should pick up your phone, it's been ringing for a while," he states, inclining his head at a particular buzzing source.
Before I can respond, he stands up and brushes the lint off his coat.
"Take care. I'll see you around."
It takes five Thursdays to be honest.
Thursday, 10 November 2017
For the first time in six weeks, I am late.
Not that we ever set a time or even promise to meet every week, I think sardonically. There is nothing certain between us, yet a weird routine had settled which makes our meetups work. However, deep down I acknowledge that one of the reasons why I am late is because of the lingering fear that had developed along with the anticipation of meeting him. And following last Thursday's 'incident', I know that our meetups are not coincidences. Coincidence works best in the first three weeks, but not for six weeks. Besides, after last week, I know for sure that the term 'coincidence' does not begin to describe us.
Us.
I shake my head as I try to stop myself from going down that slippery slope. I remember vividly how I had walked home after last Thursday, pondering over our exchange. Over his words and over...
I stop short when I notice that he is not there on the bench. I nibble my lower lip, wondering why he is not there when I am already two hours late. Shrugging it off, I make my way to the bench with the very intention of waiting for him so that I am able to demand some answers out of him. And perhaps, just maybe, get myself out of this limbo that we have subconsciously put ourselves in. I shiver slightly, wrapping my arms around myself in a half-ass effort to keep warm. Slowly, I start to recall how it all started with a pack of hand warmers.
It is interesting, to say the least, that we know almost next to nothing about one another except from the things online. Nevertheless, his little quirks have started to make their way under my skin. I find myself thinking of the way the corner of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, or his deep chuckles as he laughs at our conversations. I recollect how he taps his pen, or how he bites the end as he thinks. I remember how his lips move wordlessly as he voices out his thoughts. I remember the light scent of his cologne that envelopes us and I definitely remember the feel of his hand against mine.
I bite back a sigh when I realise that deep down, he will not be here today. There is nothing to keep him coming and our time is up. As I am about to stand up, I hear someone running up towards me.
"Miss! Miss writer!"
I ignore the disappointment in my heart when I realise the voice is not his. A little boy, barely eight years of age, approaches me from afar. As he gasps for breath, he hands me a folded paper enthusiastically.
"He... He said this is for you!" he greets, smiling with a toothy grin.
"Who?"
"A tall mister!"
With that, the little boy runs off. My eyes follow him as he reaches his group of friends who are playing in the park's open space. Curious, I open up the letter, sentiment telling me exactly who the tall mister was.
Hey,
I'm sorry that I am not able to stay for too long today. We've started preparing for our comeback. It will be on the 16th so I hope you will look forward to it. Hope your book is going smoothly. I'll see you soon. Take care.
Hyunsik
Attached is a pack of hand warmer. I take it in my hand, allowing a sad smile to cross my features momentarily. And now I know another thing about Im Hyunsik: his neat and clear handwriting. A clear reflection of the man that he is.
It takes six Thursdays to be confused
Thursday, 17 November 2017
On the seventh Thursday, I find myself sitting on the bench. My notebook lays untouched by my side. On my lap is my phone, playing a recent ballad. Playing his ballad. My wrist is slowly feeling a little numb from having supported my head since earlier. As I listen to his mellow and baritone voice, I note that he really lives up to his name as the 'genius composer'. The song is nothing short of amazing and yet... it makes me even more confused than our last meeting. Putting the song on repeat since yesterday did nothing to clear my mind. Instead, it only creates more questions as the implications of the lyrics sink in.
His lyrics which tells a story of two strangers.
About love found in coincidences.
I frown as the song reach the bridge, the part that he had admitted having problems with and the part that makes me question the man even more.
So when I next see you
I hope you'll wait for me
For this song is never enough
Not for the words that I want to share with you
A shiver runs down my back, not from the cold but from the raw emotions in his voice as he sings the bridge. Even though there is a slight drizzle, I barely register the raindrops. It is as if his song is keeping me warm.
Suddenly, I notice that the raindrops have subsided, not because the rain has stopped, but because there is a navy umbrella above me. I blink the water droplets away from my eyelashes to finally notice the black boots in front of mine.
"You're here early."
I look up and sure enough, Hyunsik stands before me, his hand outstretched as he shares his umbrella with me.
"Hey you," I greet, smiling weakly at him.
"You're listening to our song."
I look down at my lap and see that his group's album is clear on the screen.
"Yeah, I just remembered today." A lie.
He shifts his weight on his feet as he brings the umbrella closer to me. I did not make any move to stand. Nor did I give any indication of moving away.
"So what do you think about it?" A slight apprehension laces his voice as he nervously waits for my response.
I look up and meet his eyes, eyes that are filled with worry and expectations.
"It's a loaded song," I mutter, breaking our eye contact when I notice the way his eyes shift to read me.
A stretched silence comes between us, each of us wanting to say something but holding back out of fear.
"What does the song mean?" I manage after the prolonged stillness, still looking down on my lap.
He takes a deep breath as he considers my question. Clearing his throat, he tries to find the proper words to answer.
"I... I want us to end our Thursdays."
My head shoots up as I eye him suspiciously over his unexpected statement. He sees the look on my face and laughs under his breath before continuing.
"That's not what I mean. I want us to stop meeting on Thursdays in exchange for the rest of our days. I want us to stop meeting at the park so that I can take you out for dinner after this. I want to meet you on any days and time that we can. I want to stop looking forward to Thursdays and instead, I just want to look forward to all the other days that I can share with you."
I blink slowly as comprehension sinks in. Finally, I am able to register the unexplained tension that had settled between us since a few Thursdays ago.
"Where are we right now, Hyunsik?" I ask softly, my voice barely a whisper but he hears it nonetheless.
"A crossroads of sort. I've stepped on my path and I think it's your turn now to make the choice."
"And what if I choose something else entirely?"
"Then I'll be happy with the seven Thursdays that I was able to spend with you."
A sad smile crosses his face as he considers the possibility of that happening. I nibble my lower lip, unsure of the words that I want to say.
"This is not supposed to happen. Everything is supposed to be a coincidence," I whisper as I hold his gaze.
With his usual eye-smile, he responds, "And some coincidences are made after the first one."
When I can only see determination staring back at me, I take a deep breath and make a move to stand up. Noticing this, Hyunsik offers his hand but I do not take it. Instead, I plant my feet closer to the bench to create a small distance between us. I ignore the flash of hurt on his face and take a step closer.
"There are a lot of things that we don't know about each other," I state clearly, proud that my voice is stable enough to not betray my decision.
"And that's the beauty of this. Of us. So will you take the chance with me?"
Appearing as if I am considering his question, I take a step closer to him until we are only a breath away from each other. And for the first time, I am able to see his face up close. He really is handsome, and the pictures are nothing in comparison. Hesitatingly, I reach a hand up to cup his cheek, my thumb barely stroking his smooth skin. He stands utterly still, as if afraid that by moving, I may run away. I lean my head closer, until our foreheads touch and I can feel him shiver from the cold and our close proximity. Slowly, I bring my lips closer to his, stopping an inch away so that we share the same breath. He did not move and I silently thank fate that he is giving me his trust along with so much more. I press my lips lightly against his, a ghost of a kiss before pulling back. With our foreheads still against each other, I whisper the answer that I had chosen since his confession.
"Ok."
It takes seven Thursdays to start falling in love