when that door opens
Circa June ‘19.
At this time of year, the feverish heat is almost insufferable. Shorts would have been a better option, but there’s only so much you can pack into a single carry-on. The vast majority of her belongings are sitting in cardboard boxes somewhere; the rest will probably be thrown out too, but for now they’re buried in the back of his closet. Her heart sinks at the realization and she hastens her pace, sandals slapping briskly on the pavement. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It’s been years since she’s come home, but not much has changed. She passes the painted wall between the old convenience store and her school, still streaked in reds and oranges; the small playground and its winding, yellow slide; houses in dire need of renovation, yet left untouched as they had been for years. Familiar sights that ease the uncomfortable weight she’s been shouldering for months now, like a much-needed breath of fresh air. Someone calls her name. She turns, eyes falling first on the well-loved neon pink cart, then to its owner. Years have passed, but some things never change.
You’ll have to come over and feast tonight. Jihae loops their arms together and laughs. “It’s just me, Halmang. Don’t go out of your way t-” The protest is cut short with a single look. No use in arguing with her once she’s made up her mind.
Hours pass, the small kitchen brimming with warmth, fond memories exchanged over bubbling pots and sizzling pans. By the time she looks outside the window, evening’s set in slow and deep-- only a silhouette is visible as it approaches the front gate. Halmang wanders over and follows her line of sight. Eunho’s home. “Eunho,” she echoes. And smiles.
@hseunho