Chapter 4.1

“Why are you so late?”

Waiting for Su-eon as she arrived home was Jung Cho-ah. Squatting at the edge of the stairs leading to the building’s entrance, Jung Cho-ah had been cooling her face with a handheld fan and a bottle of water. The moment she spotted Su-eon climbing the alley, she jumped to her feet and ran toward her.

“I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Who told you to wait?”

“I figured you’d start running again, so I grabbed some water and waited here, ready to go.”

Jung Cho-ah proudly held up a half-melted bottle of cold water. It seemed she knew she’d done something wrong.

“But what’s this? You’re totally fine? I thought you’d be so stressed out you’d run all the way home after work.”

Her gaze shifted to Su-eon’s feet, which were still clad in heels. Without answering, Su-eon headed toward the entrance of the one-room apartment building.

“Did something happen?”

Trailing close behind her on the stairs, Jung Cho-ah pressed for answers.

“You were with Ki Seung-jo this whole time, weren’t you? What did he say?”

Without a word, Su-eon mechanically climbed the stairs. Reaching the fifth floor felt like a slow, grueling process. It had been a tidal wave of a day.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me… he found out?”

“Yeah. He said he knew from the very beginning.”

“Wha—?!”

“I also told him it was all your idea, so you’d better get ready to be scolded.”

“Liar. There’s no way you’d say that.”

Jung Cho-ah scoffed shamelessly, her face defiant. Su-eon shot her an annoyed glare, but Jung Cho-ah kept rambling on as if oblivious.

“Don’t you think Executive Director Ki is a bit sly, despite how he looks?”

“…….”

“I heard Chairman Ki went ballistic, saying he wouldn’t form in-law ties with a family involved in politics. But Seung-jo didn’t tell his family anything, did he? If he’d just mentioned from the start that the matchmaking meeting was off, there wouldn’t have been any of this fuss.”

Trailing close behind, Jung Cho-ah snapped her fingers as if she’d solved a mystery.

“He’s into you. Fell for you at first sight. That’s why he even showed up at that hotel. Isn’t this fate? And you, Ki Seung-jo is your first love—”

“I told you, he’s not my first love.”

“But back then, you used to write letters and everything. You even folded stars.”

“I said he’s not.”

Su-eon frowned.

“Oh, come on. I even saw the stationery—”

Finally reaching the fifth floor, Su-eon stomped her foot firmly on the last step. Startled, Jung Cho-ah flinched and quickly changed the subject.

“Alright, alright. Who cares about the past, right? The important thing is that you two met again. How was the date? Did you have dinner? Where did you go?”

Su-eon entered the six-digit password. Even as the door opened, Jung Cho-ah continued bombarding her with questions like a relentless interrogator.

“What did Ki Seung-jo say? Did he confess? Did he ask you out? So, is today the first day of your relationship…?”

As Jung Cho-ah naturally tried to follow her inside, Su-eon slammed the door shut in her face.

“Unnie? Unnie, what’s wrong? Are you mad? Secretary Jiii—!”

From outside the door, Jung Cho-ah shuffled her feet anxiously, but Su-eon gave her a curt warning.

“Stop making a fuss and go home.”

“Aw, come on. Let’s just talk for a bit—!”

“I’m calling Assemblywoman Yeo right now.”

Ignoring Jung Cho-ah’s grumbling about how unfair she was being, Su-eon locked the door and headed inside. She closed the bedroom door, dropped her bag carelessly, and climbed onto the bed, curling her body into a ball as she lay down.

The moment the tension left her body, a dull, stinging pain began to radiate from her lower abdomen. Curling up even tighter, she scrunched her face in irritation. She was annoyed at Ki Seung-jo, who had stirred her up with all this talk about dating and marriage, and at Jung Cho-ah, the root cause of everything.

“Who even said he was my first love, anyway?”

Muttering irritably to herself, Su-eon closed her eyes. That night, her period started.

* * *

“Just this once, Su-eon, please? You have the prettiest handwriting in our class. Isn’t that what best friends are for?”

The moment she saw J’s youthful face, her long hair swaying as she smiled brightly, Su-eon realized it was a dream. But knowing didn’t change anything. Dreams always released her only after they reached their end.

J was the first friend Su-eon made after entering middle school. She had a bright, cheerful personality with an open and friendly demeanor. Her family was rumored to be wealthy—some even whispered that she was the granddaughter of a bank president, though the teachers only gossiped about it quietly. J and Su-eon couldn’t have been more different, with almost nothing in common, yet they hit it off from the very beginning.

J was the kind of person who seemed to pull Su-eon, who often felt dark and gloomy, into the light. She was a friend full of kindness and understanding, so much so that Su-eon felt comfortable sharing her personal life and family circumstances for the first time.

She told J about her father’s hearing impairment and how her mother wasn’t around. Even after hearing this, J’s attitude didn’t change. Instead, she praised Su-eon, calling her amazing. For the first time, Su-eon felt glad that she had taken the courage to open up.

“You can write in a neat, formal style, but you can also do those cute, rounded letters. I can’t even read my own handwriting because it’s so messy.”

“Why don’t you just type it out on Word Doc? There are tons of cute fonts there.”

“That’s too emotionless! If I write something like ‘I like you,’ or ‘I’m your fan,’ in computer-generated text, do you think it’ll pierce oppa’s heart? I’m not even his only fan, you know.”

Watching J pout and whine about how Su-eon didn’t understand anything, Su-eon simply shrugged her shoulders. Just the thought of writing something like “I like you,” or “I’m your fan,” or “Oppa, blah blah,” with her own hands gave her goosebumps. People who lived their lives being worshipped like idols wouldn’t even remember such letters no matter how many they received.

How did she know?

Su-eon reached into her desk drawer and pulled out the class journal. Along with it, several folded notes that someone had stuffed inside fell to the floor with a soft rustle. J stared at them with her mouth open.

“Wow, again? Didn’t you already get some this morning?”

Exactly. Who could have slipped those in during such a short time? Su-eon picked up the fallen notes and stuffed them into her pencil case. The papers inside crinkled noisily as they pressed together.

“Aren’t you going to check them?”

“No need.”

She didn’t even have to open them to know what they said. They would contain her grade, class, name, and a phone number. Sometimes, they even included the sender’s class number. It wasn’t like they were after-school class registration forms—what did they expect her to do with them?

“There might be someone decent among them.”

Decent people already know they’re decent. That’s why they don’t resort to such ordinary methods. They believe they’re on a different level from others.

“Anyway, help me out. This time, I’m definitely going to confess.”

“…Confess? Didn’t you say it was just a fan letter?”

Two letters that both begin with “I like you” diverge greatly in their nature at a critical point. A fan letter ends beautifully with admiration, encouragement, support, and cheer. On the other hand, a love letter demands a response, placing the knife in the recipient’s hands before it ends.

Naturally, a love letter doesn’t guarantee anonymity like a fan letter does. Instead, it makes the sender a slave to the reply. Su-eon stared at the notes crammed into her pencil case. By the end of the day, they would all be headed to the shredder.

A confession through a letter—she really wanted to stop J from doing that. It would be better to say it directly in person. Five minutes of embarrassment was far better than creating a lifelong regret that would haunt her for fifty years. Why, in this 21st century where Blackberries and iPhones had revolutionized humanity’s communication, would anyone willingly write a letter that would make them cringe under their blankets later?

“What’s with your expression? Are you saying I shouldn’t confess because I’m just going to get rejected anyway?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Dying with your first love locked in your heart without ever confessing—it’s just too unfair. I feel like I’ll regret it later.”

“Then just go to him directly, look him in the face, and…”

“What am I supposed to do when I freeze the moment I see Seung-jo-oppa’s face? My mouth shuts, my expression turns completely stupid. Ugh, I don’t know, I don’t know. If I were as pretty as you, I wouldn’t even have these worries.”

Su-eon didn’t know how to respond and kept her mouth shut. At times like this, she lamented her lack of conversational skills. Sensing Su-eon’s hesitation, J laughed breezily.

“I can’t wait to get to high school so I can get double eyelid surgery and eyebrow tattoos. Then I might look a little prettier.”

“…Fine, I’ll write the letter for you.”

“Really?”

Best friends, BFFs—whatever you wanted to call it. Writing a love letter on behalf of J wasn’t exactly a big deal. It was just the recipient that bothered her.