When I saw the missed calls and dozens of unread messages, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I could already imagine – without even opening them – how angry he must be after being stood up, and what kind of vile insults he must’ve sent.

Had he really shown up at my house in Seoul after I told him I wasn’t coming?

Was it possible that he had no idea I’d slipped away and only realized I was gone after he checked and found out I wasn’t there?

With the SUV circling both my home and work every morning and evening, I couldn’t help but consider all sorts of possibilities.

Still, in moments like this, I knew what I had to do.

Experience had taught me that much.

What I had to do was prioritize the life and schedule I had to keep – and not get too involved with him.

The moment I let his verbal abuse and yelling get to me, my heart would start racing uncontrollably, and the fear and panic would spiral out of control.

This was the trap of relationship violence – the very one Eun-sae had fallen into.

So I had to be careful.

I reminded myself.

There was a performance stage waiting for me tomorrow, and this out-of-town concert would probably be my last memory of performing in front of an audience as a member of the Gugak Orchestra.

I had no way of knowing if or when I would ever have the chance to perform on stage again, so I couldn’t afford to waste my emotional energy focusing on someone like Lee Jae-kwang.

I completely turned off my cell phone.

I was determined not to think about him at all until the day I returned to Seoul.

***

—”Unni, when you’re on stage, can you actually hear the sound of your gayageum? Even though all the gayageum players are playing the same piece?”
—”Well, of course I can hear mine. I’m plucking it myself. Why?”
—”Really? I mean, I know you’re somewhere in that group, but I can’t clearly pick out the sound of your gayageum.”
—”Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? It’s not a solo—it’s a group performance. If one person’s playing stands out too much, it becomes a problem.”
—”Still… I want to be able to say, “Ah, this is unni’s gayageum I’m hearing.”

Growing up as twins, Eun-sae and I shared a certain pride that came from the special bond between us.

It went beyond simply recognizing each other from a distance or feeling each other’s moods without words – there was a deep-rooted sense of oneness: I am you and you are me.

Because of this, Eun-sae would sometimes let her imagination run wild with strange ideas.

Then again, I wasn’t much different.

I always hoped that if something bad ever happened to Eun-sae, I’d be able to feel it – through some kind of telepathy or a prophetic dream.

In the end, though, the miracle I wished for never came.

—”But unni, what would you think if someone could pick out your melody alone, clearly and exactly, from within that huge ensemble of players?”

—”I wouldn’t believe it. That’s impossible. It’d have to be a lie.”

—”Sure, it sounds impossible… but sometimes, somewhere in the world, impossible things just happen by chance, don’t they?”

Even though I laughed it off, barely listening, Eun-sae kept pressing the question. I tilted my head playfully.

—”What, did you hear the old story of Bo Ya and Zhong Ziqi or something? Ever heard of ji-eum-ji-gyo? That kind of bond?”

—”What’s that?”

Having spent most of her life in the U.S., Eun-sae had no idea what the idiom I mentioned meant.

I figured she wouldn’t be interested in a long explanation, so I just steered the conversation back to the previous topic.

—”Well… if someone like that really exists, they’d have to be an even greater soulmate than you and me.
If it’s a woman, I’d adopt her as a new sister. If it’s a man, I guess I’d have to marry him.”

At my joke, Eun-sae’s expression darkened for a moment.

It had only been a joke, but my answer seemed to come as a bit of a shock to her.

She suddenly hugged me tightly, burying her face in my shoulder and whimpering.

—”Ugh, I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t even want to imagine it. Unni… Seo-hae, don’t get married, okay?”

—”What is this? You’re acting like you’re never going to get married yourself. Honestly, between the two of us, you have way more dating experience, Hyun Eun-sae. Back in school, I was too busy with competitions and entrance exams to even think about anything else. But you were always running off on dates.”

—”Yeah, but you’ve never once gotten jealous or upset about who I dated. You’re not even really curious, are you?”

—Of course I’m curious. But you’re an adult now, so I figured you’d make good choices on your own. I just had to trust you.”

Maybe, at the end of that conversation, Eun-sae was trying to subtly open up about Lee Jae-kwang’s violence.

Maybe she was hoping that I would notice, ask, and help her.

Had I been too indifferent to her love life?

As the performance ended and I looked out at the brightly lit audience, a wave of regret rose in my throat.

In the past, Eun-sae would have sat in one of the reserved seats and clapped louder than anyone else.

Now she was nowhere to be seen.

As the audience applauded in support and encouragement, my fellow members were moved to tears.

I was crying too, but for a different reason.

As soon as I returned to Seoul, I found a women-only goshitel and lived there for a week.

I left most of my belongings at home and hurriedly moved in with only the clothes I needed and a few necessities.

The room was so small it would barely fit a person lying down, and it felt unfamiliar – I ended up staying awake most of the first night.

But after shaking off the SUV that had been watching my commute, I felt much more at ease mentally.

I also successfully participated in the second out-of-town performance.

Although we couldn’t draw the crowds that we did in Seoul, it was fair to say that the turnout was a solid success.

In truth, we were used to playing to older audiences and seeing a lot of empty seats scattered around the venue.

But ticket sales had definitely improved compared to before – and a noticeable number of younger people had started to show up as well.

This was partly due to our updated repertoire, which was designed to appeal to a broader age range.

But if we hadn’t participated in the Gugak Festival in the first place, we probably wouldn’t have had this opportunity.

It was at such moments that I really felt the influence and power of the Gugak Festival at the Songun Art Hall.

It was just after we had finished our Sunday afternoon performance.

I left the dressing room a little earlier than the others and was on my way to the chartered bus when a woman about my age – who had been lingering nearby – spotted me and came running over, excited.

“Oh! Um, hi! Hello!”

I looked at her, confused.

Her face turned red as she looked at me, and she practically jumped in place.

“I’m a fan! I happened to see your outdoor performance in Incheon last summer, and there was someone who looked like a heavenly maiden – I was completely smitten at first sight. That’s when I became a fan!

Ugh, this is so embarrassing, but now that I see you in person, my heart is racing – I don’t know what to do!

You’re even prettier up close.”

“Oh, you mean me?”

“Yes, yes! You, Seo-hae!”

It was surreal to have someone in the audience recognize me so quickly, especially when we used to perform as a group.

I’d heard that in more mainstream genres, fans often wait around after shows – but to experience it firsthand was something else entirely.

I quickly bowed my head in greeting.

“Thank you. It almost never happens, so I’m a little surprised.”

“It is probably because Gugak is still a bit unknown to most people in everyday life. But now that the Gugak Festival is gaining attention, I bet more and more people will recognize you, Seo-hae. Honestly, I think if you appeared on television even once, you’d be instantly recognizable. Oh-but I’m not just saying that because of your looks! I mean, sure, it was your appearance that caught my eye at first, but after that, I started to look into things more and realized how unique and cool a Gugak orchestra is-so I ended up becoming a fan of the whole group. When I heard that you were performing in Iksan this time, I bought a ticket right away.”

I gave another shy bow and said, “Thank you very much.”

“Oh, and I saw that short live stream you did from the rehearsal room the other day! I got a notification, so I watched it. The Gayageum song you played got a really great response – people said it felt really fresh and different. But next time, please show your face and not just your hands! It would be more effective in promoting you.”

“Ah… right. If I get the chance, I’ll try.”

“I actually edited the live stream – the song part – and uploaded it to my account. It got quite a few views! And since the views are steadily increasing, I think there are people who come back just to listen. I run a fan account for Geomanhan Sori, but it is nothing big.”

If I had met a fan like that before Eun-sae died, I would have been happy and excited.

But standing here now, weighed down by loss and consumed by thoughts of revenge, preparing to resign from the orchestra… it was hard to look forward to anything.

I forced a polite smile.

“Oh, don’t say it’s nothing. We’re really grateful for everyone who shows us this kind of interest.

Thank you, and I hope you’ll continue to support us.”

To escape the awkwardness, I fell back on a textbook response.

“I’ll keep rooting for you! I’ll try to see as many shows as I can. But… why weren’t you at the Gugak festival?”