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Many things had grown cold under the passage of time – the weather, bearing its cool wind by the sea; the coffee inside the paper cup between Joohyun’s fingers; the skin of Joohyun’s fingers and face, uncovered; and her heart, two years before.
Joohyun hated the cold. She hated feeling the sensation snake around her body like icy vines, penetrating her skin with its intoxicating roots until she’d feel her body freeze inside, feeling her skin become taken wholly by frostbite. However, since she had left, Joohyun would always feel like that: the cold had become her inevitable companion, towering above her hauntingly like a shadow. That feeling, established deep in her heart as if pierced by stakes, was a specter of those words that had doomed her heart to be an eternal land of winter.
“I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, Hyun… I’m breaking up with you.”
She took a deep breath at the painful remembrance, and felt the cold air flowing up her nostrils, keeping tired eyes on the horizon, on the faraway mountains and on the sea that seemed to stretch infinitely in front of her. Joohyun avoided looking down, to her reflection on the water’s surface – reflections were the most treacherous of elements when it came to that place, serving as a constant reminder of her aloneness, haunted by a whisper of past, constant company.
That coffee shop had always been an important place for them, and, because of that, Joohyun had avoided the place like a hand to fire since her lover had left her. It was where they had first confessed to each other, with the overflowing embarrassment of not knowing what to do with such new feelings; where they had held hands uncertainly and noticed, with gasps, how magnetic the touch was, as if Joohyun’s fingers were made to fit between hers; and where they had spent the best new year’s eve of their lives, her arms around Joohyun’s waist as she leant against the railing, losing themselves in the deepness of each other’s gaze as fireworks sprinkled the skies with colorful dots. Those were memories that she loved deeply and held close to her heart, but they seemed to tore wounds inside her chest in piercing pain. They were comfort of the love she once had lived, and throbbing gash that bled in deep, thick scarlet until life began losing its sense to her.
That morning, however, Joohyun had woken up to the feeling of missing the way the sea air mixed with the strong scent of coffee, missing the quiet view and the low sounds of the old television inside the coffee shop airing soap operas all day long. The sunset painted the waters in orange glimmers, reflecting the sky’s melancholy every late afternoon; and it was a weekday, so the shop was considerably empty. On the inside, there were only a middle-aged man, two old ladies playing cards and an employee wiping the counter serenely.
Joohyun took a sip of the cold coffee. It was awful, just as she remembered – but, this time, she wasn’t there to make the bitter coffee taste a little sweeter; wasn’t there to make her laugh, to let her warm her hands with hers, which were always warm; she wasn’t there to tell her she loved as she always had and that was okay. Joohyun hadn’t visited the coffee shop because it had the best coffee she had ever had, but because she felt she needed to, that day.
And as she sipped at the bitter liquid, she looked down liked she promised herself she wouldn’t do. Her eyes widened as she observed a figure’s reflection trembling on the water’s surface, just as tiny as her own figure, but with a much more oval head shape that left tense and shivering at the realization. She felt her stomach churn, but she turned around to face the woman slowly.
“Hi, Joohyun,” the woman greeted her, bearing a small smile that did not match those lips Joohyun knew so well.
Joohyun blinked a few times with incredulity, observing the figure in front of her with her face paling and her expression terrified, as if she had just seen a ghost. In some type of way, she did – a ghost of her past, haunting her heart relentlessly. She wished that the presence in front of her would be an illusion only, but, at the same time, she wanted nothing but to hug her, to tell her all the things her heart had kept hidden since they broke up. They had never seen each other since that day.
“… Seungwan,” was the only thing she could answer, the name murmured lowly between trembling lips, shivering of cold and anxiety. She felt her lips become dry, and the trembling spread through her body like wildfire. Before, she felt like her heart had frozen and dried up inside her chest, weak and unforgiving. Now, she felt like her heart was expanding aggressively nonstop just by the mere sight of her former lover, crushing her lungs and leaving her breathless, pushing her ribcage so hard that Joohyun swore she could hear her heart thumping on her ears like a drum, so heavy was the weight of a vexatious heart.
“Didn’t expect to see you here…” Seungwan took a few steps closer to her, moving to lean her arms on the wooden railway where Joohyun had her hands and her coffee cup. “It’s odd… that we both decided to come here, on the very same day. By chance.” Almost like destiny, the women thought, but ultimately decided to keep it to themselves.
“I didn’t know you’d come, either…” the answer was low and almost emotionless – Joohyun was holding her every feeling inside her tightly, carrying the weight of a dormant chest for two years. She tried, above all, to conceal the way her voice barely left her throat, unable to move past the lump that seemed to form inside her throat; tried to ignore the tears that had been denied of being shed for years but now burned in her eyes at the sight of Seungwan, being denied still.
“I hope I’m not ruining whatever you wanted to do here,” the younger woman cut through the silence that established itself between them tensely and heavily, pressing her lips together as she stared at the horizon. She put her hands inside her thick coat’s pockets, letting the black material swallow them to warmth. And Joohyun, who cautiously observed her every action, felt her heart ache. Two years before, the two women’s hands were inseparable, as if bound by destiny to fit perfectly. She wanted to hold her hands, gentle and warm and inviting, much like Seungwan herself.
“No, it’s okay,” she shook her head, bearing the same constrained smile she wore every time she wanted to cry. Mindlessly, she began fidgeting with her nails running lightly against the wooden surface near her to calm down, attempting to keep stable the tempest of emotions inside her. “I didn’t come with any specific objective in mind. I just felt like I needed to come back, really.”
“Weird how that happened to both of us on the same day, right?” Joohyun noticed Seungwan was trying to keep things less awkward as possible, though she could tell by the way her voice trembled at the end of sentence and how insecurity seemed to be imbued in every answer that her ex-girlfriend was nervous.
“Right…” She didn’t know what to say, albeit her mind was bubbling with the unsaid, eager to be let out. What she really wished for was all types of conversation – casual matters, matters that weren’t casual at all, extremely delicate matters – Joohyun wanted to have the wholeness of Seungwan’s company again, the absolute comfort and reassurance of talking about anything and being heard. The two years apart, however, had rendered their relationship into being like a piece of glass: fragile and cold to touch, tragic because of its broken state, showing nothing but distortions in its reflexes.
Minutes of uninterrupted silence went by, only sprinkled with the soft sound of the water moving melancholically beneath their wooden surface where they stood. There was palpable discomfort in that silence, in the painful presence of the younger woman, but it was also comforting to have her near her once more, somehow. She missed her gravely and would enjoy talking more; she wanted to understand what had become of Seungwan’s life since they parted. Peeking at her figure carefully, she finally observed thoroughly. She looked so different, with dark hair much different from the short blonde style she had last seen on her. Silky locks had grown long, falling like a curtain with its tips reaching the fur of her coat. The younger woman’s beauty rendered Joohyun breathless, still.
“How are you?” Seungwan finally asked what Joohyun had meant to, wanted to but felt unable to, but felt thoroughly relieved by not being the first one to do so – she had no courage to. “Two years is a long time. I’ve probably got a lot to catch up on,” she let out a low, gloomy chuckle.
“I’ve… been better,” she confessed, feeling a little lighter. She felt relieved that at least the bits of hostility between the two of them from the final moments of their relationship seemed to have vanished completely. “Work’s going great, though. Mom and dad retired, so I became the restaurant’s administrator along with my sister. We’re remodeling the whole place. Oh, and we’ve got an ice cream machine now.”
“An ice cream machine?!” The younger woman turned her head rapidly towards Joohyun, mouth agape and somewhat of a sparkle in her eyes. “Wow! I can’t believe I didn’t get to see it debut… I’ve got to pay you guys a visit someday.”
Joohyun felt her lips become dry and her stomach already churning with anxiety just by thinking about the possibility.
“You can come by any time,” she nodded, though she began fearing the scenario as soon as the possibility left Seungwan’s lips. “My parents visit us every Thursday, just to check how things are going. They miss you quite a lot. I bet they’d love to see you.”
“I’d love to see them, too. I’ve missed them,” and you, too, she wanted to add, but the words died and tried in her throat, pushed back by the decisions she had made the day she broke the heart of the woman she loved the most.
“… What about you? How are you?” Joohyun finally asked.
“To be completely honest… I think I’ve never been better. I think I’m finally working towards being at peace with myself,” Seungwan turned her face towards her, running her fingers through her bangs, and she gave her a smile that held layers of mixed emotions – happiness, relief and melancholia meshed in her rosy lips like a painting, expressing something that the younger woman had trouble putting into words. “I’ve been going to therapy and exercising well and working with much nicer people. I don’t hate it anymore, you know… being alive.”
And still, she always felt like something was missing from her life.
Joohyun smiled, pressing her lips tightly so the lump in her throat wouldn’t bloom into a cry. “I’m so happy to hear this, Wannie,” Seungwan shivered upon hearing the nickname, though she hoped the other woman couldn’t tell. “If anyone deserves to live a comfortable, happy life, that person is most certainly you. I’m proud of you. And very relieved.”
Still, emptiness spread like wildfire inside Joohyun’s chest when she heard the news. There was no denying of the fact that she was happy about her ex-girlfriend’s emotional progress. Seeing Seungwan sad had always been deeply painful to her, because she’d always get frustrated on how no one, not even her, could make Seungwan feel better and carry the weight of her sadness. She could only water those feelings down lightly, and that didn’t always work. However, at that moment, she didn’t know what to think of the whole situation. Seungwan’s pain had been the reason behind their breakup, and now, it was under control. Even so, the former lovers were distant, separate. The very idea that Seungwan could’ve gotten over her feelings for her entirely seemed to pierce her heart with anguishing pain, making her moon-hearted, hurt.
“Thank you,” Seungwan muttered in a low voice after a pause. The sky was already darkening around them, enveloping them in night, and she raised a sleeve to check the time on the watch wrapped around her wrist. She bit her lip and sighed, resolute. “Well… I think I’ve stayed here for a bit longer than my limit. It’s for the best if I go now. It was nice to see you, Hyun.”
Joohyun swallowed back a sob, feeling her heart shrink in her chest upon hearing her ex’s goodbyes. However, she only nodded, her nostrils flared and tears burning in her eyes. She gave her a small, fabricated smile, the best one she could give at that moment.
“… Nice to see you, too.”
If their farewells would stretch for longer than they should years before due to warm hugs and tender kisses, now their goodbyes were stretched by a moment long, uncomfortable silence, almost palpable in how frustrating it felt. They only stared at their feet, waiting for one another to walk away.
Taking a deep breath and collecting all the braveness inside her, Seungwan stepped closer to Joohyun and enveloped the older woman in a hug. At first, Joohyun didn’t know what to feel of it, relearning how to receive such a warm and inviting embrace. She prayed for the touch not to become an addiction once more and tried to focus on receiving that form of tenderness from her former lover. It didn’t take long for her to melt into the tight embrace, a long and silent exchange; all she could hear was the labored breathing of their runny noses, noticing how both had surrendered to their long-awaited tears. The older woman rested her arms easily and naturally around Seungwan’s back, bringing her closer, close enough to intoxicate herself in the woman’s sweet perfume. She hugged her even tighter when she realized the terrifying reality that lurked just behind her, coming closer by the second: as soon as she’d leave the warmth of Seungwan’s embrace, she wouldn’t feel at home anymore.
When they parted, to both their disappointment, Joohyun noticed the way the younger woman seemed to analyze her wholly, memorizing her every trace and pondering, with a lingering glance on her lips, between painful memories and a glint of promise. Joohyun could’ve sworn she saw her former lover’s eyes become half-lidded for a moment, sworn she saw her head tilting slightly, but Seungwan shook her with a sigh, overtaken by a sober determination. So, she began walking away.
Joohyun took a deep breath. She couldn’t let the woman she loved go, not again.
In a sudden strike of courage, she wrapped her fingers around Seungwan’s wrist, which made her turn back to look at the older woman with a mesh of shock and anticipation. Hope.
“You know what,” her voice was shaky, though filled with bravery, “coffee here is awful. Really, so bad,” Joohyun chuckled, pointing towards the abandoned coffee cup over the wooden railing, and the other woman eyed her with curiosity. “However… it always seemed to taste better with some good company. So… do you want to sit and talk for a little while I finish it? After all, it’s been two years. I’m sure we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
Seungwan smiled, wiping away the tears that streamed down her cheeks with the back of her hand. She nodded exaggeratedly, making Joohyun giggle between a sobby hiccup.
“I thought you’d never ask.”