FIVE YEARS AGO

The starry night dimly blinks down at a lone, hunched over, frowning boy who torpidly clenches a jumbo slushy cup in his loose fist whilst sitting on the cold, damp pavement, the ice melting into his trousers.

That boy is me. Seong Jin Lee.

I should probably get out of the cold before I come down with an illness.

A delighted shriek rings into the night, and I inquisitively throw my head over my shoulder to spot a group of girls happily stumbling down the pavement. They seem a bit tipsy. On closer observation, I realise that they look familiar. I have probably seen them at school.

When they walk past me, loud giggles leave their lips and coyly, they wave at me. Stiffly, I smile at them before shyly averting my gaze down to my trainers again, the corners of my lips relaxing yet again. They continue to stumble along their path and I watch their retreating forms leisurely, praying that they reach their respective homes safely.

Once they have disappeared around the corner, I distractedly take a sip of my slushy and tug on the camera resting on my lap. I might get sick drinking something so cold with how freezing it is but I honestly couldn't care. Especially today.

Throwing my head over my shoulder, I searchingly look for my friend's recently trimmed and dyed hair through the glass windows of the froyo shop. Where the hell is Taylor with my ice cream? I have been sitting out here for far too long. Surely, ordering two ice creams does not take ten minutes.

When I spot her inside, coyly laughing with some guy, an irritable scowl makes its way onto my face before it rests into an unimpressed look.

Why am I not surprised?

Hurriedly, I fist my phone out of my pocket and angrily send her a text that reads:

You're supposed to be comforting your depressed, heartbroken friend. Also, you owe me chocolate ice cream.

Once the message has been delivered, I shift around on my damp arse to look at her through the glass again.

She visibly looks down at the phone in her hand and I'm pretty sure I see her reading my text.

Warningly, I narrow my gaze at her.

What she does next makes my mouth drop in shock. She switches her phone off and then plasters a plastic smile on her face as she blinks up at the random guy guilelessly.

Rolling my eyes upward, I kiss my teeth in frustration and angrily slip my phone back into my pocket, reaching for my camera instead.

After popping open the viewfinder screen, I press the record button and it blinks back at me monotonously. As usual, I feel a sense of familiarity with the camera and immediately reminisce about the first time that I ever pressed record and spoke to it. Back then, I remember how I struggled to find the right words to say. It was difficult talking to something that wouldn't respond. But now, after using it for a while, it feels like second nature to me.

Slowly, the sides of my lips arch up as I smile at it and in my mind, I picture myself as mirthful. When I see my eyes glowing on the viewfinder screen, I have to refrain from patting myself on the back. Hopefully, it cannot tell how much of a façade my smile is or how fake the bright glow in my hazels is.

I need to keep up the optimistic front and the presence of positivity because that is who I am. That's who everyone knows me to be. That's all I have going for me.

I remember this one time, Taylor was trying to set me up on a date with Tae Ho whilst I stood on the sidelines, listening in as secretly as I could and the first thing he did at the mention of my name was scrunch up his face in confusion before asking her who exactly Seong Jin Lee was. From that day onward, I have tried to find ways to stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd so that no other person can squint in confusion at the mere mention of my name. If that means always being the weirdly optimistic one even when I feel despondent, then so be it.

"Hey," I say softly while keeping my gaze on my face in the viewfinder screen and I notice the pink hue that is illuminating the right side of my face beautifully, coming from the neon sign flashing above the froyo shop. "So, Taylor is a terrible friend. I mean, look at this."

I turn the camera around to record Taylor and the random guy, zooming into their faces occasionally.

"That right there, that is the face of a traitor. You know, she's supposed to be here with me. Actually, she does not even need to sit here with me. She can stay there with that random neek, but she owes me ice cream."

I turn the camera back to face me, taking another sip of my slushy.

"Why does she owe me ice cream, you ask? Well, basically we made a bet on me telling Dominic about my feelings for him. I bet that I would and she bet that I would puss out at the last minute."

Again, I bring the straw of my slushy up to my lips and nervously I bite on the tip.

"I won, by the way. I told him that I liked him. I was determined to get that chocolate ice cream."

Distractedly, I put the slushy down beside me and held the camera a fair distance away from my face, to properly record myself.

Quickly, I add as if to correct myself, "It was also to face my biggest fear and everything but most importantly, it was about the chocolate ice cream. Now, can you guess what Dominic did in retaliation to my confession?"

My hand sifts through my hair, pushing the strands away from my forehead.

"Okay, so here are the options. Are you ready? Did he option one, accept my feelings for him and admit that he feels the same way, or did he option two, politely reject me like a decent fucking human being? Take your guess."

I vigorously scratch the itch on my lower back when I feel imaginary ants crawling all over it. I think it has something to do with the growing mole there.

When I was younger, my brother Yang Jin once told me that it was a cancerous mole just to scare me and I believed him, because one, I was a kid who looked up to his hyeong and two, the humourless expression he was wearing on his face was pretty convincing. Yang Jin is really good at lying. He calls it bluffing, but it is so obviously deception. Amma scolded him for lying to me and told him to tell me the truth. He did, but once she turned her back on us, he mouthed that he wasn't "bluffing".

Taylor would argue that it's, because and I quote, you don't bathe properly. I brush her off when she makes comments like that. Enticing her is the incorrect way to go about it. Knowing someone for so long teaches you certain aspects about them and how to avoid hair loss from agitation. She'll only turn the situation around and ask me why I am being so defensive over it. It will prove her thesis about the fact that I do not, in fact, bathe properly, correct.

Even as I hate to admit it, she would be right. I hate bathing. Well, it's not that I hate bathing; I just don't want to deal with the hassle that comes with bathing. Like Amma's rules of what to do before leaving the bathroom after bathing.

"Trick question. It was neither. He didn't do either of those two things. In fact, he didn't do anything. He just stared me down and then without even saying a single fucking word to me, just leisurely walked away from me."

My bleak gaze wavers down to my feet again as the memories hit me all too suddenly. It's not that I expected him to like me back and deep down, I was prepared for him to say that he does not like me back, but I would be lying if I said I was not hopeful.

"Look, I would have been okay with it if he'd just rejected me as a normal person would, but to not say anything and then just dip out…"

When I feel the tears dancing around the edges of my eyes, I rapidly blink them away.

It's okay...

Blindly, I reach for my slushy cup and take a sip of it, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat. With a blank look on my face, I bring my gaze back up to stare at the camera lens indifferently… or rather, as indifferently as I can. My face on the viewfinder screen looks indifferent enough, I guess.

"Whatever. I don't care anymore. I just want my fucking ice cream."

In frustration, I glance over at Taylor who is still flirting with that random guy. Who even is that? He looks older than her.

With a heavy sigh heaving from my chest, I turn back to face the camera and I, with a forced smile, add, "Also, happy birthday to—"

I yelp in shock when I feel someone roughly bumping into my back and clumsily, the freezing liquid of the slushy spills down my shirt and onto my lap, making it wet and sticky.

Oh, God, that's so fucking cold!

In a panic, I hastily stand up and then pull my wet shirt away from my chest, trying to shake the slushy off. Looking down at the dark blue stain, I cannot help getting frustrated. I just bought this shirt a few days ago and it was starting to become one of my favourites.

Vex runs through me and I throw a minor tantrum, punching the air in frustration. When I remember that I was holding my camera, I grab a hold of it and look it over in fear. It was a gift from my late father and I cannot afford to lose it. It better be okay or I will actually break down and cry.

When I, fortunately, don't see anything on it, a sigh of relief escapes me.

"I am," the introduction of the new deep voice causes me to turn around curiously and I see a boy who looks about my age, "so sorry."

Widely, I stare up at him. At the centre of his face, commanding attention and instilling intrigue in me resides his heterochromatic eyes.

Hurriedly, he reaches over towards me with this peculiar looking handkerchief dazzled in peculiar colours. Then he proceeds to rub said peculiar looking handkerchief in peculiar colours on the wet splotches all over my tee.

My brows furrow in perplex. What is he doing?

His face scrunches up in concentration as if this is the most important task to him. Getting the blue off my white tee. Somehow.

My eyes shift between the stain, his hands and his face. Worriedly, his gaze flickers up to meet my eyes for only a split second and from that, I notice the panic brewing in his gaze.

Does he think I'm going to yell at him?

"It's okay," I nervously stammer, my voice barely the same octave it was a couple of seconds ago. When he does not stop trying to clean my shirt, I calmly grab his hand to stop him.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I wasn't looking. I was wiping my lenses," he stutters apologetically.

Quickly, he lifts his other hand to show me his glasses to attest to his words. When he slides them over his face and then lifts his head to look at me again, I am once again left speechless at how much focus is placed on his mismatched eyes.

"Without these, I'm basically blind as a bat."

His left captivating jade eye sparkles with a vibrant intensity, akin to a lush emerald glimmering beneath the sunlight. This enchanting hue radiates a sense of calmness and tranquillity. One might find oneself drawn deeper into its captivating abyss. It shares a resemblance to the depths of a murky lagoon as if his eyes hold the mysteries of an untouched underwater world. It reminds me of the waters where hundreds of people died from the sunken Titanic.

Is that a good thing? That I am comparing his beautiful eye to something horrible like that?

Probably not.

Contrasting purposefully with the sea of cerulean on the opposite side, his right eye boasts an earthy and warm brown tone. It captures a deep mahogany wood, invoking a sense of grounding and stability. It seems to be filled with a silent invitation to delve into the stories it might hold. The juxtaposed, warm colour reminds me more of a million acorns scattered around an oak tree on a nice autumn day.

His eyes are beautiful.

When I realise that I have been staring at him for far too long to be normal, I blink myself out of my dazed state.

In assurance, I whisper, "It's okay."

Silence presumes from there and awkwardly, I avert my gaze to the side.

"Uhm," he breaks the long silence and thoughtfully muses, "do you want me to maybe buy you another shirt? Or… no, wait. It's night-time. I don't think any clothing stores are open at this time. Shit."

"No, it's okay. I didn't like this shirt anyway," I lie with a light chuckle, just to reassure him that it's fine.

Wistfully, I bow my chin into my chest to observe the stain again and involuntarily, my lips purse. I slowly blink and shake my head. At the end of the day, it is just a shirt.

"What about your camera? Is it okay? I didn't cause you to spill the slushy on it, right?"

Quietly, I shake my head in response, lifting the camera to show it to him with a relieved smile. When I realise that it's still recording, I quickly press the stop button.

I'm glad I didn't spill the slushy on it. I feel like I would have reacted way differently if I had. An image of myself, curled up in a fetal position and bawling my eyes out enters my mind at that moment. Through my eyelashes, I notice the tension finally leaving his body and he expels a deep sigh from his chest. Then he looks down at the ground and when I follow his gaze, I realise that he is looking at the empty, jumbo cup that once was holding my blueberry slushy.

"May I," he nervously starts and questioningly, I stare up at him. "May I buy you another slushy?"

His request, for some reason, makes my mouth dry up. I swallow a gulp down my throat. In my stunned state, I slowly blink up at his openly soft face. That is about when his lips tilt up and he grins at me without any sort of hesitance. The corners of his eyes crinkle when he does that. My gaze travels down his lean form with interest and I notice the shirt that he is wearing looks like a uniform. Is he coming back from a job? How old is he? He does not look too much older than me.

Silence hangs over our heads—a silence I can easily eliminate just by replying to his question.

Do I want him to buy me another slushy? Probably. Not, because I want another slushy, but because he's courteously asking me to let him buy me another slushy. Before I can open my mouth and answer, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.

"Uh," I dig in my pocket for the device, breaking our eye contact to check who the caller is and when I see who it is, a grimace escapes me. "One second please."

He nods, patiently folding his arms behind his back and almost subconsciously rocking back and forth.

I slide my finger across the screen to answer and then turn away from him slightly. "Amma."

"Seong Jin, eodiya?" she muses, and her exasperation comes through the device clearly.

"Uh…"

"I thought I told you to be here at eight p.m. on the dot. This is why I did not want to let you go out so late with Taylor. Where is she right now? Put her on the phone. I want to scold her."

"Uh," I glance over the boy's shoulder into the froyo shop that Taylor is still in, "Taylor's not here with me right now. She is in the shop buying some ice cream, but we're on our way back. I promise. I'm sorry I stayed out late. I didn't notice the time."

She stays quiet for a second until she finally defeatedly says, "Joh-ayo. Jib-e seodulleo, juseyo. I don't want to keep worrying about you."

"Okay. I will."

"Saranghaeyo," she says affectionately.

I open my mouth to say it back until I realise that there's someone here, watching me. With my cheeks heating up, I glance over at him from the corner of my eye. Would he understand what I'm about to say to my mum?

"Why aren't you saying it back?" my mum demands.

"Uh… nado saranghae," I murmur quietly, under my breath.

"Okay. See you at home."

"Bye."

I hang up the call, burying my phone deep into my pocket again. Trying to calm my face from heating up, I don't look up at him just yet. Once I know that my face isn't red anymore, that's when I raise my chin from my chest and stare into his gaze.

"I have to go home," I say to him, and his face drops slightly, "uhm… so I don't think it's necessary for you to buy me that slushy, but I appreciate the gesture."

"Oh," he murmurs and then he zones out as if he's thinking. "Then… let me compensate you."

He rushes to reach into his pockets for what I'm assuming is money and when he pulls out five quid from his coat, I immediately start shaking my head in refusal.

"You don't have to—"

"Please," he begs, grabbing my hand and placing the money in my palm. "Take it."

Reluctantly, I fist the five quid. "Okay. Thanks."

Again, he smiles.

"I have to go now," I say, my words coming out awkwardly.

He bobs his head up and down in agreement. "Okay."

With another stiff grin, I walk around him to try and make it into the froyo shop. I resist the urge to look back at him and instead focus on getting my best friend.

Through the glass window, I see Taylor sitting down in a booth with that random guy still and I squint in confusion. What the hell is she doing? Was she just going to leave me to sit out here all by myself this whole time? Truly, this is the betrayal of a lifetime. She's supposed to be by my side. What if I had been bawling my eyes out? What if I was on the verge of doing something drastic in my heartbroken state? How come she's choosing to spend this time with some random guy she just met? Also, it's my birthday.

"Oh, uhm… hey…" I halt in my steps and then slowly, I turn around at his call for my attention, arching my eyebrows inquisitively. "I didn't catch your name."

"Seong Jin," I introduce, with a polite friendly smile.

While mirroring my expression, he says back to me, "I'm Kai."

"Nice to meet you, Kai."