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It’s raining.
Drops of rain pelt down on her window at changing intensities. The raindrops alternate between hammering down her window fiercely and quietly dancing around the glass.
Song-hwa watches them blankly, without much interest. She hugs her legs closer to herself, listening to the rain slam itself on her windowpane. Sitting on her sofa, she can almost feel the cold droplets of precipitation on her. Water dampens her face, her hands, her skin; Song-hwa finds herself wondering if the windows are truly closed, tilting her head skywards, wondering if there was a leak in the ceiling somewhere, before realising that the water had been leaking from her eyes.
She is vaguely aware of the presence of a tissue box on the table in front of her, but she makes no move for it. She lets the tears flow, rolling down her cheeks, drenching the neckline of her scrubs.
The last time she had allowed herself to cry had been after finding out that her mother was inflicted with Parkinson’s. She had been alone in her office, as she is now, inundated with fearful thoughts of despair and regret— waves of grief crashing down onto her. Her mind had gone blank. What do I do now?
Then Lee Ik-jun walked in.
Ik-jun-ah...
He took in her teary eyes, the weak pallor of her cheeks and her shuddering breath and understood immediately, even as he asked what had happened.
How is it that you know me better than I do?
His question was simple. “Do you need a ride home?”
You know when I’m in a good mood just by the way I look at you,
Their eyes had met, and Song-hwa found herself suddenly suffocated by his gaze, overwhelmed by everything. It was the simple thought that he really did care for her, offering her a ride home because he knew she was in no condition to drive, that reminded her that it wasn’t the end of the world. Her mother’s condition could stabilise after proper treatment. Ik-jun would be by her side through it all.
and you recognise when I’m about to get angry before I realise it myself.
“Yes,” she had shakily responded. “Yes, please.”
If you knew then that I needed somebody to be with me…
From then onwards, Song-hwa hadn’t shed a single tear. She had no reason to— her mother’s condition was stable, most of Song-hwa’s surgeries went smoothly, and Ik-jun remained a constant presence in her life. On the occasional bad day, when Song-hwa could feel the despondency creeping back after the loss of a patient, Ik-jun would hold her steadily in his arms. Being in his embrace, clinging to his shirt while he held on to her like an anchor— every moment being with him brought her comfort.
…then where are you now, when I’m so lonely?
And then, all of a sudden, he was slipping away, through her fingers, out of her life.
Song-hwa was used to death— occupational hazard. True, she’ll never get accustomed to it, but operating on brains meant that the survival rate of her patients would never be as high as other departments. She associated death with the disappointing feeling of a failed surgery, but not grief, nor loss, nor the absence of a loved one.
When she first got the phone call, she had just come out of a successful surgery. She really didn’t think the surgery would go well, knowing the chances, and had been feeling immensely proud of herself. She was practically waltzing as she trotted back to her office in elation. Her fingers were dancing as they tapped on Ik-jun’s contact, reaching to call him and gleefully tell him about the successful surgery, and propose they eat meat for dinner that night, her treat, invite the boys, maybe grab U-ju as well…
Then, a phone call from the ER.
She stopped in her tracks to answer the call, already turning around, already knowing from the contact name that she was to be headed to the ER. A thought occurs to her— she’s like a puppy being dragged to the Emergency Room by the leash that is the Professor of Emergency Medicine’s contact— and she chuckles quietly.
“Song-hwa?”
Bong Kwang-hyun’s voice was especially grim, unusually grim, and for a moment before he continued, Song-hwa started feeling disappointed, knowing there was probably an emergency patient that required surgery urgently, she wouldn’t be able to talk to Ik-jun for another six hours, wouldn’t be able to hug her darling U-ju for another seven; so much for having dinner plans…
And then Bong said “you’d better come down, it’s Ik-jun,” and Song-hwa smiled, she actually smiled hearing her boyfriend’s name, and instantly, almost instinctively, nearly started asking about what kind of trouble that goofball had gotten up to, did he glue a Darth Vader helmet to his head again, why was he always getting into trouble when he’s well into his forties and a father?
Then Song-hwa heard Kwang-hyun exhale shakily, gulping down chokes, and she realised he wasn’t calling because her beloved had played a silly joke on the Emergency Medicine doctors. Her heart plummeted down to her feet. Her hands grew clammy, palms sweating like they never have before, not even during her most difficult surgeries. Her voice came out a barely-audible whisper, hesitantly mumbling, “What about Ik-jun?”
She knew it was the end once Bong let out yet another trembling breath. “I’m sorry, Song-hwa, I-”
“No, don’t say that,” she said harshly, forcing her legs— planted on the ground, heavy as steel, unwilling to move— to break into a jog; left, right, left, right, left… “Don’t… Don’t say anything. Don’t finish that sentence. I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to hear anything . I’m coming, I’m going to run down, so—”
For some reason, a scene from that morning flashes before her eyes.
Ik-jun had received an emergency call in the middle of their morning coffee routine in her office. He sighed as he got up, tossing his empty cup into her dustbin. They had gazed at each other sadly, knowing that with his emergency and her packed schedule, they wouldn’t be able to meet until evening. “I’ll buy dinner later, okay? Text me what you want after your last surgery,” he had offered, a cheery smile on his lips.
“We’ll see,” Song-hwa had replied, returning his smile with a pout. “I’ll buy us all a meal if my surgery goes well later.”
“I’m sure it will,” he had grinned, sauntering over to her and planting a kiss on her hair; then another on her lips, a kiss that she indulged in happily. She wrapped her arms around his waist, wanting to hold onto him for just a few more seconds.
She hadn’t wanted to let him go, but his phone rung again, and Ik-jun pulled away. Quickly, he answered, “Hello? Yes, of course, I—”
He had turned back to her to mouth and wave goodbye, but she was already answering an emergency call of her own, albeit one in the ICU, and was busy checking a chart.
By the time she had looked up to say farewell to him, he had left.
“Song-hwa, please,” his voice was firm and severe, and something about his grave tone drew Song-hwa’s attention back to him, “listen to me.”
Her feet stumbled, then stopped. Song-hwa realised she was hyperventilating, but no matter how rapidly she breathed, her constrained chest continued to tighten. Thoughts raced through her mind at law-breaking speeds, no one thought really staying long enough in her brain to make sense. She sank to the ground in despair. “Please, Kwang-hyun, please, don’t say anything…”
Ik-jun, come here, please, what happened, where are you where are you where are you
Kwang-hyun’s last words that Song-hwa registered were delivered in the bleakest voice she’s ever heard him speak in in their decade-long friendship. “Song-hwa, don’t bother running.”
As the walls started crumbling, only one thought remained in her shaken mind.
We didn’t even say goodbye.