Chapter Text
“To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche
People say that suffering is an essential part of life. That, for some reason, to be human means to suffer, either from our ineptitudes, our wrongdoings, and oftentimes from the products of other people’s mistakes.
Wan certainly knows this, the cold reality of mortality was not lost on her. Humans are meant to suffer, struggle for a little bit before they exceed the limits of their mortal coils. Of course, the knowledge of this reality does not rid people of the horrors of the truth, if anything the fear in knowing makes things even more painful. Because Wan tells herself everyday ever since that fateful day that this was a natural part of life. That her suffering was something she was meant to experience in the grand scheme of things. That her father, a man that had certainly seen the terrors of the world, suffers no more. He is free. She tells herself all these things and she finds no comfort in them. Because it was now her turn to endure—to pick up where he left off—an inheritance of suffering, almost as if he had passed on the torch onto his only daughter.
Wan had lost her job—a devastating blow in itself—but before she even had time to process that upheaval, she was hit with the untimely news of her father’s passing. He left behind little more than a crumbling store housed in her childhood home and a mountain of debts she now had to face alone.
For most, such a series of misfortunes would be enough to shatter them entirely. And Wan was no exception; she didn’t shrug it off or pretend it didn’t matter. But if there was one thing her father had instilled in her, it was resilience. She was a fighter, the kind who would claw her way forward if she had to.
After a week of being consumed by grief, frozen in a catatonic haze, Wan forced herself to move. She wiped her tears—as she had so many times before—gathered the pieces of her fractured life, and returned to the place she thought she had left behind forever: her childhood home. She allowed herself a week to get things properly arranged before reopening the store.
The two-story building was a shadow of its former self. Well, not exactly, it was exactly as she imagined. When she left it behind to go work quite a distance away from her father, it had already looked like this.The ground floor housed her father’s old grocery store, now worn and weary, its shelves barely holding itself together. Upstairs, the second floor would serve as her living space, though it felt more like a relic of a life long gone.
Wan wasn’t ready, but readiness wasn’t a luxury she could afford.
Wan sighed wearily, standing up to grab the notebook her father had graciously filled up for her before he passed. At least her father was wise enough to write down things she had to remember, almost like a checklist of what to expect, what to pay attention to, everything she needed to arrange to get things up and running. It was thankfully similar to her previous job in a sense that she really just needed to keep her head down and do what was expected of her. It wasn’t that different, only now, she had no one to answer to.
Wan loved structure. She preferred following a routine if she could help it. And that’s how she mostly copes through everything—shove every thing insignificant to success into neat rows and piles of boxes, nevermind that it would inevitably collapse into itself. That’s all she had to do. Wake up, do her morning regimen, follow the checklist, allow herself to fall into this monotonous pattern.
“There are kids who live two streets away who like to come to the store in the afternoons to cool off. Let them stay for ten minutes, no longer. Last time I didn’t say anything, they hung around for two hours.”
“Mr. Han comes by every two days for Walborrow cigarettes. Keep them in stock, but not the full pack—he buys everything except one stick. Yes, I know, he’s a strange man.”
“Check the cooler near the register. I already had the mechanic look at it, but it still shuts off now and then.”
Wan shook her head with a chuckle at one particularly odd note before kneeling to open a nearby cabinet. Inside, she found a few lonely cups of noodles, all the same brand: Missin. The sight made her laugh softly as she pulled one out, the sound of her amusement echoing briefly in the empty room.
Later, she would look back on this moment with a quiet fondness. Perhaps, in some small way, she had already sensed that her life was on the verge of changing completely.
The impetus for change came soon enough, stumbling into her life in the form of a short woman, with a smile that would be enough to blind, and a heart full of love Wan almost drowned in, disrupting the stillness that she had settled into.
“Hey, mister, glad you’re finally open again! Get me my usual, please. Thank you—I need it after the long, annoying day I just had at work—” The woman’s voice trailed off as she plopped down at one of the tables outside Wan’s store, her attention already glued to her phone.
The clink of a cup placed in front of her made her look up, her eyes widening in surprise. She blinked, momentarily at a loss for words as she stared at Wan.
“Hi…” the woman mumbled, her expression unusually dazed.
Wan chuckled softly, amused by the stranger’s dopey look. Does she have a concussion or something? Why is she looking at me like that? she wondered but decided to let it slide.
“Noodles, right?” Wan said, her voice light with amusement. “Extra cheese, with water boiled a minute before you arrive. AND a bottle of mineral water.”
The woman continued staring, her smile growing wider as if she hadn’t heard a word. Wan tilted her head, snapping her fingers to pull the stranger back to reality.
“Oh! Right. Yes, thank you.” The woman’s focus shifted to the steaming cup of noodles in front of her, complete with split chopsticks resting neatly on the lid. Her grin somehow widened even further. “How’d you know?”
“My father…” Wan hesitated, feeling an odd twinge in her chest before continuing. “He’s… fond of you. He told me you shyly asked him to break the chopsticks for you the first time you came by because you hated the feel of it.”
The stranger paused, her gaze flickering between the noodles and Wan, who had taken the seat across from her.
Wan offered a small smile, deciding to take pity on her. “So, you’re the regular who always comes by at 11 p.m.?”
“Uh-huh,” the woman replied, her energy perking up as if delighted Wan was continuing the conversation.
“What’s your name?” Wan asked, realizing it wasn’t something her father had written down in his notes.
Instead of answering, the woman rummaged through her bag and suddenly grabbed Wan’s hand. Wan opened her mouth to question her, but the stranger uncapped a marker and began drawing something on her palm.
“Guess. Here’s a clue,” the woman mischievously said. Wan didn’t know why she was bothering with this. She had better things to do, more productive ones. She could start looking into advertising campaigns she could invest in for the store or research more ways to improve the store’s setup with the resources she had. But instead, here she was, humoring the 11 p.m. regular that she no doubt would start to see almost everyday. Perhaps it was this that convinced her to try to get along. Unlike the other entries, her father had filled up two pages, talking about this regular and his experiences with her in so much detail that Wan felt like she experienced it herself. His words had painted her so vividly that Wan felt as though she already knew her.
Perhaps that was enough to convince her to try.
“A mouse?” Wan asked, her brow arching as she studied the doodle on her hand. The woman adorably shook her head and made a noise of refusal before gently pulling her hand, resting her chin on top of it and did the strangest thing. Still smiling, the woman made a sound reminiscent of a…
“So your name’s Maewnam,” Wan concluded smugly, pulling her hand away. She leaned back slightly, observing the woman who still wore that disarming grin. Wan had to admit—she was cute.
Maewnam didn’t miss a beat. “Did I make you blush?” she teased, her confidence evident.
Wan almost laughed, finding the whole exchange entertaining. Her father had said many good things about the girl but none of them described her being this forward. He did say she was a nice girl, a pretty one at that, Wan deliberately let her eyes linger for a few seconds before focusing on the drawing on her hand. Maewnam looked younger than her, more innocent, less jaded.
“Before you try to get yourself a girlfriend, go finish school, kiddo.” She joked, almost chuckling, leaning her chin on her palm, observing as the younger woman nodded sheepishly, her cheeks tinged pink as she grabbed her chopsticks and enthusiastically began eating.
For a moment, the night settled into a comforting quiet. The distant bark of a neighbor’s dog mixed with the faint hum of cicadas and the soft clink of Maewnam’s chopsticks against the cup of noodles.
The silence broke when Maewnam spoke again, her cheerful tone muffled by a mouthful of noodles. “Where is he, by the way?”
Wan froze.
She had answered this question more times than she cared to count. Each time, the words scraped against her, leaving a fresh wound in their wake. Wan almost winced. She had been explaining it to her very few customers over and over again. Each time was more painful than the last, and yet she still can’t find the right words to say. Her silence must have concerned Maewnam, from the way she hurriedly swallowed down her food and set down her utensils, now earnestly looking at her direction.
“My father’s gone,” Wan said, her voice quiet, almost detached. She said it as if it were a mundane fact, as if it carried no more weight than stating the time of day.
When she eventually had to talk about her father, Wan found it hard to use past tense. He is… not he was… My father is not dead, he's someone else, something else. Wan likes to tell herself during the cold days. And even on the days where she feels a bit more positive, she likes to believe that somehow his spirit never left, wandering around the store, making sure the freezer was working or keeping up with her progress. That way, Wan would never be lonely.
She was not alone. She wants to think so. But during her long nights of waking up in cold sweat, clawing at the air, reaching for something she can’t hold onto. Wan was increasingly afraid—terrified that her life was heading to a path where she had to walk alone, a road of crushed dreams, of suffering without comfort.
Wan’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted when she noticed Maewnam choking, pounding at her chest in a panic. Alarmed, Wan jumped to her feet, quickly moving to her side. She patted Maewnam’s back firmly and handed her the water bottle sitting nearby.
Maewnam grabbed it with both hands, gulping down the water as Wan pressed her lips together to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside her. What an interesting girl you are, Maewnam.
When Maewnam finally managed to swallow her food, she slumped forward, covering her face with both hands. A muffled groan of embarrassment escaped her. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.”
That was a statement she had heard variations of these past few days. Every time she heard it, Wan just wanted to scream, shout into the void about the unfairness of it all. But now, watching Maewnam flustered and apologetic, Wan felt none of the usual rawness. Instead, it was like a soft breeze brushing against her arm, the comforting warmth of the sun after a storm.
“I’m sorry, but—hahaha—I’m so sorry,” Maewnam stammered, her words dissolving into nervous laughter. She peeked at Wan through her fingers, her cheeks flushed. “It’s not funny! I promise I’m not laughing because of that. I just… I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve known better. God, stupid Maewnam.”
Her voice grew smaller as she chastised herself, but Wan couldn’t hold back any longer. A quiet chuckle escaped her, followed by another, until she was laughing softly, shaking her head.
“It’s fine. I’m okay. I’ll be okay,” Wan said, her voice steady despite the tremor she felt deep inside. For the first time since the devastating news, she found herself beginning to believe those words, fragile as they were. She didn’t say anything more, not wanting to dwell on it. It seemed like Maewnam noticed it too. The younger girl said nothing, which she was thankful for. Wan continued to shove her feelings into a neat box, set aside to revisit later.
Wan stayed where she was, watching Maewnam finish her food. The younger woman met her gaze once more before leaving, her expression hovering somewhere between a soft smile and an apology. She bowed slightly, her movements shy and uncertain, before hurrying away.
The next night, Maewnam appeared again at precisely the same time. This time, her expression was serious, her hand clutching a small bunch of flowers—sunflowers mixed with a few blooms Wan didn’t recognize. Wan almost asked her what it was for, noticing that it wasn’t the fresh kind but the plastic ones. Maewnam didn’t say anything that day, silently smiling as she watched Wan while finishing her noodles.
The next day a few customers came by, asking curiously about the plastic flowers displayed on Wan’s desk. She dismissed them politely, mumbling different excuses. Plastic flowers didn’t wilt. That’s what mattered. They didn’t decay or rot away, unlike everything else in her life. She wondered if Maewnam had understood this—her fear of death, the weight of it, and the comfort in something that wouldn’t fade. Something that suffering or death couldn’t touch. Almost like a promise, the same one Maewnam would make in the future.
When Maewnam arrived that night and spotted the flowers in the same place, her smile grew just a little bit wider.