And then, just before she pulls the door open, she does it—she tucks her hair behind her ear.
I exhale, my grip tightening on the neck of my guitar.
For a second, it’s like we’re teenagers again.
Her leaving.Me watching her go.
Only this time, I’m not letting it happen.
Not like that.
I need todosomething.
The envelope wasn’t enough.A couple of songs won’t be enough.I could play every damn track I’ve ever written and it still wouldn’t be enough.
I don’t just want her tohear me.
I need her toseeme.
But how the hell do I do that when every time I get close, she bolts?
The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone in the quiet.
I run a hand down my face, mind already turning over ideas, searching for something, anything.
A grand gesture of sorts.
Something so unmistakablyusthat she won’t be able to ignore it.
But what?
What the hell do I have left?
I pluck a single note, the sound ringing sharp in the silence.
Then another.
Then another.
And then—I know.
It’s reckless.Maybe even stupid.
She’ll absolutely hate it.
But for the first time in days, something in my chest eases.
If she won’t come to me, then I’ll make damn sure she can’t look away.
CHAPTER23
Anna
The university cafeteria is packed to the brim, every inch occupied by extended family members, friends, and people I’m fairly certain my mother just invited off the street.
Korean first birthdays are no joke, but this?This feels like a production.A three-ring circus complete with toddlers running wild, distant aunts fussing over me like I’m still in high school, and my mother orchestrating the entire thing like a general preparing for battle.
I adjust the sleeve of my hanbok, smoothing out the fabric like I’ve done at every major family event since the beginning of time.It’s a deep green with delicate embroidery, familiar and comfortable, even if the layers are a bit warmer than I’d like.At least my mom didn’t try to shove me into anewone.