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It must be morning already.
Blades of white light peek through the small slit between the drawn curtains, illuminating nothing in particular, but effectively splitting the room in half.
She shivers, wraps the blanket tighter around herself, groans as she buries her head deep into the pillow.
Sometimes, she wishes the nights could last longer, just so she could chase after a few more hours, even a few more minutes of sleep.
But then—
The door slams open.
Her phone begins to buzz with an alarm—or maybe…?
A heavy weight suddenly collapses on top of her, knocking the breath out of her lungs.
She stirs, staring blearily at the small face hovering mere inches above hers.
The small girl breaks out into the widest grin.
“Good morning, Auntie! Happy birthday!”
The girl immediately throws her soft arms around her neck, again knocking the breath out of her. They both collapse into the bed, giggling with each other, as her alarm continues blaring around the room.
“Good morning, Seo-hyun,” Jeongyeon sighs, finally waking herself up enough to return the hug. The little girl giggles at the hoarseness of her voice.
She doesn’t let go as she turns, stares at the woman standing by the door, smirking at her.
“You really couldn’t wait until a later hour, huh?” she chuckles.
From the doorway, Seungyeon’s smile stretches out into a wide grin.
“Of course! Any chance to see your ugly sleeping face again,” she answers, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She pats the little girl’s butt affectionately.
“Ah, it’s only been seconds since I woke up and you’re already insulting me. It’s my birthday, you know!” Jeongyeon whines.
“I’m your sister; I have my privileges,” Seungyeon replies playfully. Though, as the seconds pass, she looks to Jeongyeon sincerely, her smile warm. “Happy birthday, Jeong.”
The younger woman props herself up, bringing the little girl still pressed into her with her, and looks at her sister. She returns her smile, beaming.
“Thanks, sis.”
Seungyeon grins. “Now, get up, we’ve got something prepared for you. Come on, baby girl, let’s go finish preparing Auntie’s breakfast, okay?”
Seo-hyun looks up finally, flashing her a final smile, before she climbs off of her and follows her mother out of the cold room.
And so, she is left alone.
Jeongyeon falls back into the bed with her arms spread out, sighing as she sinks back into the sheets. The room is still dark, still cold from the AC unit—she could fall asleep at any moment and they wouldn’t be able to stop her.
Instead, she huffs, finally turns to her ringing phone on the nightstand. She reaches over to take it, sees the alarm glaring right back at her.
It reads seven o’clock, November 1, 2032.
“Happy birthday to me.”
Nonetheless, she’s bound to get up anyway.
She throws the covers off of her and stands from the bed.
It’s another day, another morning. The only difference is that it’s her birthday. But even then, maybe it’s not really so different. Maybe there will be a few greetings, maybe a few gifts, but she still has to go to work, she still has to answer to customers—some rude, some kind.
Either ways, it doesn’t feel like it’s her birthday.
Maybe it’s normal to feel this way with age.
She checks her phone again.
There are no new messages.
She smiles—fondly or a little sadly? She doesn’t know, but she smiles, because a memory passes through her, a very old one.
They were still young then, and her face was fuller then, lacking of any wrinkles, of creases.
She pockets her phone, stretches her limbs out before she finally walks out of her room.
--
The first birthday greeting is from a coworker, at 8 o’clock, followed by a series of other greetings, because he’d sent it in a groupchat.
She mutes it as her phone continues vibrating incessantly with oncoming and arguably unnecessary messages (she’d already sent her thanks minutes ago, and now they’re talking about going to a bar or sending a stripper her way). Grumbling as she leans her forehead against the window, she contemplates feigning a bitchy act when she arrives at the restaurant. Maybe then, they’d learn to lay off of their manager.
She chuckles then—no, that’d be mean.
The bus halts at a stop.
She looks out, sees it’s not yet hers and continues scrolling through her newsfeed.
The bus music fades out, plays a different song.
Her fingers still when she hears a distinct voice through the speakers—
“Hey boy.”
She suppresses the strongest urge to smile at its familiarity. She must be so fluent now, but back then, though she’d been okay with speaking English, Mina still had a heavy accent laced into her words.
“Look, I’m gonna make this simple for you.”
A notification pops up.
Jeongyeon’s breath hitches.
Myoui Mina: Jeongyeon-unnie! Happy birthday!
Their conversations are few and far in between—they’re both busy with their own lives, after all, given their own time differences since Mina had moved to the US. Their last conversation had been months ago. Still, the woman never failed to greet her each year.
Yoo Jeongyeon: Thank you, Minari! It’s been a while. Hehe
As the old song plays in the bus, she hears people murmuring around her, glancing her way. Looking a little awestruck—no doubt they weren’t locals in the neighborhood. She shifts back into her seat, bundles her jacket up further, making herself appear smaller and smaller.
The reply comes in minutes later.
Myoui Mina: I don’t know, but I randomly thought of you just now. Weird, right? I miss you, unnie!
Jeongyeon smiles at the message, just as the song that’s sparked their momentary connection fades out into a different song.
Much newer this time. Still, a very much distinct voice greets her.
Her smile falters.
A woman approaches her.
“I’m sorry, I hate to disturb your privacy, but… you’re Yoo Jeongyeon, aren’t you? From Twice?” she asks, staring a little wide-eyed at her.
Jeongyeon chuckles at the lady’s flustered state. Though, her heart aches in her chest—in a good way, of course. Moments like these had become few and far in between, and she’ll always regret not holding on to them so dearly back when they received them constantly on a daily basis.
“It’s been a while since I’ve heard that, but yes, I am,” she answers.
The woman looks like she wants to squeal, and it makes Jeongyeon smile. She flushes red as she raises her phone up with trembling fingers.
“I was a fan of Twice when I was a teenager, and I still am! I was so heartbroken during your disbandment, but you’re here—! I’m sorry, if you don’t mind, would it be okay to ask for a picture?”
“Of course,” Jeongyeon takes the phone, adjusts as the woman settles into the empty seat beside her.
Though there is warmth that fills her with the recognition, all she hears is the song, playing softly in the speakers. A love song of a few years, with a single, very distinct voice belting out the lyrics.
--
At noontime, when she stops for a momentary break, her phone has three unread messages.
Two from her parents, who had wished her luck with her job, reiterating again and again that they’d gladly welcome her back and have her work in one of their own restaurants once she finishes “training herself,” alongside with their greetings. The third is from an old friend, one of her best friends.
Park Jihyo: Yoo Jeongyeon! It’s your birthday today! I’m sorry I didn’t get to greet earlier, as I was preoccupied. I hope you enjoy your day and have many more birthdays to come! I love you and I miss you.
Jeongyeon snorts at the message, chuckling as she types out her reply. Though it’s only been weeks since their last conversation, Jihyo still takes on a formal tone when greeting her. She’s never failed to do so every year.
Yoo Jeongyeon: Thanks but don’t talk formal with me, idiot. Let’s meet up for drinks later.
She places her phone back into her pocket as her coworkers call for her. She hums as she leaves the break room. Although it’s been years since Twice had disbanded, Jihyo’s always checked up on her, always conversed with her, as if she’s still the leader. Out of all the members, she’d been the one she still messages relatively regularly.
They’d always been like that, after all, even back then.
But back then, there were three of them.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she chances a glance at it.
Park Jihyo: What? No! I’ve got kids to take care of.
Park Jihyo: Maybe on the weekend. ;)
A smile finds its way back into her lips.
--
At 2 o’clock, another new message appears on her phone. She furrows her brows when she sees it’s Seungyeon.
Gong Seungyeon: Oh my gosh, have you seen what’s trending yet?
Jeongyeon leans against the doorway to the kitchen, mulling her sister’s message in her head before she types out a reply. However, a customer approaches her in that moment, and she quickly hides away her phone.
It’s not until she’s finished settling a small dispute over a “no meat” order that she finally gets to send her message.
Yoo Jeongyeon: No, I’m working. Fuck off.
Gong Seungyeon: The audacity! After I prepared your breakfast too! But anyways, I still love you, and here it is.
Her sister sends her a link. It redirects her to a video of a TV show, its screen decorated with Japanese text and colorful graphics.
It’s a dance show, and on the judges’ stand sits another old friend, one she hasn’t spoken to for over a year now—it’s alright, she’s much busier now, after all, with the program and dance show offers.
As the video plays, she watches as Momo gives some criticism in Japanese for the dancers on stage. Then, suddenly, her eyes widen when she mentions the date.
“Ah, it’s November 1, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Is it?” she says, looking to the fellow judges, then at the camera crew off-screen. There’s a pause, a few murmurs, and then she nods, smiling sheepishly as she turns to the camera. “If it’s okay, there’s something I would like to say.”
Her smile widens as she clears her throat, opening her mouth and closing, as if she’s contemplating on what to say.
“Jeongyeon-ah!” she says suddenly, almost in a whine. And when she realizes she’d accidentally done an aegyo, she laughs a little at herself. She coughs again, speaking in Korean with an accent. “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it? Happy birthday to you! Let’s sing happy birthday. Let’s sing happy birthday.”
The dance show’s crowd claps along with her as she sings a happy birthday in Korean, then in Japanese, and then in a heavily accented English. It takes a while to finish, but Jeongyeon’s smiling the entire time.
She misses hugging Momo. She could embrace her right now, if only she wasn’t hundreds of miles away.
“It’s one of your members from Twice, isn’t it?” The judge that sits beside her queries after the song ends.
Momo nods happily. “Yes, she was one of my bestest friends,” she giggles, then slips into Korean again, turning to the camera, “Jeongyeon-ah, I miss you! I hope you get to see this. I love you and happy birthday!”
The video ends.
Jeongyeon chuckles to herself as she forwards the video to Momo, following it with a thanks.
It’ll be a while before she answers, but that’s okay. She misses her—missed her for months now.
But the reply comes quickly, surprisingly.
Hirai Momo: I miss you! Ah, if only I could visit! One day, we will have a mukbang together again, I swear!
Jeongyeon laughs at the message.
For the rest of the afternoon, she spends her free time catching up with the Japanese superstar.
There are long gaps between their conversations in the past, but whenever they did talk, their conversations always lasted for hours, sometimes even days.
Momo’s never failed to catch up with her at least once a year, never failed to inform her she misses her and that she wants to talk.
At least.
--
When her shift ends at 5, the next manager greets her with a polite kindness. Stiffly. She can’t blame him—he’s still young and new, and he has to make sure the higher ups see him as professional.
So, she pats him on the shoulder and smiles.
“You’ll do good today.”
The young man gapes at her momentarily, but he nods and gives her his thanks.
As she leaves, her phone lights up with a new message. Her eyes sweep fondly over the name.
It’s a photo—in it, a young woman smiles, signing a heart and holding a white dog up to her chest.
Chou Tzuyu: Happy birthday, unnie. I hope you had a good day. I’m sorry I only got to send this greeting now. I had a good day today. Anyways, I miss you! Expect your gift to arrive by next week. :)
Jeongyeon doesn’t suppress the laughter that bursts out of her in that moment. It’s true that they don’t talk much, since Tzuyu’s never been consistent with her replies, and she has her own acting career to worry about, but even after years, she’s never lost the formality and practicality in her tone. She misses this uptight maknae.
Yoo Jeongyeon: I miss you too, Yoda. Come visit when you can, okay?
The reply comes much later, when she’s already standing in the bus on the way to her apartment.
Chou Tzuyu: I will. :)
--
It’s 6:30 in the evening.
A package greets her at the doorstep of her own home.
She almost writes a joke to Tzuyu about how her gift had arrived much earlier than expected, until she sees the name on the box.
She smiles endearingly.
The package isn’t too big, isn’t too heavy, and she carries it easily with one arm as she opens the door.
There are no surprises, no abrupt screaming and balloons and party horns, and it makes her sigh with relief. Seungyeon holds one sometimes, and it’s never been pleasant. The thought is appreciated, sure, but it’s too loud, too noisy after a long day’s work.
She sets the package down, laughs a little at the drawing of a tofu on the cover. Below it is a name and a message.
“‘Unnie, we may not talk a lot but never think that I don’t think of you a lot. I love you lots and I miss you. I hope you had a great day,’” Jeongyeon reads, “From your friendly neighborhood tofu, Kim Dahyun.”
She grins as she unpacks it. Inside is a small handmade bookmark with a verse on one side:
“Jeremiah 29:11, ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
The other side holds a message, which reads:
“This is one of my favorite verses, and I think it would apply to you too. Know that whatever you plan, I will always support you, unnie. Never lose hope! Fighting!”
The next gifts are a tube of air freshener and a cookbook filled with foreign recipes.
It’s true that Dahyun and her don’t talk much. The girl’s always valued her private life greatly, and she’s never seen her active online much, so she wasn’t too keen on reaching out to her a lot. However, every year, she never fails to send a gift on her birthday, gifts that were well thought out and heartfelt—on the rarest occasion, she even comes to bring it, and they sit and talk to catch up sometimes.
Their last phone conversation is a year old.
She sends a picture of the gift and her thanks.
The girl replies later, while she’s brewing her coffee, with a simple heart.
Somehow, it’s enough.
--
At 7:45, her doorbell rings.
When she opens it, she snorts and places her hands on her hips.
“Well, just look at who showed up.”
In front of her stands a large box with legs. The owner of said legs peeks out from behind the box, smiling sheepishly.
“Happy birthday?” Chaeyoung greets.
“Get in,” Jeongyeon laughs, practically shoving the shorter girl inside. They both fall into a fit of laughter as Chaeyoung sets the box down with a grunt.
She looks the box over as the younger girl splays her arms out, grinning cheekily. “Surprise!”
“I didn’t expect you to be here today,” Jeongyeon comments, patting the box lightly.
The girl pouts. “That’s the surprise! I mean, unless you didn’t want me to be here.”
“Dumbass, you didn’t greet me for two years straight!” Jeongyeon shoves her playfully back.
“I didn’t even know what time it was on most days, I’m sorry!” Chaeyoung giggles, forcing an embrace on the older girl, who squirms beneath her arms.
It’s been years since she’d last seen her, ever since she’d spontaneously decided to travel around the world alone. Chaeyoung only occasionally sends her messages, when she has something absolutely breathtaking—the definition of this word in Chaeyoung’s terms is debatable—to share. She’s only really been updated on her life through SNS. Their last conversation is over two years old, when Chaeyoung shared a picture of her and her then girlfriend in Dubai.
“Finally done with your world tour?” Jeongyeon teases as she crouches, running her hand along the package.
“Nope. I’m in transit. I have a flight in a few hours,” Chaeyoung answers, falling into a squat beside her. “You should try traveling, unnie. There are so many amazing places to see!”
“Yeah?” Jeongyeon mutters as she tears the tape off.
“I’ve gone to so many places,” Chaeyoung remarks. “Hawaii, Egypt, Canada—hmm, oh, Italy, Germany, Mexico, even Switzerl—”
Jeongyeon’s eyes snap towards her. Chaeyoung stops, bites her tongue, and quiets.
“I… yeah… it was nice,” her voice softens.
Jeongyeon merely nods, letting the silence hang heavily in the air. She pulls the box open, revealing souvenirs from Chaeyoung’s trips. She doesn’t know why, but a breathless laugh escapes her at the sight.
“Geez, kid, how’d they let you go through customs with these?”
“I’m smart,” Chaeyoung winks.
“That’s not funny.”
“Hey!”
Jeongyeon laughs again as she takes the box and sets it aside. She’ll store it in her room later, but it is heavy. Maybe she’ll have Seungyeon help her when she comes by again.
“Thank you, Chaeyoung,” she says, looking at the other girl sincerely.
The younger girl’s eyes twinkle as she shrugs. “Anything for my no-jam hyung.”
“Stay for dinner?” Jeongyeon offers.
“Nah, I have a flight, remember?” Chaeyoung grins. “Which reminds me—now that we’re all done here, it’s my cue to leave.”
Jeongyeon deflates a little. She’d hoped to catch up with the girl—it’s been a long time, after all. However, Chaeyoung already looks excited, so she supposes she can settle for her SNS updates. She walks with her to the front door, watches her slip her feet into her boots.
And then, she pauses.
Chaeyoung turns to her, her expression suddenly serious.
“She misses you, you know,” she says softly.
Jeongyeon swallows thickly, presses her lips tightly together. She leans on the wall to her side, pretends to be nonchalant. “Well, you should have told her to message me.”
“You cut her off first.”
“I didn’t.”
Chaeyoung sighs, shaking her head. “Fine, if you really believe that. But you should try reaching out to her too.”
Jeongyeon doesn’t look at her.
When the front door closes behind Chaeyoung, she finally looks up.
She tries not to think about the old, unopened emails in her account.
--
At 10 o’clock, she receives a call.
Her breath hitches.
But it quickly relaxes when she sees Sana’s face come into view. She wants to have a video call.
“Jeongyeon-unnie!”
Sana’s bright voice blasts from her phone’s speaker, and she can’t fight off the smile at the sound. She’s missed this sound—the soft lilts, the pure emotions it holds can never be truly translated well through a phone.
“Happy birthday, unnie! I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you earlier,” Sana yawns into the phone, rubbing her eyes.
“It’s okay,” Jeongyeon shakes her head, smiling fondly. “Besides, you can be forgetful. I get it.”
“It was just one time!”
Jeongyeon giggles at her, watching her adjust the phone and sit up on what looks like a couch.
“We just finished filming a CF,” Sana informs her, pouting. She’s much older now, but she looks sixteen again with the expression. “It was so tiring, unnie—it lasted from dawn to now!”
Jeongyeon chuckles. “I told you to settle down, didn’t I?”
“But that’s boring,” Sana says, giggling. “Life is full of adventure, and I want to take everything it has to offer.”
A voice suddenly joins in, its owner somewhere off-screen, speaking in Japanese. “Then you should have followed Chaeyoung, idiot.”
“Rude!” Sana whines, speaking to the person off-screen. Her eyes light up suddenly, and she gestures wildly to the space beside her. “Why don’t you come over here and join us?”
“No thanks, I just talked to Jeongyeon a while ago. My time is done.”
Sana’s screen begins to shake with movement as she shoots up from her seat, reaching her arm out, tugging with much exerted effort at whoever it was off-screen. Jeongyeon waits patiently on the other end.
Her eyes light up when she sees Momo come into view, grumbling as Sana locks her arm around her shoulders, keeping her there. The younger woman adjusts the phone so they could both be in the frame.
“Here she is! My buddy!” Sana titters, her eyes flickering between Momo and Jeongyeon.
“Hi, Momo,” Jeongyeon greets.
“I miss you, Jeongyeon. I love you, happy birthday, now let me go!” Momo whines, fighting off Sana’s hold. However, Sana’s grip is strong, and she relents eventually, opting to pout in her seat as Sana giggles and pulls her closer to her.
“Don’t mind her, Jeongyeon-unnie. She’s just excited to call her boyfriend,” Sana says teasingly, earning a low blow on her side immediately.
They bicker a few more times, and Jeongyeon is silent as she watches. She missed seeing this, watching the two Japanese women bickering—maybe not as much as her and—
Still, in spite of this, when one of them cried, the other was the first to be at her side. They were best friends—they still are. They’ve been roommates for a few years now, from what Sana tells her with her monthly updates.
It’s nice having someone like that.
“It’s nice seeing you two like this,” she comments without thinking.
The two women still, finally turning to her. Sana untangles her arm from Momo and moves forward, closer to the camera. Momo shuffles closer to Sana, moving a bit closer as well. Jeongyeon self-consciously moves back, rubbing her arm sheepishly.
“Do you miss her?”
Jeongyeon chuckles. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s been years, unnie,” Sana says, her eyes softening. “Do you still not want to talk about it?”
Jeongyeon sighs. “No.”
Momo leans forward. “Are you sure?”
“We’re not—” Jeongyeon sighs, leans back into her chair. “We’re not friends anymore, okay? It’s been years, like you said, and she’s never once contacted me.”
“Speak for yourself,” Momo says, chortling. However, she stops when Sana gives her a pointed look.
“She…” Sana starts, turning again to Jeongyeon. Her smile is sad. “She tells me differently.”
Jeongyeon tenses. “Okay.”
“Do you want me to tell her to—?”
“No,” Jeongyeon says with finality. But her voice falters, just a little, the words choked around a lump that’s formed on her throat. “Please, just don’t.”
“Okay,” Sana relents, sighing. She moves back.
“Thank you,” Jeongyeon smiles.
They end that conversation there.
But it remains a prominent thought for the rest of the night.
--
11:55 PM.
The phone screen reads. The dim light emanating from it casting her face in a bluish glow.
She sighs as she turns it back off, letting her arms rest against the railings of her balcony, the wind blowing at her face, her hair fluttering softly in the breeze.
It’s cold today.
In a few minutes, her last greeting will come.
She’d set it that way when she was younger, kept it that way for no reason.
Or maybe there is.
A voice, clear as daylight, echoes in the deep recesses of her mind.
“You hear it? It’ll greet you the second your birthday ends—
“Before you hear that, I would have already greeted you by then—
“This is my promise.”
She’d smiled then, as if she meant it, as if it was the most precious thing in the whole world. Her grin was infectious, so cheeky, so toothy.
“Because I’m grateful to have you in my life.”
Jeongyeon runs her hand through her hair. Her eyes sting. They always do.
Every year on this balcony, at 11:59 PM, she waits.
Every year on this balcony, at 12:00 AM, her phone will ring, with an automated voice, singing her a happy birthday.
One day, when it rings, maybe she can let go.
But that day isn’t today.
She doesn’t know when it fell apart. When Twice had disbanded, they were okay—at first. They were okay, weren’t they? They talked every day, hung out on weekends.
And then the months came.
And then her first solo song was released.
And then her replies grew shorter, and the days grew longer.
11:57 PM.
One day, when it rings, maybe she can let go.
Maybe that day should be today.
She remembers their last conversation. A phone call.
“You’re not coming?”
“No—I—I have so much things to do—to—to pack and—I’m sorry.”
“Oh.”
Her voice had sounded so despondent. But Jeongyeon didn’t care then. She was younger, and so, so stupid. All she knew was the loud pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.
She’d wanted to tell her then. She’d wanted to scream it at her so badly.
Five words.
What she said was:
“I’m so happy for you.”
And she’d ended the call, lowering her phone with her left hand.
In her right hand, she’d crumpled a wedding invitation.
11:59 PM.
Jeongyeon looks at the sky, looks at the crescent of the moon, hiding behind the soft slurries of gray clouds.
Is she also looking at the moon, wherever she is now?
Are they looking at the same moon?
“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” she breathes out softly in Japanese. The only Japanese phrase she’d memorized so perfectly, kept so close to her heart all these years.
12:00 AM.
Her phone buzzes.
“Happy birthday, Yoo Jeongyeon. You are th—”
The automated voice is cut off suddenly.
Jeongyeon feels the most vicious ache in her chest, feels the most painful twinge of her heart, when she feels her phone vibrating. Her breath comes out in short puffs. Her eyes have widened so much.
She turns the phone slowly.
Im Nayeon is calling.
She sinks to the floor, doing her hardest to keep herself from flinging the device off the balcony and into oncoming traffic. Her breath quivers as she reads the name over and over again.
What should she do?
What can she do, really?
She can ignore it, like she’d done, the first few weeks when she’d run away. All the emails, the messages she’d sent.
She can let the call die down.
“Do you miss her?”
On the sixth ring, she answers.
“Hello…?”
There is silence on the other end. The seconds tick by like an erratic heartbeat.
Then—
“Jeongyeon?”
“Nayeon-unnie?”
There’s a breath of relief, masked by an immediate bout of laughter. This voice. This laugh. She missed it so much she could cry.
But she holds it—she can’t have her voice break.
“Oh, my God,” Nayeon gasps out. “It’s you. It really is you.”
“It is,” Jeongyeon confirms, almost laughing. She runs her fingertips through her bangs.
“Happy birthday, Jeongyeon!” Nayeon almost yells. “You’re 36 now, wow!”
“Don’t remind me,” Jeongyeon remarks weakly. Time has passed. So much time.
It’s good she can’t see her now, because it takes everything in her not to break down in this moment. She missed her. She missed her so much.
“How have you been?” Nayeon asks. “It’s been so long.”
“I’ve been—I’ve been great,” Jeongyeon answers, almost breathlessly. She slumps against the railings—the only thing keeping her from sinking deep into the abyss of her emotions, of the things she’d buried five years ago.
Five years since Nayeon’s wedding.
“Jihyo tells me you’re a manager at a restaurant now? Congrats!”
“It’s not at my dad’s restaurant, though,” Jeongyeon says. “I… I moved out.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you did.”
There’s a beat filled with heavy silence, the implication clear as day. The day she’d moved out—the same date as Nayeon’s wedding.
How can any of them forget?
“Can I see you?”
Her voice was tiny, fragile. Sounding nothing like the loud, imposing Im Nayeon she’d known for most of her life, and still she caught the question.
She swallows thickly, her grip on her phone tightening.
On the other end, Nayeon coughs, begins to say something, as if pretending she’d said nothing. But—
“Okay,” Jeongyeon says.
There’s a pause. “What?”
“You wanted to see me,” Jeongyeon stands, walks back into her room. “Right?”
Another pause. Some shuffling. “Yes. I want to see you.”
Jeongyeon takes a seat at her desk, places her phone on it, putting it on loudspeaker. She ties her hair, fixes the stray strands, makes herself appear the least bit presentable.
She’s more nervous about this than any interview.
“Is… is it really okay?” Nayeon asks tentatively, her voice quieter.
“Yes, I—” Jeongyeon sighs, shifts closer to the desk. “I want to see you too.”
There’s some fumbling on the other end. Nayeon grumbles to herself, looking for the button.
Then, Jeongyeon sees her—it’s blurry, pixelated, and dark, sure. But it’s her.
“Is this working? Come on, Jeongyeon, accept the call,” Nayeon whines. She sees her face scrunch up in the screen, sees the anxiety in her features, in the half-smile, the crease in her eyebrows.
Jeongyeon answers the call.
There’s a moment where time seems to stop, when they’re just looking at each other, silent. As if they’re drinking in each other’s features for the first time like it’s an oasis in a—
“Hi.”
Nayeon’s lips slowly stretch out into her signature gummy smile, and Jeongyeon feels like she’s fourteen again, talking to a girl in a training room, the girl with the twinkling eyes and the bunny teeth, for the first time.
That girl is older now. Her face a little bit more sunken, her eye bags darker, heavier. She looks tired, but she’s still smiling. Her hair is short now too—when did she cut it?
Jeongyeon bites back her grin, leans back into her chair instead.
“Hi.”
Nayeon grins. “You look like you prepared for this. Why are you wearing such a formal outfit?”
“I—” Jeongyeon glances at her button-up, wraps her arms around herself self-consciously. “I didn’t—I haven’t changed out of my day clothes.”
Nayeon tilts her head, her eyes unbelieving. “Sure.”
“You’re on a bed,” Jeongyeon huffs out. “A really wrinkled bed—I guess you didn’t prepare at all.”
“Of course not,” Nayeon chuckles. “I’m not having an interview. I’m just talking to an old friend.”
An old friend.
Jeongyeon’s smile falters at the sentiment.
Nayeon’s smile falters too. She adjusts herself on her bed, propping herself up on her elbow. She stares at her screen for a few moments.
“I missed you.”
Jeongyeon doesn’t look at her. She can’t—not right now. It’s too early for this. She thought—she thought she was ready, she did. But now that she’s staring at her, looking at her—somehow, it feels horrifying.
It’s as if she’s staring at the sea, right as she’s about to jump off a cliff.
So, instead, she forces out a laugh.
“Are you just fishing for compliments?”
Nayeon quirks her brow at the comment. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean, huh?”
“Trying to buy me with your affections?” Jeongyeon teases.
Nayeon clicks her tongue, understanding dawning over her. “I don’t need to buy your affections for a compliment. I know I’m pretty. Always have been.”
“I thought the years would finally humble you, but I was so, so wrong,” Jeongyeon shakes her head in mock disappointment.
“I’m married, Jeongyeon—someone married me,” Nayeon grins. “That must mean I was doing something right, right?”
Jeongyeon ignores the twist in her gut. She swallows thickly. “Are you mocking me?”
“Of course not!” Nayeon shakes her head. “I’m just saying: I don’t need you to tell me that I’m pretty. I already know I am.”
“Well, fine then,” Jeongyeon shrugs. “I was just about to say you are.”
“What? Wait—hey!”
“I can’t hear you,” Jeongyeon laughs, covering her ears.
Nayeon pouts. “Call me pretty.”
“Nah.”
“Pretty please?” Nayeon blows her cheeks up, points a finger at her chin, whines in a baby’s voice.
As if she’s not a 37-year old woman.
Jeongyeon bursts out laughing. “You’re old already! Don’t do that!”
“You’re so mean!” Nayeon grumbles, lowering her finger immediately. She flushes red, embarrassed. “Call me pretty anyways.”
Jeongyeon doesn’t stop laughing. She doubles over, pressing into the desk, watching Nayeon’s face scrunch up further and further.
She wonders why it feels so normal.
Why it feels like they haven’t aged a day since they were teenagers.
Why all she wants right now is to reach out and hug the other girl so tight and never let go.
Never again.
“Hey…” Nayeon says.
Jeongyeon’s laughter fades into small trickles of giggles as she finally lifts herself up.
“You’re pretty,” she says finally, meaning every word.
Nayeon smiles. “I know.”
“You’re so co—”
“You’re pretty too.”
Jeongyeon coughs, lays back into her seat. She raises a hand to her mouth to hide her reddening cheeks, but Nayeon’s little smirk tells her she’s already lost.
“Thanks,” Jeongyeon mutters.
Nayeon shrugs.
“So…” Jeongyeon clears her throat, moves forwards. “H-how’s Switzerland?”
Nayeon beams at the question. “I thought you’d never ask.”
They talk for a long time. Nayeon tells her about Switzerland, about the cold, how it can get much worse than South Korea’s. She tells her about the days she spends there, about how most days lately, she’s spent lazing around at home, singing, sending samples, or watching Netflix. She tells her she visits the places they’d gone to before sometimes, and that the locals always remembered her, that they were such kind people there.
“I’d just come back from Schilthorn, just a few hours ago.”
Jeongyeon freezes. A memory flashes through her, a memory she wills away immediately.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Nayeon nods, smiling, her gaze unreadable but undoubtedly locked with hers. “It’s still as beautiful today, as it was that day.”
Jeongyeon can only nod in silence. She doesn’t ask about it again.
Nayeon never once mentions her family, but Jeongyeon doesn’t mind.
Maybe it’s for the best.
She also boasts her English, boasts that she’s probably better than Mina now (she isn’t), and that if she was only a few years earlier—
If only she was a few years earlier.
She’d teared up, reliving their memories as Twice, that maybe she should have put in more effort in connecting with their international fans, that maybe if she’d studied harder, talked to people in English—
“Don’t say that,” Jeongyeon shakes her head as Nayeon dabs at her red-rimmed eyes. “You did your best. You don’t need to ‘try harder.’”
Nayeon smiles. “Ah, maybe I should have moved to Switzerland earlier.
Jeongyeon laughs.
Nayeon shifts in her position. “How about you? You haven’t said anything yet.”
Jeongyeon tells her about her job, about how she’d wanted to gain experience first before she accepted her father’s offers to manage their own restaurants. She tells her about today’s birthday greetings, about how Momo had talked about it on her dance show, about Mina messaging her at the same time their song played on the bus. She tells her about the movies she’s watched, the shows she’d guest starred in.
“Oh, you were in—what was it? That new show—Cooking Idols?”
“Yep!” Jeongyeon nods. “I was a host for three sessions.”
“How was it?”
“They had new idols come in, and some of the other guys were hard on them, since they were, you know, new,” Jeongyeon huffs. “I had to scold them a lot.”
“Maybe that’s why they stopped inviting you,” Nayeon laughs.
“Maybe, but we’ve always stuck out for our backs, didn’t we? Even back then—all of us.”
“Yeah,” Nayeon nods, smiling fondly.
They talk about the other members’ endeavors, about how they know little about Mina and Dahyun’s lives, since they rarely updated on their SNS, while on the other hand, Chaeyoung shares too much updates their newsfeeds are full of her content. They talk about Sana and Tzuyu’s movies, about Momo’s dance shows, about Jihyo’s job as a trainer.
“You’ve watched her movies?” Nayeon yawns, stretches along the bed, turning over to her side.
“Hm? Sana? Yeah, of course,” Jeongyeon yawns too, resting her chin on her hands. She’s bent forward, splayed all over her desk, watching the other woman on the screen with a lazy smile.
“I’ve watched some,” Nayeon nods. “But I didn’t get to see the latest one.”
“It was an indie movie set in a high school,” Jeongyeon hums. “It was so sad, though. The ending was a cliffhanger.”
“What was it about?”
Jeongyeon swallows thickly. “It was about a girl who was secretly in love with her best friend.”
She clenches at the fabric of her pants.
Nayeon stirs, turns to look at her. Her expression curious.
“Sana was the girl?”
“Yeah,” Jeongyeon breathes out. “She was… in love with her best friend, who was a girl.”
Nayeon blinks. “Oh,” she hums, resting her head against her arm again. She stares at the screen, saying nothing.
The silence is deafening.
Why does she look so sad?
Is she supposed to be sad?
Why is she sad?
Jeongyeon looks away.
Maybe she can’t bear to know why.
So, she clears her throat and continues.
They talk more about other things. About everything and nothing, really. She tells her about a recent fireworks display she’d watched. Nayeon tells her about a Switzerland show she finds funny. Jeongyeon tells her about her new pet cat. Nayeon chimes in with her new pet dog.
It’s as if they’re playing twenty questions, a never-ending cycle of it. And it stretches out so long that she slowly forgets a lot of things, about what happened in the past, that they’re much older now.
It feels like they’re sixteen again, sharing their dreams together in her room, huddled together inside a blanket.
And maybe it also feels like they’re walking on eggshells around each other, but she doesn’t want to think about it.
She tells her about Seungyeon, about her daughter, Seo-Hyun, about how when the little girl had been born, she remembers seeing her sister’s eyes actually light up. About how they’d teared up with so much joy her heart seized with so much pain wondering if—
If she’d ever get to feel that way, with anything.
With anyone.
Ever again.
She doesn’t mention the last part, of course.
Nayeon smiles softly, looking at a spot on her bed.
“It is painful, isn’t it?” she remarks. “It’s painful, but also so beautiful.”
Jeongyeon smiles. It hurts so much.
“Was it like that for you too?” she asks, even though the words tremble, even though she has to force it out of her throat.
Nayeon looks up then, and suddenly, the years return to her face. She sees sadness in her eyes weighed down by the years, sees the tiredness leave its traces on her visage, in the small crinkles around her eyes, in the bags beneath them.
Still, she smiles so warmly.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, it was.”
And all Jeongyeon can do is move even closer, prod her with a searching look. “Tell me about it. About her.”
Nayeon sighs.
They suppose it’s time.
“Do you know her name?” Nayeon asks.
“No,” Jeongyeon says. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Nayeon scratches at her neck idly. “Her name is Yun-hee. And the day she was born was the happiest moment of my life.”
Nayeon finally tells her.
She tells her about her family. Her husband, so kind and devoted, who had come with her to Switzerland, who had supported her all throughout their marriage life, no matter how spontaneous or absurd her antics may be.
She tells her about her daughter, Yun-hee, about how she’d inherited her bunny teeth, about how she had the most beautiful smile, the most beautiful laugh. And though she’d lost much of her youth raising her, she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“It was painful, and so, so stressful,” Nayeon mutters into the fabric of her sweater, her idle stare set on Jeongyeon’s attentive face. “But if I could go back and do it all over again, the exact same way as before, I would.”
Jeongyeon tilts her head to the side, letting it rest against her bicep. “You would?”
“You don’t know,” Nayeon chuckles fondly. “You don’t know the joy, this beautiful pain you feel when you hold a baby that’s yours. When you hold your child—I-I can’t explain it, but it’s like—it was like everything felt right in that moment, you know?”
Jeongyeon smiles. “I wouldn’t.”
Nayeon stares at her.
“I wish you would,” she says, smiling too.
“I don’t know,” Jeongyeon sighs. “Maybe it’s not possible for me anymore.”
“Why’s that?”
Jeongyeon looks up, meets her gaze.
If only she could say it.
If only a single look was enough.
“Who knows?”
“Nobody but you,” Nayeon says, singing it softly as she giggles.
Jeongyeon chuckles. “That’s true.”
“So, why?”
Jeongyeon’s smile falters.
Nayeon shuffles closer, bringing the phone closer to her. “What are you so afraid of, Yoo?”
Jeongyeon looks at her—really looks at her. Even through the feedback, through the slightly pixelated screen, she sees Nayeon’s eyes, sees the depth in them. Like the currents of the sea, pulling her closer and closer—
She looks away.
Nayeon tilts her head, trying to meet her gaze, searching for her eyes—but the girl doesn’t look back. She bites her bottom lip.
“I missed you, you know.”
“Trying to buy my compliments again—?”
“Jeongyeon.”
Jeongyeon sighs, leans forward, runs her hand through her hair. She’d been wondering when her time would run out.
“It’s true, you know,” Nayeon mumbles, looking down. “I missed you, every second, every day of my life—I did. I hope you know that.”
Jeongyeon swallows thickly, moving away a little. It’s too much, really—it’s too much. But there’s a question she needs an answer to, ever since she’d heard the news many months ago.
“Why did you move to Switzerland?” she asks.
Nayeon looks at her. The memory flashes through her mind again, the same woman as a redheaded girl, looking at her with the most intense, yet affectionate gaze, and a promise they’d made 14 years ago.
They were in the mountains then.
“I think you know,” Nayeon says.
“I…”
“It’s stupid,” Nayeon mutters. “But I wanted to live reliving our memories here. You…” her voice falters as she strokes her other hand. “You held my hand always here. We had that picture too. I just—I wanted to relive those moments again. Because one day, you just… stopped.”
Jeongyeon can only nod wordlessly. She picks at her fingernails, bites her bottom lip. Nayeon waits patiently on the other line.
Maybe it’s time.
She thinks for a moment, takes a deep breath, then looks up. “I missed you too.”
Nayeon purses her lips. “What happened between us, Jeong? We were best friends.”
“Life, I guess,” Jeongyeon mutters.
Nayeon creases her brows. She laughs incredulously, shaking her head. “You know that’s not why. You know that’s—” her voice breaks at the last sentence.
It takes everything in Jeongyeon not to break down at the sight. She bites her bottom lip hard, steadies her breath through deep inhales, exhales.
“We were okay,” Nayeon says after a steadying breath. She’s not looking at the screen anymore. “We were okay.”
“We were,” Jeongyeon confirms.
“And then we weren’t,” Nayeon glances at the screen. “I just—I just want to know—and I know it’s your birthday, and I know I called, but, I need to know what happened.”
Jeongyeon chuckles bitterly. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I—I can’t,” Jeongyeon heaves out a deep breath, slides her arm on the desk as she buries her face in her hands. “I can’t do that to you.”
“But I’m asking you to,” Nayeon pleads. She sees the screen quiver slightly. “Please, Jeongyeon, just once, I just need—”
“I was young.”
Nayeon halts, staring at her breathlessly.
Jeongyeon chews at her bottom lip, eyeing a small coffee stain on her desk that had somehow remained stuck there. “I was young, and I didn’t know—I didn’t know how to deal with this—this pain. I didn’t know how to handle my feelings. So, I—” she meets Nayeon’s gaze. “I ran away.”
Nayeon visibly swallows. “Your feelings?”
“You know what I mean,” Jeongyeon says, smiling sadly.
Nayeon opens her mouth to say something, but slowly closes it back again.
She does know what it means.
She’s always known.
But Jeongyeon doesn’t know.
Nayeon sighs. “I wish you told me.”
“I didn’t want to do that to you,” Jeongyeon says.
“Maybe you should have anyways.”
“What’s that supposed to mean—?”
Nayeon only smiles. The same sad smile Jeongyeon forms when she—
Oh.
Why is she so sad?
Maybe that’s why.
Nayeon looks at her.
She looks so sad.
And Jeongyeon feels so, so sad.
“What does… what does this mean for us?” she asks quietly.
Nayeon sighs, rests her head into her arm again. “Who knows?”
A long moment of silence passes, heavy with their withdrawn words, with their long, unwavering gazes on each other. And though they’ve finally understood after all these years, though they’ve finally reconnected, somehow they still feel lost.
“Mom?”
The small, high-pitched voice snaps them out of their reverie.
Jeongyeon freezes. Both their eyes widen. Slowly, Nayeon turns her head, and Jeongyeon can see, standing just a few feet behind her—a little girl in an oversized hoodie, rubbing at her eyes with her small, chubby hands.
Nayeon softens immediately, raising her arms up towards the girl. Jeongyeon watches.
“Yun-hee, come here,” she coos.
The little girl slowly walks over, climbing on top of the bed and snuggling into her mother.
“You on call?” The girl mumbles sleepily.
“Mhm,” Nayeon nods, stroking the girl’s hair affectionately. She glances at Jeongyeon. “This is your Auntie Jeongyeon, the one I always tell you about?”
Jeongyeon’s heart constricts.
The little girl slowly turns to her.
She’s the spitting image of Nayeon.
Jeongyeon’s hand tightens around the fabric of her button-up.
Everything is so painful, but still, she smiles.
“Hello,” the little girl waves slowly.
“Hi, baby,” Jeongyeon breathes out, a little breathless laugh escaping with her words. “How are you?”
“Sleepy,” the little girl whines.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Nayeon doesn’t try to hide her own smile as she watches.
“Then maybe mommy should sing you one of her songs so you can sleep?” Jeongyeon suggests, chuckling when she sees Nayeon flash her a faux glare.
“Please,” the little girl pouts, staring up at the woman she’s snuggled up to.
“Fine,” Nayeon sighs, all exaggerated. She pinches the girl’s big cheeks. “But only because you’re so cute.”
The little girl grins.
Nayeon smiles back.
Jeongyeon watches as she slowly gets up, bringing the phone with her.
“Jeong, I—” Nayeon sighs, looks at the screen. “I have to take her to bed.”
“It’s okay,” Jeongyeon chuckles. “You go ahead and do that.”
She stretches and yawns, glancing at the window.
She’s not surprised when she sees the skies outside slowly starting to turn pink.
“What—what time is it there?” Nayeon yawns suddenly. “I didn’t realize we talked for such a long time.”
“It’s fine. No worries,” Jeongyeon quickly moves the phone away from the windows, turning it so it faces the shadowed walls behind her. She watches the woman rub her eyes once more, then stroke her daughter’s head as she clings to her legs.
She bites her bottom lip.
“Nayeon.”
“Hm?”
“Thank you,” Jeongyeon says, smiling. “Thank you for calling.”
Nayeon blinks at her for a moment. Then, she smiles too. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”
Everything hurts, truly, but Jeongyeon doesn’t stop smiling.
“Thank you for remembering.”
“Hey, Jeongyeon.”
Jeongyeon yawns one more time. “Hm?”
The woman lifts up her daughter, struggling for a little. When she comes into frame again, Yun-hee’s arms are around her neck, and she holds her up with an arm around her hip.
Nayeon’s moving, Jeongyeon can tell from the slight trembling of the phone.
Then, the image of the moon comes into view.
Jeongyeon bites her lip hard, feels the blood drawn out of the bite.
Her eyes sting.
The camera moves, finds Nayeon’s face again, as the most breathtaking smile finds its way into her lips.
“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” Nayeon speaks it in Japanese. So warmly, so softly. With a tenderness in her voice so reminiscent of the past.
“This is my promise.”
“It is,” Jeongyeon agrees, her voice breaking with every word.
Nayeon’s smile widens. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Goodbye, Nayeon.”
“Goodbye, Jeongyeon.”
Nayeon disconnects.
The last image of her is of her whispering softly into her daughter’s ear, the smallest smile in her face, the lightest twinkle in her eye.
The last image Jeongyeon sees is her own, smiling fondly for a few seconds more after the call ends, burning Nayeon’s image forever into her mind, into her heart.
“The moon is beautiful tonight,” she whispers as she falls asleep on the desk, her phone still staring at her, just as the sun begins to rise in the distant horizon.