Picking Up the Guitar
The red tteokbokki sauce in the empty bowl was drying up bit by bit. The spicy heat lingering on my lips hadn't registered at first, but now it prickled the tip of my tongue belatedly. I'd clearly eaten my fill and enjoyed it, yet my stomach felt oddly hollow for some reason.
Jisu, looking satisfied, patted her belly and leaned deep into the snack bar chair. The place was noisy and bustling, but it had a cozy charm. The clamor swirled around my ears—the snippets of chatter separating in my mind, crystal clear, like listening to a familiar drama. I stared blankly at a piece of oden submerged in the drying sauce.
The memories of my presumed past-life self hadn't cared for this stimulating flavor, but Lee Haru's palate was cheering for it. The confusion of identity was fading little by little. Whether I was Lee Haru with past-life memories or just Lee Haru hallucinating from a head injury—it didn't matter anymore. In the end, both were Lee Haru.
"That was delicious! Haru, you barely ate anything today, huh?"
Jisu grinned at me as she grabbed her bag. Tteokbokki sauce smeared messily around her mouth, so I pulled out a tissue like always and wiped it off. The paper came away with sauce and a hint of pale lipstick. The original Lee Haru would've scraped every last drop from the bowl, but after today's chaos, I had no appetite for it.
"Uh... probably 'cause I banged my head pretty hard earlier."
"Yeah, that sound was huge. Wanna hit the hospital? The math teacher was totally freaked out."
Brushing off Jisu's worried nagging, we left the shop. The bell rang piercingly sharp. Ever since smacking my head and those past-life memories surfacing, my ears felt hypersensitive. Just moments ago, every conversation in the crowd had filtered into my head, distinct and unmuffled.
The street outside teemed with students heading home and office workers starting to clock out. Jisu and I waved goodbye at the crosswalk by the bus stop. I was definitely Lee Haru, but that nagging sense of unfamiliarity wouldn't fade.
Without my familiar anchor, Jisu, a crushing isolation washed over me. The everyday walk home—what would've been routine for the old 'Lee Haru'—felt like a movie set, utterly alien. Clutching my bag strap awkwardly tight, I trudged slowly toward the apartment.
[♫~♩♩~]
Alone now, my sharp ears even picked up the faint idol tune leaking from the convenience store. As someone with memories of life as an unnamed man, it was brand new to me. The melody was solid—befitting a popular idol—but it left me feeling... bland.
Does this mean I'll never hear those songs from my memories in my lifetime?}
Something felt profoundly empty right now. I remembered every song in vivid detail, but recalling wasn't the same as hearing it live. I fished my phone from my pocket and checked the search bar again.
Still nothing I wanted. It made me feel even more out of place in my own existence. Glancing up, I saw the sunset stretching long across the sky.
The nameless man might've been different, but as Lee Haru, I was undeniably well-off. Home was a short walk from school, and the subway was close too. Lost in scattered thoughts, I'd forgotten to check my phone like usual, and suddenly the apartment loomed ahead.
I rode the familiar elevator up, and there was the front door of the home I'd lived in as Lee Haru. Taking a deep breath in front of it, my fingers trembled faintly on the number pad, nearly messing up the code.
-Beep boop beep.
The door clicked open with that familiar chime, sensor lights flicked on, and the house came into view. From the kitchen came the rhythmic chop of a knife on a cutting board—Mom prepping dinner. A savory aroma wafted through the air.
"Haru, that you? Hurry and wash up—your dad's working late, so it's just us tonight."
Hearing Mom's voice made my chest ache. The man from those presumed past-life memories had been an orphan. To him, home was just a means to survive. But for me now, as Lee Haru, this was a sanctuary, a place to return to. Afraid I'd choke up if I spoke, I just nodded and headed to my room.
I tossed my bag onto the bed and stood before the mirror. Staring back was a fresh-faced high school girl—an anime-level stunner I hadn't fully registered before the memories hit. Now, it was impossible to ignore.
Lee Haru. That was my name. I loosened my uniform tie and unbuttoned my shirt one by one.
-Shhhlk.
The white skin and exposed collarbone were a sight I'd seen forever, but now they felt strangely foreign. Before the man's memories, it hadn't fazed me. Now? Uncomfortably awkward.
The shower was straight-up embarrassing. It was my body since birth, but mortifying all the same. My recollection of how to do it was hazy. Even if I'd seen it a million times, those memories made viewing my own nudity excruciating—I kept my eyes off the mirror, focusing solely on scrubbing. The usual Lee Haru would've taken over 30 minutes; I was out in 10.
"What the—our girl showered that fast? Dinner's not ready yet."
"Uh... just felt like it quick."
Dressed in light pajamas, I helped set the table. I'd stuffed myself on tteokbokki and snacks, wondering if I could even eat, but the food's aroma hollowed my stomach right away.
"Thanks for the meal."
I lifted my spoon, sipping the soup first. Mom's doenjang jjigae was rich and delicious, no funky smell—just nutty tofu and fresh veggies. We ate together, chatting about weekend plans and everyday stuff.
Mom didn't know about my head bump, so things stayed normal. It hadn't been severe enough for a call from the nurse's office. A bit burdensome, sure, but with the original Lee Haru's memories, it was fine. This was my daily life now.
Back in my room, I rummaged deep in the drawer. After about five minutes, I unearthed the beat-up acoustic guitar I'd wheedled from Dad in middle school on a whim. Without even dusting it off, I sat on the sofa and plucked a string—still out of tune from years of neglect.
-Ting.
A limp twang echoed. The man's memories held no instrument lessons, but middle-school Lee Haru had learned the basics. The difference? My chest felt strangely tight now.
Digging through Lee Haru's memories, I tuned string by string. Years since I'd touched it, so clumsy at first, but it started coming together. No perfect pitch here, but the songs etched in my brain made it easier than expected.
Tuning done, I laid fingers on the strings. The cold, sharp bite against my fingertips was intense. Lee Haru's delicate hands reddened fast.
-Chwang.
This time, a clear note filled the room. Just one pluck, but it felt like a beginning. A song sprang to mind instantly.
First up: Yuki's banquet song. The rhythm was vivid in my head, so I synced the guitar slowly to that inner melody.
But I couldn't last 30 seconds. Lee Haru's fingers were too fragile—each pluck felt like tearing skin. Keep going, and blood would flow. Frustrated with myself, I sighed pitifully and set the guitar on my lap.
"Way harder than it looks when you actually try..."
My mind could play it flawlessly, but the body wouldn't obey. I slipped my reddened, stinging fingertips into my mouth. The damp saliva eased the pain a little.