A Lingering Warmth
It was hot. Bae Si-ah's memories always began with a scent. On the days her stepmother wasn't home, the scent of her father cooking in the kitchen. The smell of oil heating up. The aroma of soybean paste stew boiling.
Whenever those scents wafted through the air, Si-ah would sit on the living room sofa and gaze toward the kitchen. "Eat." That was all he ever said. But she liked it. On the days those scents filled the air, the house felt a little more like a home.
Bae Si-ah had always been a quiet child. Her environment had made her that way from birth. She was her father's child from an affair—not the child of her stepmother. At first, her stepmother wasn't a bad person. At least, not when Si-ah was very young. She had at least made an awkward show of caring for her.
That changed after her younger half-sister was born. Si-ah was six years old then. She still remembered the day her stepmother walked through the door cradling her new sister. From that day on, the very air in the house shifted. Conversations dwindled. The side dishes served to her at the dinner table became different.
If she made even a slight mistake, a hand would fly to strike her. It was even worse on the days her father wasn't home. Si-ah hadn't understood what it meant when she was little. She only realized as she grew older: she had always been an unwanted foreign object in that house.
Her father did try to care for her in his own way. On days when her stepmother was out, he would go into the kitchen and cook for her, or quietly slip some allowance into her hand on her way to school. But in front of his wife, he was utterly powerless. He walked on eggshells.
Si-ah hated seeing him like that, constantly reading the room. Yet, she couldn't blame him. Her father was a weak man who had no choice. And so, Si-ah became quiet. She was quiet at school. She was quiet at home. She was quiet everywhere.
If she stood out, she was beaten. If she erased her presence, she was beaten less. That was the survival mechanism Bae Si-ah had learned.
Even so, she had one friend. A childhood friend who had lived in the same apartment complex since they were young. A boy named Song Haram. He was much more talkative than Si-ah. When she sat in silence, he would chatter away beside her. She found comfort in that. They were inseparable until middle school.
But things changed when they entered high school. Haram began hanging out with a bad crowd. He constantly complained about how harsh life was, and the look in his eyes grew different. Being timid, Si-ah naturally spoke to him less and less. She worried about him, but found it difficult to initiate a conversation.
Then, one day, Haram reached out first, asking if she wanted to grab a bite to eat. Si-ah went. While they were eating, Haram spoke. "I like you." Hearing those words, Si-ah couldn't say anything for a long time. It would be a lie to say she had never dreamed of it—of this person actually liking her. "Me too." That was how it began.
At first, it was wonderful. They walked together, ate together, and kept in touch. For the first time in her life, Si-ah felt wanted by someone. She tried to find the affection she had never received at home in him. But then, the things Haram asked her to buy him began to multiply.
At first, it was small items. Gradually, the prices grew steeper. She knew something was wrong. Yet, she bought them anyway. The fear of him leaving her outweighed any suspicion.
Months passed like this. She even asked her father for more allowance. She didn't explain why, and her father gave it to her without asking questions. But as Haram's demands grew increasingly unreasonable, bordering on extortion, she eventually had no choice but to refuse, telling him it was too difficult for her.
It was the day of the school closing ceremony. Her childhood friend contacted her, urgently asking to meet in an alleyway. Si-ah went. The moment she ran into the alley, she sensed something was off. Standing next to her childhood friend were two delinquent-looking girls. They were faces she had never seen before. "You're here," Haram said with a smirk.
The moment Si-ah stepped closer, one of the girls shoved her shoulder. She fell with a heavy thud, her knees scraping hard against the asphalt. As she tried to get up, one of the girls pinned her down with a foot, preventing her from rising.
The other girl looked down at her and sneered, "Wow, you really fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Your family's loaded, so why didn't you squeeze out a bit more?"
Laughter erupted. It took Si-ah a moment to process the meaning of those words. It had been a setup from the very beginning. He had only approached her to extort her money.
"What an idiot. Look at her, running over all excited just because a guy asked to meet up."
"Pfft, of course she did. This loser spent hundreds of thousands, even millions of won, just to hold Haram's hand once."
"Still, thanks to you being such a gullible sucker, we got to spend it all well~"
Haram chimed in. "If I went through the trouble of pretending to date you, you should've tried harder to get the money. Why don't you go beg your mom right now?"
"Hey, I heard her mom isn't even her real mom?" the girls mocked.
These delinquents, whom she had never met before, were casually dragging her family secrets into the mud. After ridiculing her for a while, one of the girls sidled up to her childhood friend and casually wrapped an arm around his waist. The moment Si-ah saw that, a rage she had never experienced in her entire life boiled up inside her.
"Don't touch Haram, you bitches!!"
She lunged at them. But she couldn't win. There were two of them, and they were physically larger than her. She was beaten. They kicked her repeatedly. They snatched her wallet. When she tried to stand, her legs refused to move. Haram laughed as he looked down at her collapsed form.
"Ahaha! Are you seriously trying to protect me in that pathetic state?"
"Hey, she's got a decent amount."
One of the girls pulled the wallet from Si-ah's pocket, took out only the cash, and threw the empty wallet back onto her trembling body. Then, they simply walked away.
"We'll put this money to good use! If you ever pretend to know Haram at school, you're dead!"
Si-ah sat on the cold ground of the alley for a long time. She didn't cry. She couldn't. Brushing the dirt off her scraped knees, she trudged back into her apartment complex when her phone rang. It was an unknown number. She answered.
The voice on the other end was a police officer, informing her of a car accident. The entire family, they said. Si-ah stood frozen, holding the phone. Her father, stepmother, and half-sister had gone on a family trip for the school break, leaving her behind. There were people among them she had hated. But they were still her family.
From that day on, Si-ah did nothing. She only ate when she was on the verge of starving to death. She didn't go outside. She did absolutely nothing. She just stayed inside her apartment. One month passed. She felt that life had lost all meaning.
Her only hope had been a deceptive parasite from the start, and her family—whom she resented but who were still her entire world—along with her father, had vanished from the earth in a single day.
She began to think of death. She had neither the courage nor the motivation to keep living. She tried to self-harm, but she couldn't bring herself to inflict a fatal wound. She tried slashing her skin, tried stabbing, but whenever she tried to apply real force, her strength would fail her.
For a month, only meaningless scars accumulated. As the act repeated, much like a dog undergoing desensitization training, her aversion to the blade began to fade. Under normal circumstances, today was supposed to be the day she returned to school. Today, she had intended to bring it all to an end.
Sitting on the chair in the treatment room while her wounds were being bandaged, Bae Si-ah tried to empty her mind of all thoughts. The nurse asked her a few questions. How did this happen? Who was her guardian? Si-ah gave brief, clipped answers. She lived alone. It was an accident. The nurse looked as if she wanted to say more, but stopped herself.
Han Gyeowol was sitting beside her. He wasn't even looking at his phone. He was just sitting there, staring blankly. Si-ah stole a glance at him. His school uniform was still rumpled. His hands were resting quietly on his knees. He looked somewhat exhausted.
He's a strange person, she thought for the first time. It was odd that she didn't feel tense with a male sitting so close to her. Was it because he didn't demand anything from her? Or was she simply too numb to care? She didn't know.
Once the bandaging was finished, she stood up. Gyeowol stood up with her. When it came time to pay at the reception desk, Gyeowol pulled out his wallet. But before he could pay, Si-ah quickly handed over her card. Gyeowol looked slightly taken aback as he slipped his worn wallet back into his pocket.
As they walked along the street after leaving the hospital, Gyeowol asked, "Have you eaten?"
Si-ah thought for a moment. She couldn't remember if she had eaten anything today. She couldn't really remember yesterday, either.
"...No."
Gyeowol looked at her briefly, then changed direction.
"Follow me."
It was a grocery store. Si-ah followed him inside, utterly bewildered. Gyeowol pushed a cart and began selecting ingredients. He didn't pick anything expensive. Tofu. Green onions. Eggs. Potatoes. Soybean paste. His hands moved with precise, unhesitating accuracy. The look in his eyes as he inspected the ingredients was different. It was the gaze of someone who already had the entire recipe mapped out in his head.
When they reached the checkout counter, Gyeowol let go of the cart handle. He looked up at Si-ah's face. Si-ah pulled out her card. Gyeowol naturally picked up the grocery bags, acting as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Si-ah stared at his retreating back and said nothing. She simply didn't know what to say.
After buying the groceries, they naturally headed toward Si-ah's apartment. Gyeowol stepped into her kitchen. Si-ah sat on the living room sofa and watched him. He didn't ask her to do anything. She just sat there.
The sound of a knife hitting the cutting board echoed—a rhythmic, rapid tapping. The sound of slicing potatoes, cutting tofu, and chopping green onions. The sound of water beginning to boil in the pot. Soon, the aroma of dissolving soybean paste drifted into the living room. Si-ah leaned her back against the sofa, inhaling the scent. It was an unfamiliar smell. Yet, it wasn't unfamiliar at all. It was a scent she felt she had smelled somewhere before.
Suddenly, the kitchen light caught her eye. Gyeowol was stirring the pot. That silhouette. She remembered that back. On the days her stepmother wasn't home, the days her father would go into the kitchen to cook. The silent back of her father stirring a pot. It was similar. Their heights were different. They were entirely different people. Yet, somehow, they were alike.
Si-ah lowered her eyes. Her father was gone. That back was gone now, too. A fleeting warmth welled up inside her, only to vanish just as quickly. Only a hollow, empty feeling remained.
Gyeowol emerged carrying two bowls. Soybean paste stew and rolled omelets. Two bowls of rice. Setting them down on the dining table, he said, "Eat. Since I did the cooking, I'll just have a meal here before I go."
"..Okay."
"Thanks for the food."
He sat down. Si-ah slowly took her seat across from him. She picked up her spoon. She scooped up a spoonful of the stew and put it in her mouth. It was hot. She could feel the warmth traveling down her throat. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a hot, freshly cooked meal. For the past three months, she had barely eaten—either ordering delivery or skipping meals entirely.
Si-ah looked down at her bowl. Gyeowol sat opposite her, eating in silence. He didn't try to strike up a conversation. He didn't force a smile. He just ate. Si-ah did the same. One spoonful. Two spoonfuls. It was hot, salty, and nothing more. That was all it was. Yet, her spoon wouldn't stop.
After they finished eating, Gyeowol cleared the dishes. Si-ah sat at the table and watched him. He did the dishes. The sound of running water filled the apartment.
Listening to the sound, Si-ah thought, I don't understand why this person is doing this. She had only met him today. He had come to deliver a notice, stepped inside, taken her to the hospital, and even cooked a meal for her. He hadn't asked a single question. Not why she did it, nor what she planned to do next. He just did it. He's a strange person. The thought returned.
Gyeowol dried his hands and stepped out of the kitchen with practiced ease. "Do you have prescribed medicine?"
Si-ah slid the paper bag across the table.
"Take it."
Gyeowol packed his bag. He walked toward the entryway, then paused. "You can just come to school tomorrow."
It wasn't a demand. His tone was simply stating a fact. Si-ah didn't answer. Gyeowol put on his shoes. He opened the door and stepped out. The door clicked shut.
Si-ah remained seated where she was. The apartment grew quiet again. It felt even quieter than before. Si-ah stared at the medicine bag on the table, then lowered her gaze. The hot, salty taste of the soybean paste stew still lingered on her tongue. For some reason, she felt a pang of regret that it was fading. The moment the thought crossed her mind, Si-ah quickly brushed it away.