Sunflower and Signpost (4)
The shower passed as quickly as showers do. Just in case, he carried an umbrella down the path where grass seeds had sprouted everywhere along the seaside—the same road he'd walked with Seohae, where he'd found the bicycle. The sunset filtering through the parting clouds glowed like amethyst purple. The spotlight-like beam gradually faded as night deepened. Seohae walked a little ahead of Yuchan with a composure that made it hard to believe she'd been sobbing moments before. The dead bird's corpse was wrapped tightly in a towel and cradled in her arms. Keeping that distance, all he could see was her slender back; Yuchan couldn't glimpse her face. She headed for the grassy hill beyond Sunflower Hill, the one overlooking the lighthouse on one side and the high school and town on the other. At her request, Yuchan dug a shallow hole. The rain-softened soil made it easy enough to carve out a grave for the bird without much effort. Carefully burying it and covering it with earth, Seohae straightened from her crouch. Her fragile expression now stripped of any passion, she turned to Yuchan.
“Uncle, you're not sad, are you?”
“Well, mostly not.”
“If I died, what kind of face would you make?”
Her shadow stretched long in the dying light. Yuchan fell silent at the ominously wavering trace of Seohae.
What Seohae had asked for was simple: bury the bird and head back. But she'd suggested going to the lighthouse together, like always. He'd never been there at night, and considering her mood, he turned his steps that way. It was hard to believe the sky had been dumping rain just an hour or two earlier; now, cleared of twilight haze, it gleamed like polished obsidian. Standing side by side at the lighthouse railing, the stars overhead dwarfed anything visible from the city. As they stared at the same sky, she suddenly began her tale, her words drifting in like a dreamy fairy tale.
“Auntie taught me long ago that every star is one person's life. When a star falls, someone heads to heaven—and it never shines again.”
Kid stuff, he replied flatly.
She laughed. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, but her face glowed as brightly as ever. Like some rite of passage, he couldn't meet her gaze this time either.
“So when I was little, I dreamed of being an astronomer. Maybe I could stop the stars from falling. But then I grew up and learned it's just a job staring at them. I still can't forget that sense of betrayal from Auntie.”
“So now you hate stars?”
She shook her head, her hair swaying softly.
“Even if they mean nothing, aren't they pretty?”
Raising her eyes back to the sky, Seohae gazed entranced for a long while. That aching breathlessness rippled through the night air. Yuchan looked up too. There was something majestic about it, sure—but to him, stars overhead or in a photo made little difference. That's just how he'd been born and raised.
At another unpredictable moment, she tossed out a question.
“Uncle, what was your dream?”
“Didn't have one.”
Dream. Another alien word. Someone who couldn't even grasp basic emotions had no business with grand notions like that.
“Figured. You've had those dead-fish eyes since we met.”
Her teasing jab lacked its usual spark; even a one-eyed man could see the bravado.
“But I don't think you need a dream. People love crafting their own answers and slotting everything in. Get a job by this age, get married, whatever. 'Chase your dreams' is just more of the same, right?”
Surprised, he muttered, You?
Seohae, who seemed to live in a fairy tale more than anyone, understanding him? It'd be more believable if a sheltered princess grasped a beggar's heart.
“Time to head in.”
He had nothing else to add on that. Seohae sidled closer, laying her small hand over his on the railing.
“Wanna go on a date?”
Her proposal came out questioning, laced with shyness at the end.
“A date?”
“You fix my bike, I become your girlfriend. Once it's done, I gotta play the part, right?”
“You could just say you wanna date me.”
“Nuh-uh.”
Pouting primly, she tickled the back of his hand playfully as she continued.
“But a promise is a promise. I'm tagging along out of obligation. You should be grateful.”
“So what's the real reason you wanna date me?”
“'Cause you're the easiest mark...”
“Tell me the real reason.”
At the edge in his voice, Seohae pulled her hand away. Her cautious eyes fixed on his blank face. Then, like a wilting sunflower, she offered a pitiful smile.
“...I'll tell you after the date.”
If she promised to spill, no need to push. Yuchan yielded a step.
“Deal! Date's on! Fix the bike in a week—my butt's itching to ride already.”
“A week's probably impossible.”
“Make it possible. And do something about that face. If you're all grumpy on the date, I won't have it.”
She closed in, grabbing his cheeks and tugging to force a smile. At her size—a full head shorter—it was doomed from the start. He waved her off gently.
“Ease up. Putting on a smile in front of you feels off.”
“Who said smile? I'm ordering you to smile for real.”
Suddenly, the girl turned dead serious. Clutching her collar tight, she swallowed once and locked eyes with him straight on. Her lashes are long, he thought idly.
“That's exactly why you have to.”
He mumbled something vague about giving it a shot.
A month had passed since he'd met Seohae. Time really did fly; their bond had warmed to something like close siblings. She stubbornly stuck to “Uncle,” though. Minor change: their planned village bike loop got a week's extension thanks to the wreck's sorry state. Buying new was seriously tempting. Otherwise, the same dull routine. He still headed to the lighthouse to see her; she'd drop by the camper now and then. Compared to the frantic pace chasing Harin's schedules, time dragged here—leaving room to savor each moment. He remembered it all crystal clear, enough to fill a month's diary.
This morning, as usual, he'd finished breakfast and reached for his post-meal smoke when a knock came. An unusual hour—the wall clock barely hit 8 AM. Since she'd started visiting often, he left the door open; the knock was pure courtesy. Before he could stand, it burst wide.
“Good morning!”
“Yeah, sleep okay?”
Their casual back-and-forth evoked a cozy newlywed morning. No way he'd voice that sappy thought.
“Hehe, feels just like newlyweds, huh? Wanna try greetings again?”
Seohae blurted whatever popped into her head, fool that she was. She usually slept till past 11, dragging with morning grogginess. But today she brimmed with energy, belying that.
Sapphire-blue dress today. A wrinkled sundress, white crossbody bag, and wide-brim hat dangling at her side. Ponytail swept up, leaving her neck refreshingly bare.
“You already scarfed breakfast. Wanted to eat together.”
“Couldn't stomach it. Woke up feeling like death—joints killing me.”
Made sense; her heavy-sleeper ass rising early meant something was up.
“Got plans today?”
She answered.
“Ugh, really don't wanna go to the hospital... Can't you take the checkup for me, Uncle?”
The station was already a ghost town; mornings made it worse. Like, only two passengers total. Sunlight slanted through in rays, the place sleek and modern—hard to peg as a failed pilot project. But after fifteen minutes with no train, Yuchan prodded gently. Endpoint and start point, yet here they waited. Her regular checkup explained it. No backing out now; he'd commit the day to her. Laughable, him—who'd savored countless despairs—playing nanny. Uncharted waters, too. His choices always hinged on logic. Yet hovering at this awkward distance from her? No rationale explained it.
“Train when?”
Fiddling with her ticket from the machine, Seohae explained patiently.
“Trains don't just roll through here—they wait two hours between runs.”
Adjusting her hat, she asked, “How's the hat look?”
“Fine. So how long we waiting?”
Right then, a train that looked well-weathered chugged into the station.
“Not a soul around.”
Empty as the trip here. Just rhythmic rattles and jolts.
“Remote island life.”
She replied to his mumble from the seat ahead.
“Peak vacation brings anglers, campers, artists, photographers. But off-season like now? Dead. Schools are out too—no kids heading off-island.”
Chin on the window ledge, her voice carried a quiet loneliness, a hint of envy. She seemed so lively overall, but now he saw the subtle melancholy underneath.
“Miss school?”
She nodded readily.
“Duh, wanna go. But vacation means no.”
“After break?”
Hmm... Pausing with a grin, she cooed playfully.
“I'd rather hang with you, Uncle.”
The words landed so far off-base, a weird dissonance hit him.
“Lying.”
Her smile didn't budge, no retort—just pointed lazily at the opposite window.
“Uncle, look—lighthouse.”
Following her finger, there it stood, precariously perched on the cliff, swaying like it'd tumble in the breeze. He'd clocked her topic pivot but let it slide. Once the train carried it out of sight, Seohae peeled from the window and settled cat-like in her seat. Tilting her head.
“So, Uncle... how old are you?”
“Twenty-seven. Bit young for 'uncle.'”
She took his usual gripe in stride, unflinching.
“Thought you were older.”
“You don't look that young yourself.”
Realized too late: bad move saying that to a girl. As expected, she pursed her lips in a pouty sulk.
She'd started the chat, sure—but picking topics was only half; dodging landmines mattered too. Slipped his mind.
“So how old do I look?”
Eyes flashing, she pressed. He leaned back against the headrest for distance.
“Just a kid.”
“What? Young, right?”
She whined without real offense, her voice sparkling with what seemed like delight. No good comeback left—he just shut his eyes.