Searching for Your Traces (4)
With a cheerful sizzle, the sound of cooking began to fill the kitchen from the frying pan. The salty aroma of canned ham mingled with the savory scent of eggs frying, permeating the apartment. If the lingering cocoa smell from earlier that afternoon had gently melted away the tension, this oily kitchen fragrance now invigorated the body.
The menu was simple: canned ham, fried eggs, seasoned seaweed, and plain white rice. But hey, as long as it tasted good going down, that was all that mattered.
I finished browning the ham to perfection, cooked the eggs sunny-side up just right, and plated them. Turning my head toward the living room, I saw her already standing by the rice cooker. Without me even asking, she'd grabbed the serving spoon, heaped a big portion into my bowl first, then carefully scooped some into hers.
"Ooh, finally moving on your own before I tell you? Quick on the uptake, huh? You've got some sense."
I teased her playfully, pleased, and her shoulders jerked in surprise. The spoon slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. She bowed her head in a fluster, bending down to pick it up. In that moment, the long sleeve of my oversized shirt—way too big for her frame—brushed the ground, and through the loose neckline, the silhouette of her body and the shadow of her cleavage teasingly peeked out.
Man... is she still not fully aware of her changed body, or does she just not care?
If I stared any longer, she'd probably turn beet red and dive under the covers or burrow into the earth. I pretended not to notice, averting my eyes, and carried the plates of ham and eggs to the table.
She quickly set the spoon aside and came over, pulling out spoons and chopsticks from the drawer without being told, setting the table neatly. She handled all those little tasks effortlessly.
Not bad... as long as she's not overdoing it, starting with simple stuff like this is good.
It wasn't like she was suddenly wringing out a mop to scrub the floors or getting on her knees to clean the bathroom tiles—none of that over-the-top heavy labor. Just folding laundry together, scooping rice, setting utensils. Simple meal prep like that wouldn't strain her physically or mentally, and I could handle it without feeling burdened or awkward.
Finally, I filled two glasses with cold water and set them on the table. With dinner ready, she still stood quietly by her chair, waiting for me to sit first. I paused mid-pull on my chair and looked down at her.
"Hold on. Stretch your arms out here."
"Huh...? Oh... okay...."
She cautiously extended both arms toward me. The sleeves hung so long—thanks to the oversized shirt—that even her fingertips were hidden. I stepped to her wrist, grabbed the floppy cuff, and folded it up several times until her small, pale hand was fully exposed.
"There. Now the other one."
"Yeah...."
She offered the other hand, and I silently rolled up that sleeve too. It was a sloppy, bunched-up job—something the fashion-savvy old her would have gasped at and undone immediately. But unlike the earlier flailing with the boyfriend shirt, her tiny hand peeking out from the massive sleeve looked pretty damn cute in its own way.
"Alright, dinner's ready. Sit and eat."
Only after I said that and sat down first did she carefully take the seat across from me. She watched me take my first spoonful of rice before tentatively picking up her own spoon.
We've still got a long way to go.
She was still like a puppy, only eating when I did, watching my every move. It'd take a while to break that. But at least she wasn't rejecting my touch or running away anymore. She was starting to seek out little things she could do herself.
Today, we took one step further than yesterday.
Thinking that made even the ordinary bite of ham in my mouth taste better.
We sat across from each other at the table, eating in silence until we finished. Then her first household chore began.
"A promise is a promise. Put on the rubber gloves and wash them clean, okay?"
I stood first to give her space at the sink, but she suddenly shot up from her seat and approached me. Her small hand reached toward my chest.
Snip. A faint sensation of something breaking, and there it was—a tiny loose thread from my shirt dangling from her fingertip.
Occupational hazard, I guess.
She used to work with clothes and trends, so even a single stray thread would bug her. I shrugged it off nonchalantly and turned to head back to the living room. Then her hesitant voice came from behind.
"Earlier... you fixed my sleeve for me too...."
I whipped around in surprise. She'd said it herself but seemed mortified, her face flushing crimson as she scurried to hide behind the sink.
Cute as hell, seriously.
If the old male Han Junseo had done that? I'd have smacked the back of his head and told him not to act like an idiot, unleashing a torrent of curses. But now, as this petite, pretty girl blushing while returning the small favor... it honestly touched me, stirring a fuzzy, fluttering warmth in my chest.
Sigh. Humans really are visual creatures. It's all about the face, huh.
I let out a wry chuckle at my own shallowness, but the ticklish feeling wasn't half bad. I plopped onto the living room sofa and switched the TV from the all-day music channel back to news.
The anchor's calm voice filled the living room, blending pleasantly with the rush of water and clinking dishes from the kitchen behind me. For a brief moment, it felt like we'd stumbled into a peaceful, warm everyday life after a storm.
Haha... man lounging on the sofa, pretty girl washing dinner dishes in the kitchen. Pfft... what nonsense am I thinking?
If my mom could peek into my head and see those corny, outdated thoughts, she'd smack my back and rant, "Aigoo, that's why you can't get married—with that old-fashioned mindset!"
I covered my mouth and chuckled softly so she wouldn't hear. While she finished the dishes, I took the chance to tidy up the living room a bit, glancing around.
Her security blanket was draped over one end of the sofa, as always. The table had minor clutter that didn't need much sorting. Then my eyes caught a small plastic basket on the storage shelf in the corner—something I'd left there forever.
That's the basket where I collected all the stuff the old Han Junseo left behind when he came over drunk. I gathered it for him to take, but he always forgot, so it just piled up.
I walked over slowly and peered inside: his car keys (removed so he wouldn't lose them drunk), a few crisp business cards, an expensive brand watch, and an old leather wallet he'd swapped out and left behind. He'd dropped all sorts of things here.
Should I show her this after dishes?
Hmm... what if seeing traces of her old male self made her depressed or hurt? But she'd been curled up in this living room for days—she must've glimpsed it at least once. Using it as an excuse to gently dredge up old memories without getting too heavy didn't seem like a bad idea.
Decision made, I picked up the basket from the shelf corner and quietly set it in the center of the small table in front of the sofa. Then I sat back down, listening to the news on TV and her clinking dishes in the kitchen.
A bit later, the water stopped, and the clatter of dishes ended. Her footsteps approached the living room as she dried her hands—seeming just a tad lighter than before. I was relieved inwardly.
But upon entering, she froze at the sight of the familiar plastic basket plunked in the middle of the table.
"What're you doing? Sit. Just... got bored and thought we'd dig up some memories."
I called out casually, but she just stared at me. She fidgeted, legs together, hesitating, then nodded quietly and lowered herself carefully to the floor right by the table.
I slid off the sofa to sit beside her, and as always, she inched her butt closer, snuggling up just a little.
"Let's see. What should we start with...."
As I rummaged in the basket to grab something, her small hand darted in first, picking up a crisp sheet of paper from the top. Her old business card.
I leaned in to look at it with her. Next to a sleek, fancy foreign logo—English or French, who knows?—her original name, Han Junseo, stood out bold and clear. A tiny proof of how confident and successful she'd been just days ago.
"This guy's... basically dead now...."
She stared at the card, murmuring in a bitterly self-deprecating tone.
Hearing that lonely voice, I lightly plucked the card from her hand and tossed out casually,
"Dead? Who's dead? Person's right here, alive and kicking. Just get a new pretty photo and print fresh cards later."
"Yeah... photo... just redo the photo...."
She fiddled with her now-empty hand, mumbling softly. I glanced sideways at her profile. Her long hair hid her face, so I couldn't see her expression clearly. But one thing was sure: her narrow shoulders weren't heaving with silent sobs, and her body wasn't trembling in fear.
Good... thought she'd deny reality again and hide under the blanket seeing her old stuff.
Of course, since I'd pulled out the basket for memory lane, she might just be holding it together. But to me, she didn't seem like she was just running away. Slowly, bit by bit, she looked ready to face and accept her changed self.